❥ inspired by the apothecary diaries.
[various! blue lock x fem! reader. royalty & magic au.]
synopsis: after being kidnapped and sold to the palace, you find yourself serving as an attendant to general snuffy. you don't disclose your skills in the realm of runecasting— however, your secret comes out when you have to use your knowledge to save lord kaiser from an assassination attempt.
wc: 8.2k
disclaimer: this particular piece is meant to introduce the world/au. there is not explicit romance in this one, however, i still recommend you read it if you're interested! you may want to view the potential suitors before you commit to this story, though :>
a/n: don't ask me how the magic works i'm literally making it up as i go
By some twist of misfortune, you find yourself in the position of servant girl in Emperor Noa’s grand palace.
Well, it’s not like it was totally unexpected; you’d known the sudden passing of your mentor would leave you homeless and vulnerable. The elderly man had raised you as his own after your biological parents left you on the doorstep of his workshop. As such, you’d grown up around magic and he taught you everything he knew, turning you into an incredibly skilled runecaster.
Had he lived longer, you likely would have taken over the workshop and his clientele. However, you didn’t have the practical experience needed to match your knowledge, and your father’s clientele turned you away in search of other runecasters once he passed. You couldn’t pay the landlord or tax collectors, and as a result, you lost the workshop and were forced to wander the streets.
So, all things considered, it should be unsurprising that a group of thugs ended up kidnapping you and selling you off to the palace— at the very least, you have guaranteed shelter and food, now. Certainly, your talents go far beyond that of a servant girl’s and you could be reassigned, but you’d sooner die than accept a promotion that will line the pockets of your shitty abductors.
Besides, your placement could be far worse. Currently, you are assigned to tend to General Snuffy’s estate within the Gold Pavilion, which is overseen by Lord Loki. Snuffy is one of the most intelligent strategists in Emperor Noa’s army, but to your delight and relief, he’s rather mild-mannered and incredibly pleasant to be around. He always thanks his servants for their hard work when he sees them in passing and treats them respectfully, which is already a lot more than can be said about most other high-ranking individuals that reside on palace grounds.
Furthermore, Lord Loki is also a polite and agreeable individual, also treating those within his section of the palace grounds with utmost kindness. He can be a bit arrogant at times, but it doesn’t apply to those serving beneath him and that’s what you’re concerned with, anyway. Besides— arrogance comes with the title of being one of the emperor’s potential heirs, and Loki is the one of the four heirs who has the greatest control over his pride.
Emperor Noa had taken control over the land not by bloodright, but through power and admiration. At a very young age, he’d become a decorated war lord and genius general who outlived the previous emperor and his sons, and was unanimously recommended by both the emperor’s remaining council and the people to become the new ruler of the kingdom. Apparently, the man did not wish to have any children, for he did not believe the title of emperor was something that should be claimed through bloodright alone; thus, the four courts were created on the palace grounds, and Emperor Noa invited the kingdom’s most notable youth to try their hand at claiming a seat as one of four heirs, and ultimately fight for the right to become his only successor.
The Gold Pavilion takes up the southern part of the palace grounds and, of course, is overseen by Lord Loki, a skilled knight who had rapidly ascended the ranks due to his wit and masterful interweaving of magic into his combat. He’d been recommended into the palace by Emperor Noa’s very own former teacher and had secured his place on the Gold Throne seemingly overnight with his amiability, tenacity, and talent.
The eastern palace grounds are home to the Opal Pavilion, overseen by Lord Luna. The eldest of the heirs by quite a few years, Lord Luna had actually served in the military with Emperor Noa for a time and is the only heir to have been permitted into the heir ranks on his own recommendation. Though his charm is not as genuine or convincing as Lord Loki’s, he is still outwardly kinder than the other two lords, and reserves his most scathing criticisms for his rivals rather than his subordinates or other palace hands that reside off of his grounds.
The Jade Pavilion occupies the western palace grounds and is overseen by the controversial Lord Itoshi. Itoshi Sae had been recommended by Emperor Ego— the ruler of an allied kingdom— to serve under Lord Luna as an apprentice, and he had excelled in that position enough in the mere span of a year to receive recommendation from one of Lord Luna’s own councilmen to become an heir himself. Emperor Noa’s acceptance of the recommendation had been met with an uproar, many a people discontent over the thought of a foreigner potentially seizing the throne one day, but the emperor swiftly shut down their complaints, claiming that an heir’s origin did not matter so long as they proved capable of bringing prosperity and glory to the kingdom. Lord Itoshi’s blatant arrogance and condescension certainly does him no favors in winning over public favor, but at the very least, his cold and detached demeanor make him far more tolerable than his more flamboyant, obnoxious counterpart in the northern part of the palace.
The northern palace grounds house the Cerulean Pavilion, overseen by the equally admired and loathed Michael Kaiser. The man possesses a reputation that precedes him, word of his massive ego that is justified by his ever-improving skills in magic, combat, and strategy reaching every ear on palace grounds and even extending well beyond it. He was rather notorious for switching between cold neutrality or cruel mockery when it came to his treatment of others, which is why you steered clear of the Cerulean Pavilion whenever you could help it. Though his recommendation is of unknown origins and his background is something his rivals try and fail to pry into time and again, he still somehow managed to secure his place on the Cerulean Throne and is the heir who receives the most personal training from Emperor Noa.
“It’s all just formalities at this point,” General Lavinho had said one day as you served him beer during one of his impromptu visits to Snuffy. “We all know that the throne’s as good as Kaiser’s. Noel doesn’t even try to hide that the bastard is his favorite little pet.”
“Lord knows why,” Councilman Prince muttered under his breath, which Lavinho raised his glass to.
So, needless to say, you find yourself rather content with your place in the Gold Pavilion, experiencing each day with ease as you partake in pleasant chatter with your fellow palace hands and tend to the needs of a kind, aging general.
Today’s work finds you strolling into the central palace grounds. You watch as the pathway lined with marigolds slowly transforms into rows of deep red calla lilies, marking the end of the Gold Pavilion and the beginning of the Ruby Pavilion, residence to Emperor Noa himself. It’s not often that you leave the grounds of the Gold Pavilion, but today, you’re being sent to fetch some supplies for an upcoming training session being held by Lord Loki.
The runesmith of the palace has a small workshop set up by the southern entrance of the Ruby Pavilion, much to your convenience. You’ve met the elderly man a few times during one of his tune-ups on Snuffy’s equipment, and he was quite sweet, having the habit of sneaking the servants some pre-charged runes that could be used to make completing daily tasks easier. However, the man is always busy and can hardly ever be found within his own workshop.
Which is why when you enter the smithery, you’re met with his apprentice instead of the man himself. Charles Chevalier waves to you enthusiastically from behind the desk separating the lobby from the back of house where all the runes are stored. You’re quite familiar with him, as he also resides in the Gold Pavilion when he’s not working for the runecaster; he’s the only runecaster in all the pavilions that Lord Loki had seen fit to take under his wing and provide individual training to. You offer Charles a smile and curt nod as you stride up to the desk—then, you promptly startle when you realize who’s standing next to you.
The other apprentice, Benedict Grim, stands beside Charles at the counter, reviewing a rather lengthy list that the person beside you had handed to him. At your arrival, Alexis Ness turns to you and offers a polite smile, something uncanny that, prior to this encounter, you’ve only ever heard people say doesn’t quite sit right on his face. (Now, you can confirm such sentiments yourself.)
Alexis is the designated runecaster for the Cerulean Pavilion, in addition to being Lord Kaiser’s personal attendant. One of the highest-ranking runecasters at the most esteemed magic school in the kingdom, Lord Kaiser had scouted him and requested for him specifically to serve him during a diplomatic outing with Emperor Noa. The man takes his duty very seriously, and stops at nothing to ensure that Lord Kaiser is always as safe and comfortable as possible.
You’ve heard of Alexis’s casting—it’s difficult not to, given that his spells incorporate elements that make it damn near impossible to invade the Cerulean Pavilion. The man somehow manages to masterfully weave herbal essences into his magic to further reinforce the barrier surrounding the Cerulean Pavilion; this additional factor of natural magic reads into an individual’s soul, meaning that those who enter the pavilion with ill intent will be affected by a poison or incapacitating spell of some kind. Nobody is quite sure what exactly Alexis uses to pull of such a thing, but its efficacy has certainly been confirmed; Lord Luna never officially commented on the fiasco and Emperor Noa never pushed him for one, but the Opal Pavilion soldiers who had turned up passed out from a mild poison just outside of the Cerulean Pavilion were enough to dissuade anyone else from attempting to infiltrate again.
You can only speculate what kind of spells Alexis interweaves into typical protective runecasting to trigger such a result; you figure there must be a high concentration of finely-ground lily of the valley involved, since they can be used to read the purity of an individual’s soul when ingested. The opal soldiers who had turned up weren’t covered in any kind of powder, though, so he had somehow managed to integrate into the barrier’s very constitution so that it couldn’t be bypassed. Knowing for certain would mean investigating the barrier up close, and you’d sooner transfer to the Opal or Jade Pavilions than be caught acting suspicious near the Cerulean Pavilion, thank you very much.
However, your own preconceptions about the Cerulean Pavilion and its ruler aside, you do still deeply admire Alexis’s work, and you can’t quite help yourself from eavesdropping on his conversation with Grim while Charles disappears into the back to fetch the items from your own list.
“What does his royal highness need juniper for?” Grim asks, setting the list down. “You’ve never worked with that before. Those aren’t even in season right now.”
Alexis’s smile grows a little tighter. “We’re trying something new,” he answers vaguely. “I’ve determined that juniper is the only flower that will yield the desired effect.”
Grim lets out an exaggerated sigh and pushes himself away from the counter just as Charles returns from the back with a box full of runes and manuals. “So he’s paranoid again,” Grim mutters under his breath, which Alexis chooses not to respond to. “We might not have all of this, but I’ll see what I can do. Give me a minute.”
A comfortable silence falls over the room as Charles helps you sort the runes and other materials into smaller bags that will be easier to hand out during the lesson, and as Alexis awaits Grim’s return.
“I heard from Julian the other day that we’re gonna have visitors soon,” Charles says eagerly as you turn a rune over in your hand. It’s one used in more sophisticated protection spells—seems Lord Kaiser’s not the only paranoid one around here.
You raise a brow at Charles and spare a quick glance at Alexis, but he seems to be paying you two no mind. You know that Lord Loki doesn’t care if Charles is casual with him, but he could get in trouble for being so informal outside of the Gold Pavilion. “I would assume so,” you respond, placing the rune into the leather bag and pulling the drawstrings to close it. “Would it be so odd, with the Sunrise Festival right around the corner?”
The Sunrise Festival is an extravagant gala held every year that takes place over the course of three days. It’s a celebration of the anniversary of the day Emperor Noa slayed the corrupt king of the neighboring kingdom and brought an end to the years-long war that had plagued his own kingdom since he was a child. The nobility of all allied kingdoms were always in attendance, along with noteworthy merchants, generals, and courtesans.
“I’m talking about after the festival,” Charles says, pausing to wave a hand through the air animatedly. “Though, these visitors might be here for that, too. But, anyways, he said that Emperor Noa has agreed to let some of Emperor Ego’s own apprentices study here for a prolonged period of time.”
More egotistical young men vying for a throne of some sort? You can already feel a migraine coming on. “How lovely,” you say airily, but Charles picks up on your disdain immediately and starts laughing.
“It should be fun,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I hear that Mikage merchant’s son will be with them. Lord Itoshi’s younger brother, too.”
You sigh, and Grim’s return saves you from having to force some kind of positive comment on the presence of yet another Itoshi on palace grounds.
“I managed to find everything but adder’s tongue,” Grim announces as he places a bundle of flowers and a bag of runes on the counter.
You furrow your brows. Adder’s tongue is an extremely common item used in medicinal casting, so it’s usually always on hand here. It’s scarce this time of year, but there should be at least a bit in storage. Alexis seems confused by this as well, for he asks, “How are you out of adder’s tongue?”
Charles and Grim share a look. The corners of Charles’s lips twist downward as Grim answers, “Our supply went missing a few nights ago. We’ve informed Emperor Noa, but the investigation is still ongoing.”
That just confuses you even more. Who in the world would need to steal adder’s tongue? If the injury is that bad, they should just go to the infirmary. As Grim continues to go over Alexis’s requested materials, you and Charles pack the bags into a larger box for easier transport. As you lift the box into your arms, Charles bids you a cheery farewell.
The events of that day have faded into the back of your mind by the time the Sunrise Festival arrives.
You and every other attendant are running around the Gold Pavilion in a frenzy. It’s early morning during the first day of the festival, and you all have just a few hours to get the pavilion in top shape before guests start arriving.
Your diligent work the past year and a half has caused you to be one of the few servants entrusted with the position of overseeing all the other attendants during the festival. Whenever you aren’t pointing in a direction and giving orders, you’re running around ensuring that not a single flower in the yard is out of place, and that the festivities being held in the Gold Pavilion have everything they need to run smoothly.
You’re giving some younger servant girls advice on how to mix ground up butterfly wings into some water so that the flowers appear shiny and dewy when you hear your name called somewhere behind you. You hand off the mortar and watering can to the eldest of the group, wiping your hands off on your skirts as you turn around.
You gasp, then immediately dip into a curtsy. “Lord Loki,” you greet, dipping your head. “How may I be of service?”
Loki gives you a smile that is equal parts warm and sorrowful. “My apologies for making you do this, but Snuffy and Charles both speak highly of you, so it’s something I feel I can entrust you with.” He reaches his arm up, extending out his hand between you two to reveal a velvet jewelry box. Based on its shape, you presume there’s a necklace inside. “Lord Kaiser had the jeweler on our grounds craft this for the lady he’s been courting. He, of course, had some last minute changes made to it overnight, and she’s meant to arrive today. Could you deliver this to the Cerulean Pavilion?”
You bite down on your lip to keep yourself from openly sneering at the thought of going to the Cerulean Pavilion. You’ve somehow managed to avoid it for damn near eighteen months now, and yet your first trip there would require you to approach Lord Kaiser himself. Great.
You dip your head again, more to hide your grimace than to show respect. “Of course, my lord,” you say, carefully accepting the box into your hands. “I’ll see to it that it is delivered to Lord Kaiser safely.”
“My greatest thanks,” Loki says, offering you a genuine grin. You startle as he clasps an encouraging hand on your shoulder, which draws a small chuckle out of him. He holds your gaze just a moment longer before setting off to tend to other duties. You shake yourself out of your stupor, then begin the agonizing trek to the Cerulean Pavilion.
You’re dragged out of your misery and bitter mumbling once the pavilion actually comes into sight. It is nothing short of gorgeous, of course; Lord Kaiser wouldn’t accept living in a place any less maintained in beauty than he himself is. But the paths lined with blue roses and elaborate fountains of water aren’t what take your breath away—no, it’s the shimmering, pale blue curtain marking the border of the Opal and Cerulean Pavilions that catches your attention. Alexis has casted the protective barrier to appear almost like a thin veil of water, and when you put your arm through it, it feels like a gust of cool, refreshing air brushes over your skin. You marvel at it; it’s masterful, the way it’s not even apparent that he’s interwoven natural magic into the protective runes.
You sigh as you pass through the rest of the barrier, the full beauty of the Cerulean Pavilion hitting you. You don’t have the time to investigate further, no matter how curious you may be. You follow the main path—a road marked with intricate patterns composed of sapphires—to Lord Kaiser’s residence. As the extravagant villa comes into view, you notice a woman being escorted inside by Gesner, a high-ranking official in Lord Kaiser’s army.
It must be the lady Lord Loki mentioned, though she’s arrived far earlier than everyone else. From your distance, you can’t hear a word she’s saying, but you can see her just fine. A gorgeous pastel purple dress billows around her, the corset pulled tight to flatter her well. Her hair is pulled up into a braided bun, and a few buds of baby’s breath and white cherry blossoms have been delicately tucked behind her ear.
Lady Petra, you think as you take in her sharp green eyes and pale blonde hair. She’s the eldest daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in the kingdom. She had resided in the palace for a time before you arrived, when her brother was one of the many young men competing for the Cerulean Throne. Apparently, she had charmed many men while she resided on palace grounds, and her father hadn’t been too upset by his son losing the throne to Kaiser because he figured he could marry Petra off to someone of status. It seemed to be working out well for him.
You reach the villa’s back entrance long after Lady Petra and Gesner disappear inside of it, so you should be able to steer clear of her when getting the necklace to either Lord Kaiser or Gesner—whichever she’s not with at the moment. You rap gently on the door, and the servant that answers the door lights up at the sight of the box in your hands.
“Oh, good, good!” She cheers, ushering you inside. You squint as the incomprehensible amount of marble inside practically blinds you. The whole floor is made of it. “You’re just in time! Come here, quickly.”
You trail after her, marveling at the intricacy of the villa’s interior. Everything within it is grand, from the perfectly polished floors to the elaborate paintings on the walls and spotless pieces of furniture carefully positioned in each room. You can’t even complain that it’s too much, because everything is so meticulously placed and considered that, somehow, nothing clashes.
The woman stops suddenly, nudging you slightly backward and making a shushing motion. You peek around her shoulder and catch sight of Lady Petra sitting in what seems to be a sunroom. There’s an entrance on the other side of the room, where Gesner is speaking in a hushed tone to someone who you can’t see—they’re blocked by the door frame of the entrance the other servant has nudged you away from.
In the center of the floral-patterned couch, Lady Petra’s attendant makes a few last minute adjustments to her hair. She slides one more pin into place to further secure the braid in place. Up close, you now see that on the ear opposite of the one decorated with baby’s breath and white cherry blossoms sits more baby’s breath, with some adder’s tongue weaved into it. The sight of it nags at something in the back of your mind, but you dismiss it as the necklace around her neck catches your attention instead. It’s a simple, delicate thing, a thin golden chain with a garnet carved into a teardrop shape.
Lady Petra reaches up and runs her hand along the chain. The garnet, impossibly, flickers weakly, a gleaming light pulsing for just a moment before going dormant again.
Your heart plummets into the ground.
It’s no garnet—it’s an illusory rune, one typically used to bypass barriers and the like. Normally, such a thing on its own wouldn’t be able to get through the intricate barrier Alexis has surrounding the pavilion, but it’s been crafted into something that can be on Petra’s person, meaning that can interact with other essences also on her person. Baby’s breath, which in natural magic, represents innocence and purity, along with white cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue, which both signify deception. When combined with an illusory rune, the cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue would work together to mask the true nature of Petra’s soul, utilizing the essence of the baby’s breath to replace her true intentions with the guise of innocence.
Of course, this incorporation of natural magic could combat the pavilion’s elaborate barrier, but that begs the question: how does Lady Petra know the specifics of Alexis’s barrier and how he casted it?
The servant lady clasps a hand around your elbow and drags you away from the room. Your heart races, panic surging through you.
“Come now,” she whispers, “we’ll catch up with Lieutenant Gesner on the other side, and he’ll hand it off to Lord Kaiser when he has a moment away from Lady Petra.”
If that moment ever comes, you think to yourself. The flowers could be chalked up to a coincidence, but when combined with the presence of an illusory rune? Certainly not. Lady Petra had come in here with the intent to bring harm to the Cerulean Pavilion, and needed a way to bypass the barrier that would pick up on it.
“I wasn’t aware Lieutenant Gesner was tending to Lord Kaiser today,” you say. Luckily, the servant lady doesn’t know you well, so she doesn’t pick up on the tremor in your voice. “I figured Knight Alexis would still be in charge of his well being for the festival.” No, seriously, where the hell is that guy? There’s an intruder actively in the pavilion!
“Oh, Knight Alexis is busy with preparations elsewhere.” She waves it off, as if there’s not a massive threat sunbathing with her lord as she speaks. “He reinforced the barrier just a few days ago to ensure that Lord Kaiser would be fine without him at his side.”
You practically choke on your own blood at that. You’re pretty sure that after this, Alexis isn’t going to let Lord Kaiser leave his line of sight ever again.
You round the corner, coming up to the other entrance of the sunroom. Gesner is just about to shut the door completely when he spots the box in your hands. Distracted, he lets go of the doorknob and crosses the rest of the distance to you and the servant lady. The door is still halfway open, and you can see Lord Kaiser sitting beside Lady Petra, facing the door. He’s focused on her, though, exuding nothing but charisma. It’s so abhorrently feigned, but you can’t bring yourself to be disgusted in your state of panic.
“This is it, then?” Gesner says, gesturing to the box in your hands. You open it, but you can’t even take in whatever intricate piece Lord Kaiser has commissioned, because you refuse to take your eyes off the threat sitting beside him. It must be impressive, though, because Gesner lets out a low whistle at the sight of it. “Well, looks like those changes paid off. Hopefully it’s at least a little satisfactory for him.”
You watch as Lord Kaiser turns around, beckoning to a servant on standby. The young boy walks over, and nods at whatever Kaiser whispers to him before heading toward the other entrance. During this exchange, Lady Petra produces a tiny cloth bag from her purse.
“So long as the lady likes it, things will be just fine,” the servant lady responds.
Whatever he requested must be a quick task, for Lord Kaiser doesn’t turn around, waiting for the servant boy to return. Petra spares a quick glance at him before opening the bag and pouring a powdery substance into his glass of wine sitting on the table.
“Of course she will,” Gesner says, but you hardly hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. “He’s far more of a diva than her.”
The boy returns with a slice of bienenstich and places it down on the table in front of Lady Petra, bowing as he does so before retreating to his corner of the room. The woman tilts her head and instead reaches for her own glass of wine, raising it in cheers. Lord Kaiser picks up his own, raising it as well.
The servant lady cries out and Gesner grunts as you barrel past him, flinging yourself forward as quickly as possible. By the time you’ve thrown the door open and crossed the distance from the entrance to the couch, the commotion has caused Kaiser and Petra to both stare at you, the latter in bewilderment and the former in irritation.
Before either one can say anything, you smack the wine glass out of Lord Kaiser’s hands. Petra shrieks as the glass shatters against the floor, the wine spilling all over the white marble floor. Kaiser’s face contorts with cold fury, but you’re already whirling on Lady Petra by the time he’s getting to his feet.
You seize her by the shoulders, grip iron. Petra pales as she stares up at you, both of you knowing exactly why you barged inside. “Did you really think you’d get away with something like this?” You hiss lowly, “Emperor Noa will have your head when he hears about your little scheme.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kaiser yells behind you, oblivious to what you’ve already put together. Not that you can blame him—even with all his skill, this kind of scheme could only be planned and identified by individuals who have devoted all their studies into magic.
A firm hand comes down on your shoulder, and you grit your teeth from the pain that shoots up your arm. Knowing what’s about to happen, you shoot a hand out and latch onto Petra’s necklace, grabbing onto it just as Kaiser pulls you roughly away from her.
The clasp of the necklace snaps, the rune clatters to the floor, and Alexis’s magic takes hold of her immediately. Petra sucks in a sharp breath before collapsing to her knees, her skin going from white to a pale blue, likely a part of the spell meant to visually mark her as a threat. Her hands come up to her neck as she begins coughing violently. Slow asphyxiation, you think to yourself. It seems Alexis had made the effects of the spell akin to that of an allergic reaction.
“Oh,” you say smartly, watching Petra writhe around on the ground, the poisoned wine staining her skirts. “So that’s what he needed the juniper for.”
Kaiser turns to you. The fury is gone, and so is the faux charm from earlier—in fact, there’s absolutely nothing, just an eerily blank expression as he considers you with guarded eyes. “You knew she came here to hurt me?”
“I saw her poison your drink,” you answer, gesturing toward the entrance you came from. “The door was open while I was handing the necklace you commissioned off to Gesner.” It’s not the full truth, but it would have to do.
“You also knew that removing her necklace would harm her.” He looks down at the piece of jewelry, before looking back at you. His gaze is sharper now, sending a chill down your spine and pinning you in place. “How did you know that was a rune, and that it was shielding her from Alexis’s spell?”
Damn it. Of course he would be able to piece together that much.
You open and close your mouth pathetically a few times. Before you can scrape together an acceptable answer, though, a loud cry of rage comes from somewhere beneath you.
You turn just as Petra uses the last of her strength to launch herself at you, slamming into you and tackling you to the ground. Your head smacks against the floor with a sickening crack, and the world around you goes black.
“You don’t have to do this now, you know.”
You sigh heavily. It’s been just about two days since the start of the Sunrise Festival, but all festivities were brought to a grinding halt after Lady Petra’s assassination attempt on Lord Kaiser. When you first awoke, you were informed that Emperor Noa was calling for an emergency full court meeting with you as soon as possible, but understood if you needed time to get over your concussion.
You still feel a bit nauseous, but you’ve heard the other servants talking about how unbearable Lord Kaiser has been since the incident, and how antsy even the other heirs seem to be.
You smile tiredly, but gratefully at Snuffy. “Thank you, sir, but the sooner we get this done, the better.”
He returns your smile, his a bit pitiful. “If you’re sure,” he says, turning back to the doors before the two of you.
You’re standing just outside the entrance of the Gold Pavilion’s strategy room, the only room in the entire pavilion large and elaborate enough to host the Emperor and all his heirs. When Lord Loki visited you this morning, you told him you felt well enough to have the meeting this afternoon—a decision you were now regretting.
Snuffy nods at the soldiers guarding the doors, and they nod back at him before pushing them open.
Immediately, all eyes snap to you, and you feel your lungs get crushed under the pressure of the stares of the most important people in the kingdom.
Likely out of desperation for familiarity, your eyes find Lord Loki’s first. He seems tense, but he still offers you a polite, encouraging smile. Standing behind him is Charles, whose cheery wave feels severely out of place in the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
Sitting next Lord Loki is Lord Kaiser, whose gaze is still as piercing as it was before Petra tried to do you in. He rests his head against his hand, arm propped against the chair’s armrest. Every part of his face is tight, and he looks far more displeased and agitated than you’ve ever seen him be in your time at the palace. Beside him, Knight Alexis stands with his hands clasped behind his back and wears his usual polite smile, but he watches you with a sharp, critical eye.
On the other side of the room is Lord Itoshi, whose face is as blank as ever. He doesn’t seem disinterested, though, which you suppose is because his safety is concerned; an attempt was made at another heir’s life, and there was no saying that whoever planned it wouldn’t go after the others as well. Behind him stood Shidou Ryusei, a warrior from Lord Itoshi’s home who had been brought over to serve him when he claimed the Jade Throne. A smirk spreads across his lips when you lock eyes with him, so you quickly look away and to the left of him.
Lord Luna sits in the chair beside his former apprentice, his polite grin visibly feigned in comparison to Loki’s. It almost borders on a sneer when you meet his gaze, and you feel yourself shrink back slightly. Behind him, Knight Cavasoz gives you a bored look.
Sitting directly across from where you stand, in the plush chair that is usually occupied by Lord Loki, is Emperor Noa himself. His stare is heavy and keen on your shoulders, but not necessarily unkind or untrusting like some of the others.
You suck in a steadying breath, and turn to each person once more as you address them. “Lord Loki. Lord Kaiser. Lord Luna. Lord Itoshi. Emperor Noa.” You bow deeply, folding over completely at the waist. “I apologize for making you wait to have this meeting.”
“Your recovery is of great importance to the Gold Pavilion,” Noa answers. “Rise. We have already collected Kaiser’s account of Lady Petra’s attempt on his life, but there are still missing details that only you can answer for us.”
As you straighten up, Snuffy comes to stand by your side, a steadying presence under all the pressure.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Lord Loki says, taking charge of the investigation before any of his less merciful peers can. “Why were you at the Cerulean Pavilion?”
“I was there on business assigned to me by you, my lord,” you answer. “I was asked to deliver the necklace Lord Kaiser commissioned from the Gold Pavilion’s jeweler. According to you, it was meant for Lady Petra, who was arriving that day, and needed to be delivered as soon as possible.”
“And while you were delivering the necklace, what prompted you to rush into the sunroom where Lord Kaiser and Lady Petra were speaking?”
“While handing off the necklace to Lieutenant Gesner, I noticed that he had left the door to the sunroom partially open. When I looked up and inside the room, I saw Lady Petra pouring something from a small bag into Lord Kaiser’s glass of wine.”
“Lord Kaiser did not notice this?”
“His back was turned. He was awaiting the return of a young servant boy, who brought back a dessert.”
“One that Lord Kaiser informed us was requested by Lady Petra. Do you believe this was purposeful?”
“Given that she would need him to be looking away while she poured the poison into his drink, I would say yes, the request was intentional.”
“And once you noticed his drink had been poisoned, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Everything was happening too fast. I saw him lifting the glass, and panicked. By the time I informed Gesner or the servant lady of the situation, he would have already ingested the poison.”
“Then, you took it upon yourself to save him?”
“Yes. I knocked the glass out of his hands so that the wine could not be consumed. Then, I launched myself at Lady Petra, intending to apprehend her.”
“Why did you go for her necklace?”
You turn to Kaiser, who interrupted Loki with a question of his own. “I’m sorry?”
He bristles—you both know you’re being evasive. “When I grabbed you, you grabbed onto her necklace.” He tilts his head to the side, tone accusatory. “You knew it would snap when I pulled you off her. You knew it would allow Alexis’s magic to affect her, which is how you intended to apprehend her. How did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that would happen,” you deflect. “I was going for her neck, but you pulled me back too fast.”
Kaiser’s eyes narrow. “Don't waste my time pretending you didn’t realize what would happen. You even made a comment that the reaction was caused by the juniper Alexis picked up from the runesmith.”
Good grief. Nothing gets past him, does it?
Before you can answer, Noa produces a golden chain from his coat pocket, then places what you recognize to be Petra’s necklace down on the table.
“Kaiser told us that you were able to recognize this as a rune, which Alexis later identified as an illusory rune.” Noa turns his attention to Loki. “Loki, is this subordinate well versed in runecasting?”
Loki spares you a glance, before looking at Snuffy. “Not to my knowledge, but General Snuffy would know better than me.”
Noa turns to Snuffy, who sighs. “She has always been more competent than other attendants at utilizing runes for menial tasks, but besides that, I do not believe so. She did not report having any knowledge or skills in runecasting when she was brought into the Gold Pavilion.”
“So she lied, then,” Luna says, eyeing you with disdain.
Noa holds up a hand, silencing him before he can make any more accusations. He turns back to you, expression terse. “Let me be clear with you. You may have saved Kaiser’s life, but because you continue to deny your knowledge of runecasting, you are being marked as suspicious. Even if you had nothing to do with this assassination attempt, we may have to imprison you, as your motives for this secrecy are unclear.”
Seriously? I saved the most abhorrent heir in this damn palace, and you think I have bad intentions? You sigh, shoulders slumping forward as you exhale. “Then I will answer any questions you have for me, Your Excellency.”
Noa nods, then asks, “Why didn’t you report your prior experience with runecasting when you came to the palace?”
“I was brought here by kidnappers, and I would rather not do anything that gives them a bigger payday. Being a palace runecaster would do just that.”
“Where did you study?”
“I studied under the runecaster of a small village in the south,” you say, expression growing distant. “He took me in when I was quite young and raised me as his apprentice.”
“And where is this runecaster now?”
You avert your gaze to the floor. “Six feet under. After he died, I had no place to go, so I wandered. It’s how my abductors managed to get me. I stayed here because it guarantees me food and shelter.”
“I see.” Noa ponders this for a moment, then continues. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the assassination attempt, based on your experience and knowledge?”
You bite down on your lip, then fess up the whole truth. “Before the servant lady took me to meet with Lieutenant Gesner, I had noticed Lady Petra sitting on the couch with her attendant. Lord Kaiser had not entered the sunroom yet. The attendant was fixing her hair, so naturally, my eyes were drawn to the flowers tucked into her hair and adorning her ears: white cherry blossoms, baby’s breath, and adder’s tongue. Nothing noteworthy on their own, but then I saw the necklace around her neck.”
You gesture to said piece of jewelry laid out on the table. “At first, I thought it was just a garnet, but then she reached up to touch it. It glowed for just a moment, but it was enough for me to realize it was a rune. Based on the color, I identified it as an illusory rune, and from there, the presence of the flowers made more sense. Word gets around about how the Cerulean Pavilion barrier is able to recognize an individual’s intentions, and the essence of white cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue, when combined with the rune, could effectively hide the true intentions of whoever has them on their person. Factor in the baby’s breath, and their intentions are made out to be pure and innocent. It’s a clever scheme, objectively speaking.”
As Noa mulls this over, Loki asks, “How would someone figure out that this would work? Infiltration of the Cerulean Pavilion has failed in the past.”
“The individual would have to know that the barrier is imbued with natural magic,” you answer. “The barrier failed when Knight Alexis first started experimenting with it, and people weren’t aware. Furthermore, they would have to know exactly what flowers are being used in the casting in order to figure out how to counteract it.”
From the other side of the room, Sae hums, then says, “It’s as we expected, then. She had someone on the inside help her.”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “Someone from the Cerulean Pavilion?”
“Not necessarily,” you say. “As I mentioned, most everyone knows that Knight Alexis imbues the barrier with natural magic, even if they don’t know the specifics. If we leave it at that, it could be anybody within the palace walls. However, given that this individual knew exactly what plants to use to circumvent it, I would say they are very familiar with the inner workings of the barrier and the casting behind it, which within the Cerulean Pavilion itself, would just be Knight Alexis and Lord Kaiser.”
You turn to Charles. “You and Grim said that the palace runecaster’s supply of adder’s tongue went missing a few days before the Sunrise Festival.” Next, you look to Noa. “I understand that Lady Petra hails from the same region you grew up in, Your Excellency. Is adder’s tongue plentiful there this time of year?”
“It is not,” Noa confirms your suspicions. “In fact, it doesn’t grow there at all.”
“Then I would say whoever helped Lady Petra pull this off is either an apprentice or palace hand serving the runecaster,” you conclude. “They know every material Knight Alexis uses for casting the barrier, and they would be able to supply Lady Petra with everything she needed to bypass it.”
“Only high-ranking apprentices and attendants have been allowed to assist Alexis,” Kaiser says, shooting an accusatory glare at Charles.
Loki tilts his head back, meeting Kaiser’s gaze head-on and blocking Charles from his view. “Rest assured, a proper investigation will be conducted at once. Am I correct, Your Excellency?”
“We will start looking into it immediately,” Noa agrees. “Until then, no action is to be taken against any apprentice or attendant, but they will all be placed under supervision until proven innocent.”
Then, the emperor turns back to you. “That only leaves the matter of what to do with you, then.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. “I— I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Excellency.”
“You’re far too knowledgeable to just let you be Snuffy’s attendant.” Luna scoffs. “It would be wasted talent.”
“He’s right,” Noa says. “I assure you that any earnings you make will now be paid to you in full, and I will have the ones who turned you over to the palace detained. However, I would like to make you a palace runecaster, effective immediately.”
“Pardon me, Your Excellency,” Loki interjects, “but the Gold Pavilion already has a runecaster in training, as do all the other pavilions. Where will she be assigned?”
“She won’t be assigned anywhere. She will be at the ready for any pavilion that may need extra assistance in the realm of casting.”
Kaiser scoffs. “Only a pavilion with an incompetent caster would need help from an outsider.”
Sae side-eyes him. “We’re here because someone bypassed your caster’s barrier and the outsider is the only one who noticed.”
The blonde scowls in response, and behind him, Alexis bristles.
“That’s enough.” The emperor turns back to you, his features smoothing out ever so slightly. “If you wish to continue residing within the Gold Pavilion, that’s fine. But if you are going to continue serving us here at the palace, I would like for you to put your skills and talents to use.”
Uncertain, your gaze slides over to Loki. He gives you a firm nod, and the anxiousness in your heart settles a bit.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.” You bow deeply again. “I am very grateful for this opportunity, and will not disappoint you.”
“I look forward to seeing the results of your work.” He takes a look around the room, then nods. “That concludes this part of the investigation. We will continue to interrogate Lady Petra and investigate the palace runecaster and those in his service. Until then, you are dismissed.”
You stay in your bowed position until Emperor Noa and his attendants pass by you, and you hear the sound of the doors opening. As you straighten up, Snuffy places a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Good job hanging in there,” he says, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine caster.”
“Let’s hope so,” Luna says as he passes you two on his way out. “We don’t want another incident like this happening. At least, not to the Opal Pavilion.”
You and Snuffy frown at his words, but neither of you deign to comment as he leaves. Sae trails out a few feet behind him, both he and his personal attendant sparing you one last glance as they exit.
You’re just starting to relax, the tension slowly leaving your shoulders when Knight Alexis walks up to you, prompting you to snap ramrod straight again. He tilts his head at you, that eerie smile looking even more forced than usual.
“You have my sincerest thanks for saving my lord in my stead,” he says, dipping his head in a short bow. “You’re very skilled. I look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Ah, thank you,” you mumble, flustered. “I look forward to working with you, too.”
His smile appears more genuine as he bids you farewell, his eyes crinkling shut as he grins at you. You have roughly half a second to revel in it before Kaiser enters your line of vision and swiftly tramples over your easing nerves. His gaze is cold and likely meant to intimidate, and his face is tight with a sneer that doesn’t surface fully, for whatever reason.
You blink up at him, unamused. Honestly, would it kill him to be at least cordial with the person who saved his life?
Keeping your face as neutral as possible and your tone dry, you say, “Glad to see you’re safe and doing well, Lord Kaiser.”
Charles snorts from the corner of the room, which is swiftly followed by Loki shushing him. Kaiser’s face twitches, and the sneer overtakes his face as he glares down at you. You smile up at him, pleasant if not for the smug sparkle in your eye.
Kaiser mutters something under his breath before turning and walking briskly out of the room. Alexis trails out after him, offering you an apologetic smile before he goes.
With only familiar faces left in the room, you sigh heavily, allowing yourself to slump against the wall behind you. Loki and Charles walk up to you, the former appearing a bit weary but still approaching you with kindness nonetheless.
“I’m glad things went fine for the most part.” His smile falters a bit as he asks, “Will you be leaving the Gold Pavilion? If you’re to be of service to everyone, the Ruby Pavilion would be the ideal location for you.”
You can’t think of anything you’d like less than living under the critical eye of Emperor Noa. (That’s a lie, actually—you’d probably take that over the Cerulean Pavilion.) “If it’s alright with you,” you begin, “I’d like to stay in the Gold Pavilion as long as I’m permitted to.”
Loki’s smile softens around the edges. “Of course,” he answers, “we’d be happy to have you. If you’re willing, I’d like it if you could also start administering lessons to Charles.”
You look at the blonde, whose pointy canines are on full display with how wide his smile is. You laugh, and nod. “I’d definitely be willing to do that.”
Charles cheers loudly and latches onto your arm. “I can’t wait!” His eyes glimmer with mischief. “Things are about to get really interesting around here.”
You sigh to yourself. A new position necessitating you to be at the beck and call of all of Noa’s heirs, not to mention the ones that would be visiting in the near future. Interesting would be putting it lightly.
But you would be a mere runecaster, expected to cast your spells and nothing more. Certainly, things wouldn’t get too chaotic where the heirs were concerned, right?
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: Batboys as boyfriends and their habits in a relationship! SFW + NSFW. 18+.
〝 What did you give me to make my heart beat out my chest? 〞 Batboys x Reader.
⋆˚࿔ A/N: Thanks for love on my last post! I TAKE REQUESTS! Sorta rusty, but I've missed writing sm chat
ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.
SFW
DICK GREW UP WITH BRUCE'S OLD WORLD MANNERS AND ALFRED'S TENDERNESS. It would be insulting to both of them if he didn't treat his partner following those examples of devotion.
Always has a hand on you. Thigh when he's driving, drawing circles on the inside with the other on the wheel, the small of your back as you're walking through a crowd to help you guide through the heat of bodies around you both, your hip when he's talking to someone else.
So there's no question when you both are out that you're his. Not because he clings, just because he's so unmistakably in love and he's loud about it. His hand finds yours without thinking, it's second nature to him. He laughs louder when you're happy, arm stays around your waist.
When you're not around? If someone tries their luck, any girl is met with a smile and he shakes his head sweetly, "Someone gorgeous has me."
Another thing about Dick is he shows up. Not just for you, the other people in your life. They're important to you, so they're important to them. He bribes your little brother with action figures and of course he'll drive your sister to soccer practice, and they can hit boba on the way home afterwards. Holds your dog during fireworks. Your roommate has a bad date and he's on the couch with you and gives his two cents from a guy's perspective and wait hey, he thinks Wally's her type?
"They like me, right?" His hair has stray pieces of sawdust from helping your dad fix the garage door, and there's a streak of grease staining his shirt. "I can't have your whole bloodline turning on me if I mess up babe."
He wants to find his way to fit into your world. And vice versa for sure!
Will bring you to the manor, and kiss the inside of your wrist and introduce you to Alfred like you're royalty. "This is (her. him. them.)"
Like that's all the explanation needed.
With the others, he lights up when they ask about you, or when you play cards with Jason and Tim, compliment and study Dami's drawings or make Bruce and Cass laugh.
When you go out with his friends, he'll drape his arm around you and grin when they tease you both.
At his apartment, he presses a kiss softly to your lips after you steal a sip of his beer and Roy will grin at the lovestruck expression on Dick's face before raising his brows at him, "Why don't you ever do that to me?"
Flowers are often. Will deliver them casually, too. Was 4th of July a worthy occasion for them? You don't know but you don't really mind.
NSFW
Munch city. DON'T YELL AT ME I'M RIGHT.
Lives for your pleasure, but there's nothing performative about it, he just gets off to how he can make you feel.
He takes his time, draws it out, and holds your hips down to keep you from squirming. "Where're you going, pretty?"
Literally moans into you, louder if you get louder, looks up at you as if he's seeing the face of God.
"So pretty like this, fuck."
Offers constantly. You'd honestly think he's ovulating. You're drying your hair as you step out the shower, and he's kissing the side of your neck sweetly, and tugging you to his bed murmuring something like, "C'mere. Wanna taste you real quick." It's not quick, you both know, but he's already kissing inside your thighs.
All hands and praise!!
Doesn't rush the after, he's walking you to the bathroom and when you're back he has a wet towel and an iced water with a straw.
ᯓ★ JASON TODD.
SFW
JASON DOESN'T LOVE LIKE HE WAS BORN INTO IT, BUT RATHER LIKE HE HAD TO LEARN HOW TO DO IT.
Clumsy, then careful!
He's practical, until he's not.
Until you mention wanting to see a local play, and when you get home he's bought tickets to four.
"This one's experimental." His finger points to the pamphlets he got when he drove down to the ticket office. "This one's about war. Feminist period piece. A musical." He gets quieter, and shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Thought we could make a thing of it."
He's practical until he's adopting a kitten with you, no question.
You find her outside your complex in a silver bin, tiny and shaking and definitely sick. He just sighs and peels off his jacket to wrap it up as you kiss his cheek. "Guess we're cat people now."
You find him on the couch with the cat on his chest and he's reading Wuthering Heights lowly to her. He doesn't look up, just rolls his eyes.
"Don't start, [Name.] She likes the voices."
He doesn't say I love you early. But he definitely acts like it. He'll pull you behind him when you cross the street quickly, text you "home safe?" before you've even made it to your driveway.
Observant would be putting it lightly. Your favorite shampoo and conditioner is in his shower and he keeps makeup wipes and guesses your lipgloss shade to have an extra in his pocket in case you misplace it.
Checks your apartment locks, and replaces them, "Sweetheart, these deadbolts were shit."
Learns all your favorite recipes.
He learns how you like your eggs how you want the edges of your sandwiches.
"You feed the people you love, right?" A beat. "And I love you."
Your favorite childhood meal. How your mom made it after your first breakup, a week later the aroma is filling your apartment, and he has sauce on his cheek and he's trying not to grin.
He loves to cook with you too! Jason'll open the jars, hold your hips while you're focused on stirring.
Annotates your favorite books. Watches your favorite movies. Without complaint. He wants to know you. And initially it was scary, but you're healing parts of him he didn't know were hurt, and he tries to do the same.
Tipsy Jason? The roughness practically melts out of him.
He drinks slow till you arrive, and when you do, he lights up and Roy laughs and shakes his head as Jay pulls you into his lap with his drink still in hand, kissing your shoulder.
You tease him for being clingy, but the next he's murmuring into your hair, "Don't get how someone like you gets to be with me."
NSFW
Needs to see your eyes, and hear you fall apart because of him.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck you."
Whines when you moan his name, and ruts harder when you beg.
If you try and stay quiet, he slows down and looks at you like he's got every bit of time on his hands. "Say it again, want that voice, baby."
ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.
SFW
DESPITE EVERYTHING, TIM IS CONSISTENT! He always makes time for you, and doesn't brag about it, doesn't rearrange his schedule in front of you.
"I'll be in your neighborhood in ten minutes." You raise your voice to protest, but he's already lacing up his shoes.
Spoiled would be an understatement, but to Tim? It's bare minimum, don't even think twice about it.
He'll subtly match outfits with you. Red tie, to compliment your gloss. Soft grey if you choose blue. Enough so when pap photos come out later, you'll notice.
"You do that on purpose?"
"We look good."
Places for dates are quiet when you go out: old jazz bars, private late night planetarium tours.
When he picks you up, the smoke curls in the air like the music and he's gotten you the booth in the corner next to the drums.
You also go to the aquarium, the whole place is closed to the public. You swing his hand as it's laced into yours, eyes glittering and you can tell he's trying not to laugh at your excitement. “How did you manage this?”
He just shrugs, and kisses your cheek. “I had a favor owed. Small bribe. You said you used to come here with your mom.”
You almost melt into the floor.
He loves your perfume! In a really sweet way.
Will steal your scarf in the winter to wear to work. Buries his face into your shoulder when he hugs you.
Eventually purchases a travel size of your signature scent for himself to help remind him of home when he's away.
He keeps a photo of you in his wallet, tucked behind his ID. Steph teases him for it, claims he acts like he's a soldier at war carrying a picture of his wife.
It happens on accident that you find it, you're sitting on your couch on a Sunday, your legs draped across his lap, he's rifling through it to find a gift card that has thirty more bucks on it. He flips through it, one hand on your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles over your hip bone.
There's a flash of photo paper and you blink. "Go back."
He raises his brows, freezing, "What?"
You pluck it from his hands, thumbing it through yourself and there it is. A tiny picture of you. He must've printed it himself, but you remember when it was taken. You, with a matcha latte and a goofy grin pointing to a billboard behind you with Tim's face on it.
You laugh, but tuck it back in. "You keep this in your wallet?"
"Yeah." His voice is soft, but his eyes crinkle with amusement.
"Why?"
"Because it's the one I always liked. Makes me laugh. You look pretty and like soft. And mine."
You stare at him a moment too long, and he rolls his eyes, "Okay, I sound insane."
"Nope."
Also nights in?? A great break for Tim. He gets overwhelmed easily and when he comes home he wants something real and sometimes that's you playing Mario Kart on his floor in his pajama bottoms.
Or decorating cookies shaped like lopsided bats.
You let him put his armor down, literally and figuratively.
NSFW
He works from beneath you!!! Controlled and deep thrusts, eyes locked on yours and studying the way your chin tilts and nose scrunches when he hits the right spot.
His hands are everywhere, but your hips are his favorite, rolling them in slow circles.
"That's it," "Just like that, fuck."
He also loves seeing you completely bent over sorry. Your back arched, legs shaking and your winded breath every time he pushes it in deeper.
Kissing your shoulder. Groaning against your back, he'll make you look at him
⚣🟢⚪️ A/N → Welp, you guys wanted more Green Lantern content (and lowkey, I did to), so Merry Christmas! Honestly, I'm quite shocked at how much came out of this. But then again, Hal just has a way of getting to me...🫦welp...enjoy!
⚣🟢⚪️ Word Count → 12K
REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛
⚣ ENJOY 🟢⚪️
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
– Hal Jordan may swagger into the bedroom with the confidence of a man who’s saved the universe countless times, but his aftercare is where the duality of his character shines. Post-climax, he’s all about keeping the mood light, tossing out cocky remarks like, “Admit it, that was the best you’ve ever had, right? I mean, I did just blow your mind.” The grin on his face says he’s half-joking, but the glint in his eye says he’s fishing for confirmation. His ego loves knowing you’re thoroughly wrecked—and let’s face it, he probably did live up to the hype.
– But under the smug exterior lies a man who takes aftercare just as seriously as the main event. Hal knows how intense he can get during the act, with his relentless stamina and the sheer physicality he brings to every round. He doesn’t just leave you sprawled and dazed; he makes sure to check in, his large hands trailing softly over your skin as he murmurs, “Too sore? Need me to grab anything?” He’ll tease, of course—“Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up with me, but you did good.”—but it’s all part of his way of putting you at ease.
– Hal’s attentiveness extends to cleaning up the evidence of your activities, a task he approaches with the same confidence as everything else. Whether it’s a towel to wipe down your body or an exaggerated groan as he gets out of bed to find a spare blanket, Hal doesn’t let you lift a finger. He’ll even run a hand down your thigh as he tucks the covers around you, his lips quirking into a smirk as he whispers something entirely inappropriate, like, “Bet you’re still feeling me there, huh?” His playful arrogance is almost endearing—almost.
– The vulnerability he hides so well emerges in quieter moments. If you’re spent and too blissed out to move, Hal will gather you against his chest, still warm and slick from your shared efforts, and stroke your hair absentmindedly. He’s careful not to make a big deal of it—he doesn’t want you realizing how soft he can be—but his touch is deliberate, grounding you as you come back to earth from whatever peak he just sent you to. He might even whisper, voice husky, “You looked so good back there, you know. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”
– But if you call him out for being sweet or overly attentive, the cocky mask slips back on in record time. “What? I’m just making sure my partner’s in one piece,” he’ll quip, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrays him. Still, it’s clear he relishes these moments just as much as the action itself, even if he hides it behind his usual bravado.
– Hal’s aftercare is as intense and satisfying as the main event: a perfect blend of teasing, tenderness, and the kind of care that only comes from someone who pays attention to every detail—even if he’d never admit it outright.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
– When it comes to Hal Jordan, there’s no denying that his favorite body part is... well, all of him. And honestly, can you blame him? Hal’s Green Lantern suit—skin-tight and sculpted perfectly to his frame—shows off every inch of his physique in painstaking detail, from the broad expanse of his chest to the sharp definition of his thighs. The suit is formed by his willpower, after all, and Hal has no intention of leaving anything to the imagination. He’s fully aware of how good he looks in it and takes every opportunity to remind others, whether it’s through a smirk or a playful, “Can’t help it if the uniform does all the work.”
– If pressed to choose, though, Hal would probably say his favorite parts are the ones people notice first: his arms, chest, and back. His arms are undeniably impressive—thick and corded with muscle, the result of years spent as a test pilot and Green Lantern. He loves how they look when he’s lifting or holding you, the subtle flex of his biceps drawing attention without even trying. “Bet you can’t keep your eyes off these, huh?” he might tease, flexing just enough to make you roll your eyes (and blush).
– His chest—a feature that somehow manages to look both approachable and commanding. It’s broad enough to provide comfort when you lean into him, yet strong enough to carry the weight of his responsibilities. And let’s be real: Hal definitely notices when your eyes linger there, even if he pretends not to. He’s the type to smirk and say something ridiculous, like, “Careful, I’m starting to think you’re just here for the view.”
– His back, though, is what really sets him apart. It’s not about sheer size but the way every movement highlights the smooth, lean strength he carries. Whether he’s flying, creating a construct with his ring, or throwing a playful glance over his shoulder, his back tells its own story. It’s graceful and functional, a reflection of the precision and control that define both his role as a Green Lantern and his daredevil tendencies. He relishes the way your hands linger there too and is especially smug about the fact that his back is just as enticing when it’s bare, a fact you’ve undoubtedly confirmed more than once.
– And while Hal would never openly talk about it, his manhood absolutely makes the list. Of course, he’s proud of that too—he’s Hal Jordan, after all—but he’d rather let his partner be the one to sing its praises (and trust him, he loves hearing those praises). Still, when it comes to the parts of him that draw attention first, it’s the show-stopping combination of arms, chest, and back that take the spotlight. After all, what’s the point of saving the universe if you can’t look damn good doing it?
– Now, as far as you and Hal’s favorite part(s) on you, it’s all about your hands. As a man who thrives on touch and connection, he’s completely enamored by the way your hands look on him. There’s something intoxicating about how they feel clasped in his during a quiet, intimate moment, or the way they roam over his arms, chest, or back when things heat up. He lives for that tactile worship, his ego swelling every time your fingers linger on his muscles, tracing the contours of his body like you’re mapping out uncharted territory. – And when he’s carrying you—whether it’s out of danger or into the bedroom—he’ll revel in how your hands instinctively cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders or trailing down his back.
– But here’s the thing: Hal isn’t just a sucker for your hands—he’s an unapologetic ass man through and through. It’s practically written into his DNA. That skin-tight Green Lantern suit of his? It’s not just for show. Every inch of him is pressed flush against you when he’s feeling bold, and he loves nothing more than sidling up behind you, his front teasingly snug against your back. His gloved hands will inevitably slide down to cup you, pulling you closer as he murmurs something utterly shameless into your ear, like, “This is my favorite view. Don’t you think the suit was made for moments like this?”
– Hal doesn’t just stop at appreciating the visual—oh no, he’s tactile to the core. He’s constantly finding excuses to touch, grab, and admire every curve. Whether it’s a teasing slap as you walk by or his hands firmly gripping your hips while he’s pressing you into a wall, Hal’s all about staking his claim. And let’s not forget the sheer amusement he gets when he’s grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how worked up he’s gotten just from the sway of your hips or the way your body fits against his. He’ll chuckle low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he says, “You know, it’s really not fair how good you look in that. What are you trying to do to me?”
– But it’s not just a physical thing for Hal—it’s the reactions he draws out of you that really get him going. He loves watching your body respond to his touch, the way your muscles tense or relax under his hands. And when you let out a breathy moan or arch into him? That’s game over. He’ll double down, his lips trailing across your neck as his hands roam freely, all while whispering praises and downright filthy promises of what’s to come.
– For Hal, your body is a playground, and he’s intent on exploring every inch of it. But there’s something about the way you fit so perfectly in his arms—how your body molds to his—that makes him wonder if his ring knew exactly what it was doing when it chose him. And if that thought doesn’t make you blush, well, his hands slipping lower as he asks, “Mind if I take another look?” certainly will.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
– When it comes to Hal Jordan, let’s just say he’s a shooter—and an impressive one at that. Hal’s release is intense, a reflection of the passion and energy he pours into everything he does. You’ll know exactly when he reaches his peak because it’s overwhelming, almost explosive. The first few shots hit with purpose, leaving no doubt that Hal’s body is working overtime to ensure you’re thoroughly marked. He’s not just a Green Lantern; he’s practically a human firework in bed, and trust him, he’s proud of it.
– As for volume? Oh, Hal’s got you covered—literally. One load from him is enough to leave you a sticky, heaving mess, dripping with evidence of just how thoroughly he’s claimed you. It’s not a small amount either; Hal’s stamina translates directly into how much he can produce, and let’s just say his reserves are far from empty. You might even tease him about how much there is, only for him to smirk and fire back, “What can I say? I’m thorough.”
– The potency of his seed is no joke either. Hal’s the kind of guy who doesn’t half-ass anything, and that includes what his body produces. It’s thick, warm, and unmistakably him—a perfect mix of his raw masculinity and the relentless willpower that fuels him. He’ll revel in the sight of you completely covered, running his fingers through the mess he’s made and murmuring something utterly filthy, like, “You wear me so well, you know that? Might have to keep you like this for a while.”
– If you prefer things a little cleaner, though, Hal’s just as happy taking things inside. He loves the idea of filling you to the brim, of leaving you so full that you feel him even after the moment’s passed. And when you shift or move afterward, feeling the evidence of him still lingering inside you? That’s enough to send him into another round. He’ll press a hand to your stomach, grinning devilishly as he whispers, “Still feel me, don’t you? Don’t worry—I’ve got more where that came from.”
– With Hal, it’s never just about the act itself—it’s about the aftermath too. He loves seeing the aftermath of his passion, whether it’s the mess he’s left on your skin or the way your body trembles in the afterglow. And if he has his way, he’ll make sure you’re carrying the memory of him long after the moment’s over, in every possible sense of the word.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
– Hal Jordan’s dirty little secret? He gets off on the thrill of being caught. As fearless as he is in the field, there’s something about pushing the boundaries of propriety in his personal life that really gets his heart racing—and other parts of him too. The idea of sneaking away with you during a high-stakes mission or ducking into a secluded corner of the Watchtower for a quick, forbidden rendezvous? That’s his personal kryptonite.
– What makes it scandalous is just how close he’s come to being discovered. Hal has a habit of taking risks, from pulling you onto his lap in the pilot’s seat of his fighter jet to whispering filthy promises into your ear when you’re supposed to be focused on a meeting. And while he’d never let anyone else catch a glimpse of what’s his, there’s something about the risk of Superman walking in mid-act or Batman figuring out what’s really going on in the supply closet that sends a jolt of adrenaline straight to his core. He’d laugh it off if anyone accused him—“Me? Do something like that? Nah, you’ve got the wrong guy.”—but the flushed ears and cocky grin would give him away.
– The most shocking part of all? Hal keeps a personal collection of mementos from his riskier encounters: a photo snapped in secret during an especially steamy moment in the cockpit, or a pair of boxers he swiped from you after one of your more passionate nights. – – – Tucked away in his locker or hidden in his apartment, these little trophies remind him of just how good it feels to have something no one else knows about—something only he and his partner share. If the League ever found out, Hal would play it cool, but deep down, the thought of being confronted about it would absolutely mortify him... in the most thrilling way possible.
– For Hal, it’s not just about breaking the rules—it’s about bending them just enough to keep things interesting. And if that means taking a few risks to satisfy his insatiable desire for you? Well, that’s just part of the fun.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
– Hal Jordan might be a cocky flirt, but don’t let the snarky remarks from his teammates fool you—when it comes to experience, he’s far from lacking. Sure, he might have heard a jab or two about his supposed performance (thanks, Diana), but Hal’s not the type to let those comments get to him. In fact, he thrives on proving people wrong. Beneath his overconfident exterior is a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—and takes great pride in leaving his partner breathless, satisfied, and craving more.
– Hal’s history of flings and encounters isn’t just about notches on the bedpost; it’s been a training ground for him to perfect his craft. He knows how to read your body like it’s a flight manual, mapping out every sensitive spot and memorizing exactly how to bring you to your knees. His touch is electric, like the constructs he wields, and he’s not afraid to get creative—pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while his other works its magic, his mouth leaving a trail of heat down your neck. Hal is a man who studies his partner, and by the time he’s done with you, he’ll have your every moan, gasp, and shiver committed to memory.
– And let’s be real—Hal is absolutely the type to let his mouth run before the action even starts. He’ll tease you relentlessly, his voice dropping to a low, seductive drawl as he leans in close, murmuring things like, “You sure you’re ready for this? I don’t do anything halfway, sweetheart.” It’s not just a promise; it’s a warning. Because once Hal gets started, there’s no stopping him until you’re trembling, spent, and begging him for mercy.
– His rhythm is as smooth as his piloting skills—precise, confident, and utterly relentless. Hal knows how to pace himself, starting slow to build anticipation before ramping up into a rhythm that leaves you seeing stars. And when he hears you lose control? That’s the moment he turns it up even more, using his strength and stamina to push you further than you thought possible. Hal doesn’t just take you to the edge—he shoves you over it, holding you steady as your body writhes beneath him.
– But the real kicker? Hal gets off on the aftermath just as much as the main event. He loves seeing you absolutely wrecked, skin flushed, legs shaking, and lips swollen from his kisses. He’ll grin down at you, smug and satisfied, as he brushes his thumb across your jaw and murmurs, “Told you I was good. Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” And he means it. Hal’s stamina isn’t just impressive—it’s almost unfair. One round is never enough for him; he’s determined to make sure you’re as thoroughly claimed as possible, inside and out.
– For Hal Jordan, sex is an art form, and he’s a master of his craft. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to ruin you for anyone else. And judging by the way you’ll still feel him long after he’s done, there’s no doubt he succeeds every time.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
– For Hal Jordan, sex isn’t just about intimacy—it’s a performance, a chance to show off exactly what he can do, and trust him, he’s got the moves to back up his bravado. Hal thrives in positions where he’s in control, his strength and endurance on full display, and where he can quite literally see the effect he’s having on you. Here are his absolute favorites:
1) Standing Carry: Hal loves nothing more than showing off his strength by picking you up and taking you wherever he pleases. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he holds you effortlessly, one hand supporting your back while the other grips your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him. He loves how you gasp when he moves with purpose, his hips slamming into yours as he presses you against a wall—or, if you’re really lucky, carries you straight to the bed without ever breaking rhythm. His smug grin is practically glued to his face as he growls, “See? Told you I’d take care of you. You just sit back and let me handle everything.”
2) Plank Position: Hal has an almost stubborn need to prove his stamina, and this position is all about endurance. With you lying beneath him, your legs wrapped around his hips, Hal supports himself on his forearms or hands, driving into you with a controlled, steady rhythm. He loves the full view of your face, watching every reaction as he angles himself just right to pull moans and gasps from your lips. Bonus points? The way his body flexes above you, his arms and chest on full display as he leans down to murmur dirty praises in your ear, “You feel that? Only I can make you like this.”
3) Missionary (With Legs Over His Shoulders): Hal’s favorite twist on the classic. With your legs draped over his broad shoulders, he gets deeper than ever, watching with smug satisfaction as you arch and cry out beneath him. He thrives on the intimacy of it, how close he can get to your face to see the full effect of his thrusts. And if you grip his biceps or claw at his back? That’s just icing on the cake. He’s not shy about reminding you how good he’s making you feel, whispering things like, “No one else can fuck you like this, can they?” as he picks up the pace to leave you breathless.
4) Standing From Behind: Hal is all about leverage and control, and this position lets him put both on display. With you bent over in front of him—whether it’s against a table, a bed, or even the nearest wall—Hal takes full advantage of the angle to hit all the right spots. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you back against him with every thrust, while he murmurs filthy things like, “You feel that, don’t you? Tell me how good it feels, baby.” He’s absolutely the type to catch sight of himself in a mirror mid-act and smirk at the view—because let’s face it, the sight of him owning you so thoroughly is just too good to resist.
5) Seated Position: This is Hal’s go-to when he’s in the mood for something slower but no less intense. Sitting back in a chair—or more likely, the cockpit of a jet—he pulls you into his lap, letting you ride him while his hands roam freely across your body. He loves the control this position gives you while he leans back to enjoy the view, guiding your movements with firm hands on your waist or thighs. And if you falter, he’s quick to take over, thrusting up into you with a wicked grin as he mutters, “Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got more in you than that.”
– For Hal, it’s not just about the position itself—it’s about how much effort he can pour into it, how much he can make you feel. Whether it’s holding you up with ease, driving into you with relentless precision, or leaving you utterly wrecked in the aftermath, Hal’s favorite position is always the one that lets him prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no one else can even come close.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
– Hal Jordan is the king of cracking a joke at the most inappropriate moments, and the bedroom is no exception. He thrives on keeping things lighthearted and fun, even in the filthiest of moments. Expect a cheeky comment like, “Careful, don’t get addicted,” when he’s going down on you, or a smirk and a playful, “That all you’ve got?” when you’re clawing at him for more.
– If something unexpected happens—like an awkward slip or an overly enthusiastic move—Hal doesn’t just roll with it; he makes it part of the fun. He’ll laugh, kiss you breathless, and say something ridiculous like, “Guess we’re trying out the blooper reel tonight.” But don’t let his humor fool you—Hal’s still relentless in his focus on making you come undone. He just thinks it’s more fun when you’re laughing and moaning at the same time.
– And if you ever try to match his banter mid-act? Oh, he’s all in. Hal loves a partner who can keep up with his sharp tongue, turning your playful remarks into fuel for his dirty, teasing retorts. But don’t be surprised when he shuts you up the fastest way he knows how—with his lips, his hands, or a deep, calculated thrust that leaves you too wrecked to respond. “That’s better,” he’ll say with a grin, “Guess I’m the funny one after all.”
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
– Hal Jordan is the type of guy who keeps things just well-groomed enough to look effortlessly sexy without seeming like he’s trying too hard. His hair on top? Always a little tousled, like he just stepped out of a fighter jet or rolled out of bed (and let’s be honest, half the time it’s probably both). Thick, dark brown, and naturally wavy, it’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through—whether you’re pulling him closer during a heated kiss or grabbing a fistful while he’s buried between your legs.
– Now, when it comes to body hair, Hal keeps it natural but tidy. His chest and stomach are dusted with just the right amount of dark hair, enough to highlight his rugged masculinity without going full-on lumberjack. He doesn’t wax or shave it entirely, but he trims enough to keep things neat—because he knows you love running your hands over the ridges of his abs and feeling the soft, fine hair beneath your fingertips. And trust him, he loves it too, especially when your nails scrape over his skin just enough to leave marks.
– As for below the belt? Oh, Hal’s definitely a “clean it up but keep it real” kind of guy. The carpet absolutely matches the drapes—a deep brown that’s just as rich and inviting as the rest of him. He trims it down regularly, ensuring there’s no jungle to navigate, because Hal’s all about making things as inviting as possible. He’s the type to smirk and say something cheeky like, “You like what you see? Took me a whole five minutes to get it just right.” But the truth is, he puts in just enough effort to make sure you’re as comfortable and distracted as possible when you’re exploring down there.
– And while he might not admit it out loud, Hal secretly loves it when you pay attention to his hair—whether it’s tugging on the strands during an intense moment, raking your fingers down his chest, or pressing your lips to the soft trail leading below his waist. It’s those little touches that make him feel completely irresistible—and trust him, with Hal Jordan, that’s exactly how he wants you to feel.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
– Hal Jordan may come across as cocky and overconfident most of the time, but when it comes to intimacy, there’s a side of him that’s deeper, softer, and entirely devoted to making you feel like the only person in the universe. Sure, he starts things off with his trademark smirks and filthy teasing—murmuring things like, “You ready for me to blow your mind?”—but the moment things get serious, Hal pours every ounce of his focus into you. For him, intimacy is about connection, and he’s determined to make sure you feel every bit of his passion.
– Hal’s not afraid of getting close—really close. He’s the type to hold your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kisses you deeply, making you forget the world outside. His eyes stay locked on yours whenever possible, dark with lust and affection as he whispers against your lips, “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” And while his words are hot enough to melt you, his actions speak even louder. Every touch, every movement is deliberate, designed to pull you deeper into his orbit and remind you that in this moment, it’s just the two of you.
– He’s surprisingly patient too, despite his usual impulsive nature. Hal takes his time exploring every inch of you, memorizing the way your body responds to his touch. He’ll kiss a slow, tantalizing path down your neck, across your chest, and lower still, pausing to murmur against your skin, “I could spend all night right here, you know.” And if you shiver or moan in response? That’s all the encouragement he needs to keep going, to push you higher and higher until you’re completely undone.
– But Hal’s intimacy doesn’t stop at the physical. He’s just as intent on making you feel seen—like you’re the center of his world. He’ll whisper things that make your heart skip a beat, like how stunning you look beneath him or how he’s never felt this way with anyone else. And while he might throw in a cheeky comment here or there to keep things light, his softer side shines through in the way he holds you close, his hands roaming your body like he never wants to let go.
– When you’re completely spent, trembling and dazed from his relentless attention, Hal will wrap you up in his arms and press kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. He’ll murmur something cocky but sweet, like, “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? And I’m not done yet.” Because for Hal, intimacy isn’t just about the act—it’s about leaving you so overwhelmed with pleasure and love that you never question how much you mean to him.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
– Hal Jordan may radiate cocky, overconfident energy, but even he has his moments of pure, primal need—when there’s no one around to satisfy him, and his hand becomes his only option. And trust this: Hal doesn’t half-ass anything, not even when he’s jerking off. It’s a performance for one, and he makes sure it’s just as intense and satisfying as if you were there to help him out.
– When Hal gets in the mood, it’s usually quick and unplanned—a flash of a memory from a heated moment with you, the way your body felt against his, or the sound of your breathless moans replaying in his mind. He’ll grip himself firmly, his strokes starting slow as he leans back against whatever surface is closest—a couch, his bed, hell, even the cockpit of his jet if it’s been that kind of day. His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he imagines your touch instead of his own, and it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in the fantasy.
– Hal’s not quiet, either. He groans low and deep, his breath hitching every time his hand squeezes just right or his thumb grazes the sensitive head. He’s filthy, too, muttering your name under his breath along with fragments of the dirty things he wants to do to you. “Fuck, baby, you’d look so good on your knees for me… God, I can’t stop thinking about how you’d take me, begging for more—just like that.” His free hand trails down his abs or grips his thigh, needing something to hold onto as his pace picks up, faster and harder with every stroke.
– Hal’s fantasies are vivid, too, and they only fuel the intensity of his release. He imagines your mouth on him, your hands gripping his hips, or the way your body trembles beneath him as he takes you apart piece by piece. When he comes, it’s explosive—hot ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach, his head tipping back as a guttural groan escapes his lips. He doesn’t stop immediately, either, riding out every wave of pleasure with slow, teasing strokes until he’s spent and panting.
– And afterward? Hal’s the type to chuckle to himself, wiping his hand on the nearest towel or his discarded shirt before muttering something cocky like, “Damn, you’ve got me wrecked, and you’re not even here.” But deep down, it only makes him crave the real thing more—because as satisfying as it is to take care of himself, nothing compares to having you there to help him finish the job.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
– Hal Jordan isn’t just adventurous in the skies—his tastes in the bedroom are just as daring and varied. He’s got a few kinks that keep things interesting, and he’s more than happy to indulge them with the same cocky, confident energy that makes him irresistible. Here are five of his favorites:
1) Dominance and Power Play: Hal lives to be in control, and nothing gets him off more than seeing you submit completely to him. He loves the way you melt under his touch, letting him take the reins as he orders you exactly how to move, what to do, and when to let go. His commands are firm but laced with filthy praise, like, “That’s it, baby. Keep those legs spread just like that for me—don’t move unless I tell you to.” And when you follow his lead perfectly? Oh, he rewards you in the best ways possible, leaving you shaking and begging for more.
2) Worship and Praise Kink: Hal’s ego is as big as the universe, and he loves it when you make him feel like a god. Whether it’s kissing and licking your way down his chest, whispering how amazing he feels inside you, or simply moaning his name like a prayer, he thrives on being the center of your attention. His favorite? When you’re on your knees, eyes full of need as you take him into your mouth, only to hear him groan, “Fuck, you look so good like that. I could watch you worship me all night.”
3) Exhibitionism and Risky Encounters: Hal gets off on the thrill of being caught, and he’s not shy about suggesting public or semi-public escapades. Whether it’s pulling you into a closet on the Watchtower, sneaking a quickie in the cockpit of his jet, or taking you against the nearest wall at a party, he craves the adrenaline rush that comes with pushing boundaries. He’ll chuckle wickedly in your ear and say things like, “Think anyone can hear us? Let’s give them a show they won’t forget.” And the more you squirm, the harder it is for him to hold back.
4) Overstimulation and Edging: Hal loves to draw things out, teasing you until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. He takes his time, pushing you to the brink over and over again, only to pull back just before you fall apart. His hands, mouth, and even his Green Lantern ring become tools in his arsenal, all designed to make you beg for release. He’ll smirk down at you and say, “Come on, baby, you can take more. Let me see how far I can push you.” And when he finally lets you come? It’s so intense you’ll feel like you’re floating in zero gravity.
5) Marking and Claiming: Hal’s possessive streak comes out in the bedroom, and he loves leaving his mark on you—bruises from his grip on your hips, bite marks on your neck, or the feeling of him dripping out of you long after he’s finished. He’ll revel in the sight of you wearing his marks, leaning down to kiss them tenderly before growling, “Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” And when he’s filling you to the brim, his hands pressing against your stomach to feel just how deep he is? That’s when he’s completely in his element, making sure there’s no doubt in your mind—or anyone else’s—that you’re his.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
– For Hal Jordan, location isn’t just about where—it’s about how risky and how hot the situation can get. As a man who thrives on danger and excitement, he’s not content with keeping things confined to the bedroom. Hal’s favorite locations are as bold and daring as he is, each one chosen to satisfy his craving for adventure while pushing your limits in the most delicious ways.
1) The Cockpit: As a test pilot and Green Lantern, the cockpit is practically Hal’s second home—and he loves nothing more than breaking the rules in the very place that defines him. Whether it’s in a grounded jet during a late-night hangar visit or mid-air with the autopilot engaged, Hal gets a thrill out of having you straddle him in the pilot’s seat. His hands grip your hips as he whispers, “Bet you’ve never joined the mile-high club like this before.” And the thought of anyone catching you in the act only spurs him on, his thrusts matching the intensity of the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
2) The Watchtower (Semi-Public): There’s something undeniably thrilling about sneaking away with you aboard the Justice League’s headquarters, finding a secluded room or corner where you almost won’t be discovered. Hal loves pinning you against a wall, his body shielding yours as he murmurs into your ear, “Think Batman’s got cameras in here? Let’s give him something to watch.” The sheer audacity of it drives him wild, and he makes it a point to leave you trembling and breathless before you both return to the team meeting like nothing happened.
3) Against the Wall (Anywhere): Hal is a firm believer that walls were made for pushing you up against, and he doesn’t care where it happens—as long as he can have you. Whether it’s in a dark alley, the side of a building, or even a shower stall, Hal takes full advantage of the position. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he presses you against the cool surface, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. And if someone’s nearby? Even better. The risk of getting caught only makes him move harder, faster, whispering filthy things like, “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”
4) The Lantern Construct: Has no one ever even considered the perks of being a Green Lantern? Unlimited creativity with your constructs! Hal loves creating a glowing green bed, chair, or platform in the middle of nowhere—a floating masterpiece designed just for you. Whether it’s high above the city skyline or deep in a secluded forest, Hal revels in the freedom of taking you wherever and however he wants. His cocky grin says it all as he murmurs, “Only I could pull off something this good, right?” And when the glowing green light illuminates your body beneath him? That’s a memory Hal will never forget.
5) The Beach (Under the Stars): Hal may love risk, but he’s not against a little romance either. Late at night on a secluded beach, he’ll lay you down in the sand, the sound of waves crashing in the background as he makes love to you under the stars. His cocky attitude takes a backseat to his more tender side, though he still can’t resist murmuring things like, “Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you under the Milky Way before.” The mix of intimacy and raw passion is enough to leave you breathless, completely captivated by him.
– For Hal, location is all about adding excitement and variety to the experience. Whether it’s somewhere bold and risky or a place steeped in intimacy, he makes every moment unforgettable—just the way he likes it.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
– Hal Jordan isn’t a hard man to arouse—his cocky confidence and thrill-seeking nature mean that just about any situation has the potential to set him off. But there are a few things in particular that really get him going, driving him to the brink of control as he works to take you apart piece by piece.
1) Challenge: For Hal Jordan, there’s nothing more arousing than a challenge—whether it’s your confidence daring him to step up, or his own insecurities lighting a fire under him to prove he’s the best. Hal thrives on the thrill of competition, and when he feels the need to silence his inner doubts, that sharp edge of desire takes over. He pours every ounce of his energy into you, determined to leave you utterly wrecked, your body trembling and your voice hoarse from screaming his name. It’s about staking his claim, making sure you know, without a doubt, that he’s unmatched. For Hal, the challenge isn’t just about winning—it’s about proving, again and again, that he’s the only one who could ever leave you begging for more.
2) Jealousy and Possessiveness: Piggybacking off that, naturally, this is something that also riles up the Green Lantern just as much. Hal is competitive by nature, and nothing stokes his fire quite like the thought of someone else eyeing what’s his. A passing comment, a lingering glance, or even a harmless laugh shared with someone else is enough to set his possessive streak ablaze. You’ll know he’s jealous when his touches become rougher, his kisses more demanding, and his voice drops to a growl as he pulls you closer, whispering things like, “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.” He won’t stop until you’re screaming his name, every moan and shiver a reminder of exactly who you belong to. Pinning you down, his voice will drop to a low growl as he thrusts into you relentlessly, whispering filthy promises like, “No one else could ever fuck you like this. Say it. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” He doesn’t just want to hear it—he needs to, each word soothing the flicker of insecurity hidden beneath his cocky exterior. But it’s not just about jealousy—it’s about staking his claim, proving to you and himself that, without a doubt, he’s unmatched.
3) Clothing (or the Lack Thereof): Hal has a thing for how you wear—or don’t wear—your clothes, especially when your frame contrasts with his. Catch him off guard lounging in nothing but his Green Lantern shirt, the hem barely covering your hips, and he’ll be on you in seconds, his hands sliding beneath it as he growls, “You trying to kill me? This looks better on you than it ever did on me.” Or tease him with a snug outfit like a tailored suit or a good crop top paired with some short gym trousers that hugs all the right places, and he’ll spend the night failing to keep his hands to himself, his touch lingering on your back, waist, or hips as he mutters, “You know I can’t focus when you look like that.” But the real killer? Watching you undress, piece by piece, until he can’t take it anymore. He’ll pull you into his lap, his big hands gripping your hips possessively as he murmurs against your ear, “Keep going—I want to see everything. And don’t think for a second you’re getting away with teasing me like that.”
4) The Thrill of the Moment: Hal thrives on adrenaline, and it’s no different in the bedroom. The idea of sneaking away during a party, finding a secluded corner at the Watchtower, or even stealing a moment during a mission sets his blood on fire. He’ll push you up against the nearest surface, his lips on your neck as he growls, “We shouldn’t be doing this here... but damn, I can’t stop myself.” The rush of being somewhere you shouldn’t be, coupled with the risk of getting caught, makes everything ten times hotter for him.
5) Your Reactions: At the end of the day, Hal lives for your responses. The way your body arches into his touch, the sounds you make when he hits the right spot, or the way you moan his name when you can’t hold back anymore—those are the things that drive him wild. He’ll do anything to pull more reactions from you, murmuring things like, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you—don’t hold back.” The louder and more desperate you get, the harder Hal goes, fueled by the knowledge that no one else can make you feel the way he does.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
– Hal Jordan might be open-minded and adventurous, but there are some hard limits he won’t cross. Anything involving cruelty or humiliation is a firm no for him—he’s here to build you up, not tear you down. He also draws the line at anything that takes away your ability to give enthusiastic consent; the thought of you not being fully into it kills the mood instantly—unless we’re talking a Yandere situation or even something like the scenario from “Love’s Punishment." And while he thrives on teasing and pushing boundaries, anything that genuinely hurts or scares you is off the table. “I want you to feel good, not afraid,” he’ll say, his voice soft but firm. At the end of the day, Hal’s all about mutual pleasure, trust, and making sure you’re as satisfied as he is.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
– Hal Jordan? Oh, he’s all in when it comes to oral—both giving and receiving. His cocky confidence extends to the bedroom (or wherever you’re lucky enough to find yourselves), and oral play is no exception. Hal knows exactly how good he looks when your lips are wrapped around him, and he’s not shy about telling you. His hands thread through your hair, his grip firm but never forceful, guiding you with murmured praise like, “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re so good at this.” And the way his hips occasionally buck into your mouth? Pure reflex, a testament to how much you’ve got him unraveling.
– Hal lives for the visual: the sight of you on your knees, your smaller frame between his thighs, taking him inch by inch while his head tips back and a groan escapes his lips. The stretch of your mouth around him alone is enough to push him close to the edge, but he prides himself on his willpower. He’ll hold himself back as long as possible, savoring every flick of your tongue and the way your hands work in tandem, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps. But don’t mistake his stamina for disinterest—if you keep going long enough, the sight of you combined with the pressure building inside him will eventually win out. And when he comes? It’s hard and fast, his grip tightening as he spills into your mouth, his voice rough as he groans, “Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop—take all of it.”
– As much as Hal loves being on the receiving end, giving head—pole or hole but hole may be his preference—is where his competitive streak and ego really shine. He loves the idea of reducing you to a trembling mess, completely at his mercy as he takes his time exploring every sensitive spot. He starts slow, his tongue swirling and teasing, pulling you to the brink before backing off just to hear you beg. And when he finally decides to let loose? Hal is relentless, his lips, tongue, and fingers working in perfect sync to drag you over the edge. He thrives on the sound of your moans, the way your hands clutch at his hair, and the sight of your thighs trembling beneath him. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice muffled against your skin, “Give it to me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
– Hal’s ego ensures he’s very skilled—he’s fully capable of bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm with just his mouth, and he takes immense pride in doing so. It’s not just about the end result for him; it’s about the journey, the control, and the satisfaction of knowing he’s the one who left you completely undone. Whether he’s giving or receiving, Hal makes oral play an unforgettable experience, one that leaves both of you gasping for more.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
– Hal Jordan’s pace depends entirely on his mood—and yours—but no matter the tempo, he’s all in. When he’s in the mood for something slow and sensual, Hal turns the experience into an art form. His movements are deliberate, calculated, and unbearably teasing, designed to make you feel every inch of him as he drags out your pleasure. He’ll keep his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his body pressed flush against yours as he whispers, “You feel that? Every single stroke? Yeah, I’m not stopping until you’re begging for it.” He thrives on the way your body arches into him, his hands gripping your waist to keep you right where he wants you.
– But when passion overtakes him—or if you’ve been teasing him all day—Hal shifts into a much rougher, more relentless gear. His thrusts are deep, hard, and fast, each one landing with enough force to leave you gasping, your nails digging into his back or shoulders for support. He loves hearing you cry out his name, the sound driving him to push even harder as he growls, “Come on, baby. Take it. I know you can handle it.” Hal’s stamina means he can keep this up for as long as it takes to have you completely undone, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.
– What makes Hal so intoxicating is how easily he switches between the two. He’ll start slow, teasing you until you’re clawing at him to go faster, only to smirk and say, “Patience, sweetheart. We’ve got all night.” And then, just when you think you can’t take another second of the teasing, he picks up the pace, his body driving into yours with enough intensity to leave you seeing stars. Whether it’s slow and torturous or fast and punishing, Hal’s pace is always designed with one goal in mind: leaving you completely wrecked by the time he’s finished.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
– Hal Jordan lives for quickies. The thrill of sneaking in a fast, filthy session when you’re both supposed to be somewhere else? It’s practically tailor-made for him. Whether it’s dragging you into an empty room at the Watchtower, pinning you against a wall in a dimly lit alley, or pulling you into the cockpit of his jet for a little “pre-flight stress relief,” Hal knows how to make every second count.
– There’s no buildup with him during a quickie—he’s on you the moment the door closes, his hands everywhere as he growls, “We don’t have much time, so spread those legs for me. Now.” His pace is relentless, his thrusts hard and fast as he works to get both of you off before you’re caught. He’s not shy about talking dirty, either. “You’re so tight—fuck, I’m not going to last long with you clenching around me like that,” he groans, his breath hot against your neck as his hips slam into you.
– Hal loves the risk, the danger of being caught. It’s not uncommon for him to smirk and whisper, “Think anyone can hear us?” as he covers your mouth with his hand to stifle your moans—or maybe he doesn’t cover it at all, daring you to try and stay quiet as he fucks you so hard your legs give out. His cocky streak shines through even in these rushed moments, and he’ll make sure you know exactly how good he’s making you feel, muttering things like, “Damn, look at all that pre-cum, baby. Stop trying to pretend you don’t love this as much as I do.”
– And if you can’t finish in time? Oh, that only makes Hal more determined. He’ll adjust his grip, angle, and pace until he feels you trembling around him, pulling you over the edge just in time for him to finish inside you with a low, guttural groan. When it’s over, Hal is already straightening his uniform or pants, smirking as he watches you try to catch your breath. “What? Don’t look at me like that,” he teases, running a hand through his hair. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”
– For Hal, quickies aren’t just about release—they’re about the rush, the adrenaline, and the satisfaction of leaving you wrecked and barely able to walk while he’s already back to business like nothing happened.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
– Hal Jordan isn’t just comfortable with risk—he thrives on it. Whether it’s in the air or in the bedroom (or somewhere far less private), the thrill of danger lights him up like nothing else. He loves the idea of pushing boundaries, crossing lines, and taking you to places you’ve never dared to go. And when the stakes are high—when there’s a chance someone might walk in or overhear? That’s when Hal gets truly reckless, and his need for you becomes uncontrollable.
– His favorite risks are the ones that make you squirm with both nerves and arousal. Pulling you into an empty meeting room on the Watchtower, pinning you against the door as he growls, “Think Batman’s gonna hear this? Good. Let him know who makes you scream.” Or finding a quiet spot on a rooftop during a mission, bending you over the edge while his lips press against your ear, murmuring, “Don’t look down. Focus on me, baby.” The added element of danger, the risk of being caught or seen, only makes him harder, his thrusts more desperate as he chases the high of knowing he’s taking you right where he shouldn’t.
– And Hal doesn’t just stop at the usual locations. If there’s a way to push things further, he’s the first to suggest it. Creating a glowing green construct in the middle of the sky, high above the city, where anyone looking up could spot the faint light and realize what’s happening? That’s exactly the kind of risk Hal craves. He thrives on the way your smaller body trembles beneath him, your moans carried on the wind as he smirks and mutters, “You’re so fucking loud. Think they know what we’re doing? Good.”
– It’s not just about location, either—it’s about power and control. Hal loves when you trust him enough to let him take charge in situations that feel downright dangerous, like fucking you on a moving jet or in the back of a parked car in broad daylight. His confidence is contagious, his hands steady as he grips your hips and whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Now hold still and let me ruin you.” And if you hesitate or shy away from the risk? Oh, that only makes him more determined to convince you, his voice dripping with lust as he adds, “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll make it worth it.”
– For Hal, risk isn’t just about breaking rules—it’s about making you feel alive, your heart racing as much from fear as from the way he’s fucking you senseless. Every gasp, every whimper, every desperate moan you let out only fuels his need to push further, harder, leaving you completely undone and breathless from both the pleasure and the adrenaline rush.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
– Hal Jordan’s stamina is, quite simply, superhuman. Whether it’s his time as a test pilot, his duties as a Green Lantern, or the sheer force of willpower that drives him, Hal has the energy and determination to keep going long after most would’ve given up. And in the bedroom? That same relentless spirit shines through, making him the kind of lover who doesn’t just satisfy you—he completely wrecks you.
– One round with Hal is never enough. He’s insatiable, his body still humming with adrenaline even after you’re left trembling and breathless beneath him. He’ll grin down at you, brushing the hair from your face as he murmurs, “Tired already? Come on, baby, I know you’ve got another in you. Let me see it.” And before you can protest, he’s moving again, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with the same intensity as before, determined to pull even more moans and cries from your lips.
– Hal doesn’t just rely on physical stamina, though—it’s his mental focus that makes him unstoppable. He thrives on the challenge of seeing how far he can push you, how many orgasms he can pull from your trembling body before you’re a shaking, incoherent mess. His cocky smirk only grows wider every time you beg him to stop, to give you just a moment to catch your breath, and he leans down to whisper, “Not until I’m done with you. And I’m nowhere near done.”
– Even after he’s come hard and fast, Hal’s recovery time is impressive. He barely needs a moment to regroup before he’s ready to go again, his hands already roaming your body as he growls, “I can’t get enough of you. You’re too good for me to stop now.” It’s that endless drive, that need to keep proving himself, that makes Hal unstoppable. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to leave you so thoroughly used and spent that you’ll still feel him the next day.
– And even after the physical part is over, Hal’s stamina carries into the aftercare. He’ll hold you close, his hands tracing lazy circles over your skin as he murmurs sweet, filthy praises in your ear, already planning how he’s going to take you again the moment you’re ready. For Hal Jordan, stamina isn’t just about lasting long—it’s about making sure you’re left completely and utterly satisfied, no matter how many rounds it takes.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
– Hal Jordan isn’t the kind of guy to keep a drawer full of toys—why would he, when he’s so confident in his ability to satisfy you all on his own? His ego practically demands it. “You don’t need anything extra when you’ve got me,” he’ll say with a smirk, his hand sliding down your body to emphasize his point. But despite his pride, Hal’s no prude when it comes to spicing things up, and if the opportunity to use a toy arises, he’s more than willing to give it a try—especially if it’s going to make you moan louder or come harder.
– The kicker? Hal’s cocky streak means he’d absolutely get a silicone toy molded after himself. Whether it’s a gag gift or something he genuinely thinks you’d enjoy, the thought of you using him even when he’s not there is enough to make his blood run hot. He’d hand it to you with that signature smirk and say something like, “I figured you might need this for the nights I’m saving the galaxy. Just make sure to tell me which one feels better—me or the toy.” And if you tease him about it later? Oh, that’s only going to push him to prove there’s no comparison.
– When it comes to using toys on you, Hal’s enthusiasm is unmatched. The moment he sees how much they turn you on, he’s hooked. His favorite? Vibrating toys that he can use to tease you mercilessly, watching as you squirm and gasp under his control. He’ll press it against your most sensitive spots, holding it there until your body arches off the bed, only to pull it away at the last second with a low chuckle. “What’s wrong, baby? You can’t handle it? Guess I’ll have to take over myself.” Hal’s skillful hands and mouth might leave the toy feeling like second-best, but the combination of the two? That’s a recipe for complete and utter destruction.
– And if you ever decide to surprise him by bringing a toy into the mix yourself? Hal won’t be able to hide how much it turns him on. He loves the thought of you taking control for a moment, guiding his hands or showing him exactly how you want to be touched. But don’t think for a second he’ll let you have the upper hand for long. Hal’s all about reclaiming control, using the toy to push you even further until you’re gasping his name and gripping his arms, completely at his mercy.
– At the end of the day, Hal doesn’t rely on toys—but he’s more than happy to use them if it means making you fall apart in ways you never thought possible. And let’s be honest: the smug satisfaction he gets from watching you come undone, whether it’s his hands or his molded toy, is more than enough to keep him experimenting.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
– Hal Jordan is the definition of unfair in the bedroom. Teasing you until you’re a whimpering, desperate mess is practically a sport to him, and trust him, he’s a champion. He thrives on making you beg, dragging things out until you’re trembling beneath him, clutching at his arms or shoulders and gasping, “Hal, please.” And even then? He doesn’t let up. Instead, he smirks down at you, his fingers trailing maddeningly close to where you need him most as he murmurs, “What’s that? I didn’t hear you. Say it louder, sweetheart.”
– Hal’s favorite game is edging—pushing you right to the brink before pulling back, over and over again, until you’re practically crying with frustration. His hands, his mouth, his Green Lantern ring—everything about him is designed to drive you insane. He’ll kiss and lick his way down your body, his lips brushing over sensitive spots but never quite giving you the pressure you need. “You’re so sensitive here,” he’ll muse, his voice low and smug as his fingers ghost over your thighs. “I bet I could make you come just from this. But I think I’ll wait. You look too good like this—needy and desperate for me.”
– He’s not just unfair with his teasing—his stamina and control make him downright cruel at times. Hal can hold himself back for what feels like an eternity, watching you squirm and arch beneath him as he keeps his thrusts slow and deliberate, just enough to make you moan but not enough to push you over the edge. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he’ll whisper, his lips brushing your ear. “Not yet, baby. I want to see you beg for it first.” And when you finally do? That’s when he snaps, pounding into you with all the intensity he’s been holding back, leaving you breathless and trembling as he grins and mutters, “See? Wasn’t that worth the wait?”
– And let’s not forget his playful side—Hal’s smug remarks only make the teasing worse. If you try to take control or rush him, he’ll pin your wrists above your head, his grin infuriatingly wide as he murmurs, “Oh, you thought you were in charge tonight? Cute. Let me remind you how this works.” He doesn’t just tease; he turns it into a performance, loving every second of your frustration and the way you eventually melt under his touch.
– For Hal, being unfair isn’t just about the power trip—it’s about making sure you fall apart completely, begging for release until he’s ready to give it to you. And when he finally does? You’ll be too wrecked to care how long it took—you’ll just know it was worth every second.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
– Hal Jordan is not the type to keep quiet during sex. Subtlety? That’s for someone else. Hal’s the kind of lover who wants you to know exactly how good you’re making him feel, and he’s not shy about letting it show. From the low, guttural groans that rumble deep in his chest to the sharp gasps and growls that escape when you squeeze around him just right, Hal’s sounds are as intense and raw as the way he takes you.
– When you’re going down on him, he’s especially vocal, his head tipping back as a strained, “Fuck, baby, just like that,” falls from his lips. If you hit a particularly sensitive spot, he won’t hold back a loud, desperate moan, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips buck uncontrollably. He’s not afraid to be loud, and honestly? He gets off on the idea that someone might hear him losing control because of you.
– But Hal’s not just about his own sounds—he lives for yours too. The louder you get, the more it fuels him, driving him to go harder, deeper, until your cries and moans fill the room. He’ll mutter filthy things in your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he growls, “Come on, sweetheart, let me hear you. I know you’ve got more in you.” And if you try to stifle your sounds? Hal will take it as a challenge, doing everything in his power to pull those desperate, uninhibited noises from you. “Don’t hold back,” he’ll command, his grin wicked as he thrusts into you harder. “I want the whole damn building to know who’s making you scream.”
– When Hal finally comes, it’s loud, unrestrained, and raw. His groans morph into a broken cry, his voice rough and hoarse as he gasps your name like a prayer. Even in the aftermath, his breaths are heavy and labored, interspersed with occasional murmurs of “You’re too fucking good, you know that?” as he pulls you close.
– For Hal, volume isn’t just an afterthought—it’s part of the experience, an auditory testament to the pleasure he’s giving and receiving. And trust him, whether it’s your sounds or his, he’s making damn sure you both leave the room with hoarse voices and no doubt in your mind about how good it was.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
– Wouldn’t it be funny if Hal had a secret kink for doing it in zero gravity. Like, the man’s job–outside his actual job, that is–literally involves him being in space majority of the time. Like…take him off-planet, and the man is in his element, turning the vastness of space into his personal playground. He discovered it the first time he created a floating green construct bed with his ring, pulling you into his arms and realizing how much fun it was to move without gravity’s constraints. Now, it’s one of his favorite things to do during his time away from Earth and if you’re able to come along with him.
– The lack of gravity only amplifies the intimacy—and the filth. With no weight to hold you down, Hal takes full advantage of being able to flip and reposition you however he pleases, all while murmuring dirty praises like, “Look at you, floating here like you were made for me. Bet no one else could fuck you like this.” His hands and body keep you perfectly balanced, one arm pulling you tight against him as he thrusts into you in deep, deliberate strokes that leave you breathless. And the way your smaller frame moves so effortlessly in his grasp? Oh, that’s just another power trip for him, and he loves every second of it.
– The best part for Hal, though, is how gravity—or the lack thereof—makes everything feel more intense. Every touch, every thrust sends you spiraling, your moans echoing in the silence of space as his cocky grin grows wider. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” he’ll growl, “No one’s around to hear you but me.” And when you finally come undone, your body trembling and weightless in his arms, he’ll hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmurs, “Told you space sex was the best. Ready for round two?”
– For Hal, the thrill of zero-gravity sex isn’t just about the novelty—it’s about taking something ordinary and turning it into something unforgettable, just like everything else he does. And trust him, once you’ve experienced it, you’ll never look at Earth sex the same way again.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
– When it comes to Hal Jordan’s cock, let’s just say it lives up to his cocky personality—impressive, commanding, and damn near unforgettable. Hal is absolutely a grower, though, which feels almost like an ego flex in itself. He might look average when soft, but the second things heat up? He’s packing more than enough to make your breath hitch. By the time he’s fully hard, he’s sitting at 7.5 to 8 inches in length, thick enough to leave you gasping as he stretches you wide with every thrust.
– His girth is substantial but not overwhelming, perfectly balanced to hit that sweet spot between pleasure and a delicious burn. He’s slightly thicker at the base, tapering just enough to make the first few inches feel like a challenge before he slides the rest of the way in, the stretch leaving you clawing at him and gasping, “Fuck, Hal, you’re so big.” And trust him, he lives for those words—there’s no greater turn-on for him than watching you struggle to take all of him, your body trembling as he pushes you to your limits.
– Hal’s cock has a very slight upward curve, enough to hit all the right spots with devastating precision. He knows how to angle his hips just right, making sure that every stroke leaves you moaning his name. The head is prominent and slightly flared, giving you an extra stretch as he slides in and out, the sensation almost too much to handle. He’s circumcised, the skin smooth and warm under your touch, and you’ll notice the faint veins running along the shaft, adding just enough texture to make every thrust feel even better. And trust him, he knows exactly how to use it. Every thrust is calculated, designed to leave you trembling and clinging to him for more. “You like how deep I’m hitting you?” he’ll growl, his cocky smirk widening as he drives deeper. “Told you I’d ruin you.”
– He’s circumcised, with a flared head that’s perfectly shaped for dragging along your most sensitive spots, leaving you shuddering with every stroke. The veins running along his shaft aren’t overly pronounced but enough to add texture that sends sparks through your body when he slides into you. The skin is smooth, warm, and a natural, slightly darker shade than the rest of his body, adding to the raw, rugged appeal of him.
– Hal takes pride in how clean and well-kept he is, always making sure he’s trimmed and ready for action. His scent is faintly musky but not overpowering—just enough to drive you wild when he’s got you pressed close, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock sliding in and out of you with an almost unbearable rhythm. And when he’s fully hard, the weight and heat of him in your hands or against your body is enough to make your mouth water.
– For Hal, his cock isn’t just a part of him—it’s a weapon, and he wields it with the same confidence and skill as he does his constructs. He knows exactly what he’s packing, and he’s damn proud of it, using it to make sure you’re screaming his name long before he’s finished with you. And trust him—once you’ve had Hal, nothing else will ever compare.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
– Hal Jordan’s yearning is nothing short of all-consuming. When he wants you, he doesn’t just feel it—he’s overtaken by it, his every thought consumed by the need to have you, touch you, and claim you as his. It starts with a slow burn, a lingering glance that turns into an unrelenting hunger. Once that fire is lit, Hal doesn’t hold back, his need for you dripping from every word, every touch, and every shameless groan as he pulls you closer.
– Hal is the type to obsess over every detail of you when he’s caught in his longing. The way your body feels pressed against his, the sound of your breath hitching as his lips trail down your neck, the way your smaller frame fits perfectly beneath his. The sight of you—clothed, half-dressed, or completely bare—is enough to send his mind spiraling, his cock already straining against his pants as he mutters, “You have no idea what you do to me.”
– His yearning can be subtle at first—lingering touches, his thumb brushing over your wrist, or the way his hands grip your hips just a little too firmly. But when it boils over, Hal becomes utterly insatiable. He’ll pin you against the nearest surface, his lips crashing into yours as his voice drops to a desperate growl: “I need you. Right now.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it, his grip firm yet reverent, as though touching you is both a privilege and a necessity.
– Hal’s yearning isn’t just physical—it’s deeply emotional. Beneath the cocky smirks and teasing words lies a man who craves connection, who wants to feel you shatter under his touch and know that he’s the reason. He lives for the way you cry out his name, for the way your body responds to him so perfectly, as though you were made just for him. And when you whisper his name in that breathless, needy tone? It drives him to the brink, making his yearning shift into something primal and raw. “Say it again,” he’ll growl, his lips brushing your ear as he grinds into you. “Tell me you need me as much as I need you.”
– For Hal, yearning is more than just desire—it’s a burning ache that only you can quench. And when he finally has you? He pours every ounce of that longing into the way he touches you, moves inside you, and whispers filthy praises into your ear. Because for Hal Jordan, nothing is more satisfying than turning his yearning into your undoing.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
– After an intense session, Hal Jordan is the type to pull you close, his broad chest pressed against your back as his arm drapes possessively around your waist. He’s not the quickest to fall asleep—his mind tends to wander, replaying every sound and reaction he pulled from you like a highlight reel. But once exhaustion catches up with him, he’s out cold, his breathing steady and his grip on you firm, as if even in sleep, he refuses to let you go. And if you’re still awake, don’t be surprised if he murmurs something smug in a half-asleep haze, like, “Told you I’d wear you out,” before pulling you even closer and drifting off completely.
No because, I would do EVERYTHING for Hal Jordan. I'm a down-bad, obsessive, possessive FREAK for Hal.
I love him more than anyone else could ever know.
Like.. Hal motherfucking Jordan, I'm so in shock how despite him being one of the most popular green lanterns— I barely see people whose favorite lantern is.. him.
I already told you I'm a freak, so I'll rant. I'm passionate about Hal, he's one of my favorites, and I absolutely cannot let the people who check my account NOT know how much I love him.
He has so many feats and achievements it's genuinely crazy. But not just feats, but moments that make him feel so goddamn human.
Hal Jordan, who went against the guardian's orders just to stop corruption in the world alongside Green Arrow. Hal Jordan, the middle child of his family who just wanted his father to be proud of him for once. Hal Jordan, who stands for justice and won't hesitate to speak his mind when something is wrong. Hal Jordan, the type of person to do something as long as he believes it's right, and will do it alone if he has to.
Look I mean, everyone loves Green Lantern, but not a lot know about Hal Jordan. Ouch, that's corny to say but I just want to get it out there.
Hal is pure will incarnate, he'd rather get thrown out than quit, he's reckless, stubborn, he'll keep going no matter what.
Hal is just that one man you can count on no matter what because he's crazy! (Blew himself in like a supernova way to destroy WarWorld) he's fearless because he's too stupid to see the danger, he's an idiot, but he's so incredibly brave to still continue with that stupid fearlessness just to do the right thing.
He's cocky, rightfully so. The ring has a safety feature, hell a RULE that PREVENTS the user from harming themselves. But Hal Jordan? He has so much fucking willpower, he gets past that rule to prove a damn point. You can do anything, as long as you have the will to do it.
He's confident, he even says, "And let's face it, who has more of that than me?" While referring to willpower. He knows what he's capable of and damn right he should know it!
A lot call him boring but he's so interesting, cause who else would charge straight into battle without thinking about the consequences and focused on just doing instead?
He's an act first, think later and that's so much more refreshing than the mass-produced characters who value thinking first over acting. Thinking first is no bad thing, but I need more recklessness in my life.
I need someone who rushes straight into battle, expecting to win, and actually winning. That someone, is Hal Jordan.
Gods, this is just the tip of the iceberg, I'd rant so much more but at that point I wouldn't be a freak anymore but a delusional nerd.
And that's also why I'm a fanfiction writer, who writes X Readers. Face it, why the hell would I want MY MAN to be in love with someone else?
Everyone should toughen up their game, I read X readers because I love Hal too fucking much it physically makes me yell every time he's shipped with someone else.
I'm not bloody embarrassed of stating this, hell, I'm proud of it. #xreadersforlife.
A DC X Reader Isekai (But the reader doesn't know what world they're in)
Summary: You have a job that allows you to get commissioned in any city by anyone. During your job, you meet Barry Allen— the forensic scientist— for the seventh time already, and a man from Smallville still learning how to be human.
Tags: Fluff, Barry Allen overworks himself, awkwardness, wrote this instead of sleeping, pre-canon, eventual romance, slowburn, Clark Kent is an idiot, teasing, tension.
Wc: 3k+ words.
When you were born, things looked out to be different for you than for most average people.
For one, you had memories of a past life. That alone granted you the ability to surpass the other children.
You had the skills to understand mathematical equations, most didn't; the reading comprehension and speech mannerisms of a fully grown adult, the emotional intelligence of a therapist, and more.
Everyone's compliments kept pouring out saying, you had so much potential. Hell, why wouldn't you? In your past life, you were so desperate to make a living, you picked up every job you could.
As a result, you were seen as a "gifted child," a title you believed was extraordinary for a year straight.
Until you made a mistake, and everyone stepped back.
That day, whispers caught your ears. "I thought they were intelligent?" your classmate giggled— you minded your business, putting your books back into the locker— "If even (Name) makes mistakes, doesn't that mean I can be better than them in the future?"
You slammed the locker. A flaming inferno sparking in your heart, was that all they saw you as? A mindless machine that couldn't make mistakes?
A single mistake was all it was, but apparently, your entire class focused on your failure instead of your achievements.
They were waiting for you to break, so they could take your place.
After that day, countless expectations burdened your shoulders. Each disregarding what you wanted, so you gave up.
What point was there in presenting a piece of paper with a high score, if all it did was make them see you more as non-human?
The phone rang, its vibrations shaking the entire bedside table. The light peeking through the slit of the curtains lit up half the room.
Groaning, you grabbed your phone, pulling it under your blanket as you answered the call.
"This is (Name), what can I do to help?" You murmur, turning to the other side of your bed, eyes still closed as if a heavy weight was draped on it.
"Good morning (Name), a new commission came in for you. Somewhere in Central City. I'll send you the details of it through a message."
You groaned, "What's the job about?" lifting the blanket from your body, "And how much is the pay?" You held the phone against your ear.
"A forensic scientist is willing to pay $200 as long as you get him ingredients from Metropolis and deliver them to the lab."
You stood up, "Anything else worth mentioning?" Opening the door to the bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush. "Or ish' that all?"
"Should be all." The person on the other line hung up.
You looked like a mess even after an hour later of preparing. Getting a ping from your phone, the details were finally sent.
Grabbing your biking attire and hanging the phone on the mount, you revved up the engine and read along the way.
Shit ton of tools rather than ingredients, moving your eyes back on the road, you noted they weren't the hardest to find, just a matter of whether they were in stock or not.
The address was from the same lab you visited six times in the past month. At that point, you were all but acquainted with the one who keeps sending you on these crazy trips.
Wasn't a lab supposed to have their own supplier? Why did they need someone like you?
By the time you arrived, that question still hadn't been answered. It had been 3 hours already, consisting of finding the tools and ingredients, then driving safely to the roads filled with traffic in Central City.
Box of fragile tools being carried with a single arm, you knocked on the door labeled "Lab," and received silence instead.
You knocked again, waiting for a few seconds before sighing.
"Allen, if you don't open this door, I'm gonna drop the entire box on the floor."
You heard clutter on the inside, a single person's footsteps echoing throughout the empty lab, doing everything but opening the door.
"Barry Allen," you call out his name again, or rather the name he made you call him by.
The door finally opens, a man in a lab coat leaning against the doorway, a few stray hairs poking out of his luscious locks of blond hair.
"(Name), sorry for taking a while. I was identifying and comparing some evidence on the microscope. It's from one of the cases I took up about the crime on 57th street—" His rambling gets shut down with a stare.
You intercept his ramble, "Allen, you do know that you wrote down that you needed a new lens?"
He looks to the side, groaning. "I just wanted to seem like I was doing something. It's boring in here, I'm the only one on duty today."
Entering the lab, you put down the box on his desk to transfer everything.
"It's not like you have much coworkers to help you anyway," you murmur.
Barry scoffs, "Rude, and also, I hate that you're right." He runs a hand through his hair.
"But I can't help it (Name), the lab just calls to me and I feel restless if I don't do my job and help out in solving cases, I can't just sit around and do something like..."
You raise a brow, "Like?" and he doesn't respond. Emptying the box, you put a hand on his shoulder, "Barry, when did you last sleep?"
He blinks, "I'm not sure," he pauses when he receives your stare, "A week ago, I think."
Closing your eyes, you scoff, "Explains why you're so jittery today, running on coffee, are you, Allen?" You make him sit down, "Just keep talking until you fall asleep."
Barry's eyes widen, "I can't. Fall asleep, I mean. I'm literally on duty, I can't risk another day to work on the case when it should be solved immediately." he watches your movements as you work on installing the new objective lens.
"And this immediately of yours, is it labeled a case to be solved at once, or is it just your workaholic tendency acting up again?"
He tries remembering if the case said anything about a tight deadline. Hell, the last time they had a tight deadline was four months ago. It was worth mentioning that Central City was relatively safe compared to Gotham.
The only crimes were probably burglary. A murder case was once in a blue moon. On the positive side, at least, cases of theft were still part of his job.
"Just take a day off, Allen," You interrupt his thoughts, checking the board as you saw barely any cases stuck onto it; except for the one where they had to find who stole some random woman's dog.
"(Name), look, I appreciate you checking up on how I'm doing," he starts, furrowing his brows, "But my job is my job, I don't know when I'm needed on the field, I have to stay on duty even if it's useless cases like.. that," he sighs in defeat, staring at the case on the board.
You put a hand on his head, making him face down, both of you going silent. "I don't know you that much, but you already know my number and that's enough," ruffling his hair, you walk to the exit.
"Give me a call when you need help," walking out of the room. You scratch the back of your neck, wondering if you overstepped and ended up crossing his boundaries.
It was in the afternoon when you got a call, your phone ringing in your pocket on the way home.
"You know how it goes. Kansas, Smallville, $50."
The message containing the details was sent to you instantly, instead of an hour's wait like before.
Revving up the engine, you put on your helmet and used the GPS on your phone. Smallville was a familiar place, a few occasional visits, but nothing big.
Someone's breaker sparked and shut down all the power in their house. Why did they call you? Probably a reason you don't care about.
If money were provided, you'd do all the jobs they assigned you to do.
You lost track of your thoughts when you saw the sign for Smallville, looking into the distance and seeing the small town.
It was different from the busy roads of Central City and the looming buildings of Metropolis. Gotham shouldn't even be mentioned.
Parking your motorcycle in front of the location, you checked out the main breaker that was placed outside.
"I haven't seen you around," a man's voice came from your left. Deep, though not intimidating, the voice had rumbles but had a soothing tone, kind.
"Good, because it'd be weird if you saw me here," you continued to work on the breaker, realizing the problem.
"I'd just like to ask, what exactly are you doing with Mr. Albarac's breaker?" He asked, letting himself into the backyard, judging by the way you heard a fence open and the noise of footsteps on grass.
"He paid me. What's your business doing in his backyard?" You asked back, still not looking back at him.
"I'm simply worried if someone's committing a crime in a good man's backyard," he bit back, voice directly behind you.
"Well, I'm not, so you should go."
The breaker hisses. Just how damaged were the wires to get into this state? The crackling gets louder, and you reel back, grabbing the man's collar to pull him back with you, until he does something you didn't expect.
"Get back," he says rather calmly for a person who's about to experience an arc flash.
He turns you around, encaging you in his arms as the breaker completely explodes with a burst of light and heat, flames following soon after.
You feel the man turn his head, his other hand raising to touch the breaker as your eyes widen, "Don't! That shit can reach up to 35,000—" you stumble on your words when you see him expel the fire with just a flick of his hand.
"..Fahrenheit," you push him off of you, checking the breaker, it was completely wrecked, that was for sure.
You must've made a mistake during the process, but then again, you remember the wires looking weird. They must've corroded, then when you touched it, and made an error of thinking it was just a regular fix, it exploded.
Maybe you shouldn't take up electricity-related jobs next time, you weren't that experienced in that area anyway.
Right. The man.
"How the hell did you do that?" You asked, looking towards him, finally seeing what he looked like.
He was attractive to say the least, with clean, sleek black hair and a singular, small curl. Blue eyes that were the color of the skies, and a body that was meant for functionality rather than traditional strength.
"Keep it a secret for me, please," he says, staring into your eyes. It's a bit unnerving how he pleads, yet his facial expressions don't match.
"Only if you answer my question," you ask, eyes narrowing, "Are you from... another planet? Or universe, whatever floats your boat."
He tenses up, "Indeed, I am. How exactly did you come to that conclusion?" He raises a hand to his chin, "Was I that obvious?"
You blink, "No. You weren't. Just a hunch," you run a hand through your hair as you realize you have a bigger problem than whatever this guy was.
The money.
"My name's Clark Kent, and you are?" He asks, patiently waiting for a response.
"I'm.. someone. Just call me (Name), not like there's much else to call me."
You look at your hands, cursing in your head, this mistake would probably cause you to lose a bit of your reputation.
The owner comes outside, Mr.. what was his name again? You didn't care much to read it, or listen to what Clark said about the house owner's name.
"I heard an explosion. Oh my, Clark, is that you, my boy?" The owner asked, you looked in his direction and saw an old man who had a walking stick, smiling.
Clark smiled back, "Good morning, Mr. Albarac, I saw that you had someone work on your breaker and asked who they were. Unfortunately, they got distracted by me and I led them to make a mistake," he shook his head, "I apologize for that."
You furrowed your brows, taking the blame? Seriously? Just who was this man? You sighed, crossing your arms.
"For a case like this, you should've called an electrician.. Sir. The job detail came with nothing else but a quick fix until I realized last second your wires were corroded, and exploded when I made contact with an energized part."
The old man stares, Clark blinks, and you run a hand over your face. "Your wires rusted, and when I touched an area full of energy, it exploded."
The house owner nods, "I see. That's on me, then. I didn't realize that breakers were so complicated. Here, I'll give you more money for this old man's mistake."
Clark glares, you take a glance at him and shrug. Then, it was as if he was sizing you up, completely assuming you were taking advantage of the man.
Scratching your neck, you sighed in loss, "No need, Sir. Just give me the original price, and I'll call an electrician to sort out the breaker for you."
The old man shakes his head, "No, no, if you won't take money. Won't you give this old man a favor and come in? I'd like to treat you to lunch, you too, Clark."
This time, both Clark and you are in sync, eyes widening at the same time as you shook your head no.
"Well, I'd be delighted to, but—" you get cut off by Clark, who grabs your hand and says, "We'd love that."
You glare at him, he smiles back, eyes talking a language you didn't know how you could even understand in the first place.
Let him, he's asking for a favor after all.
You bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows before clicking your tongue, "Yes.. we'd be absolutely happy to eat... lunch with you, Sir."
The man goes in, expecting you two to follow him into his house.
You take the time to slap Clark's hand away, "We're not close, nor are you someone who can control my decisions," looking away, you follow the old man.
Clark hesitates before walking in beside you, "I apologize. However, I must ask, is it not... wrong to refuse a favor? Especially from elders, they are the ones to be respected."
You put a hand on your hip, pausing, "That's your view of the world. No one shares the same view as you. While you're all sunshine and kindness rules the world... the rest function on whatever fucked up sense of morality they have."
His mouth drops a bit, nose scrunching up, and you're a tad bit guilty.
"You look like a kicked puppy." You walk towards him, pulling him in by his chin. Eyes facing towards yours, "You can live your happy-go-life, I'm fine with that. Just don't fucking speak for me, I'm not someone you can order around and expect me to follow." You detach from him, walking into the dining room.
Clark jogs to keep up with you, "I apologize, again.. I didn't realize I wronged you. I just haven't spoken to anyone in a while except for my 'Ma and my 'Pa and.. well, the entire neighborhood." He realizes his mistake and clears his throat, "I just haven't talked to a city folk like you," he reasons out, genuinely thinking about it.
"We're all familiar with each other here, so I forgot what it felt like to have someone new."
He sits down across from you, sitting straight as he puts his hands on his lap, waiting patiently for your response, again.
"I told you, I'm fine with... whatever viewpoint you have of the world. I just have hatred for people who try to command me, as if I'm a machine they..." you shake your head, "You won't be getting more from me."
The old man interrupts your conversation, "Now, I don't know what you like, but I sure hope you like this apple pie I baked. My boy, Clark likes it, and I wish you do too."
Your anger simmers a bit, taking a knife to slice it up and transferring it to your plate. The moment the taste of it exploded on your tongue, the irritation you had disappeared, sighing in relief.
"It's very good, Sir. You have nothing to worry about," you murmur, continuing to eat more, "It's delicious."
Clark continues to stare at you, even despite him eating. His eyes were still locked onto you as if you were the one from outer space and not him.
But then again, between you and him. He was from another planet, you might've as well been from another universe. So maybe that stare of his wasn't exactly wrong.
The old man lets you pack leftovers, not making you leave without a second apple pie. It's only when you're at the front door that you realize Clark is still following you from behind.
"What is your problem?" You hiss, making him pause.
He fidgets, playing with his hands, it's almost stupid. He was an utter dork in a hot body.
"I'd like to talk to you more. If that's alright."
You tense, taking a breath in as you pinch your nose. The man was probably still unfamiliar with everything since he lived in a small town, and you were being an asshole to him for no reason.
Well, a reason but that wasn't his fault for activating one of your... bad experiences.
You hand him a phone number, closing his hand into a fist, "Don't lose it, because I don't expect to come back here. If you really wanna talk, just call me."
Turning around, you left him behind as you grabbed your helmet and turned on your motorcycle.
You hear him say something before you rev the engine. "Are you still mad?"
Laughing, you raise your visor and say, "I'll only be mad if you ask that one more time." You smirk and put down your visor.
"I'll talk to you on the phone, Kent."
You drive off, noticing the time. Hell, it had been such a long day, you couldn't even grab a drink at that one bar you visited frequently.
The drive was pretty long, and you were exhausted. You talked to three people, and the interactions alone made you question your decisions.
Looking into the night, you took a breath in and exhaled.
You'd talk to Constantine all about this day, tomorrow.
Right now, you just need to get the fuck back home.
Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
(Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)
5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.
Katican.
Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.
When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.
Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.
But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.
You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.
When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.
“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”
“You speak Avgin,” you argue.
“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”
“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”
Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.
You understand him well enough to know that.
“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”
You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.
“I’ll teach you my language as well?”
“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.
You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”
Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.
“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.
“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.
He hums. “Just one?”
“One per day.”
“Three.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Well, I am a businessman.”
You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.
“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”
“Deal.”
Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.
It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.
Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.
He regrets it almost immediately.
When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.
“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.
“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”
Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?
But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.
There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.
There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.
Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.
Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.
Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.
But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.
When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.
“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.
You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”
“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”
You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”
You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”
“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”
After all, he is the only Avgin left.
It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.
But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.
“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”
Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.
Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.
But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 0
STATUS: Extinct
END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE
The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.
He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.
So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.
“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.
“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.
“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”
“You've just reminded me how.”
“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.
“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.
“No, that's so boring.”
“Then let's do your language.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.
“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.
“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”
“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”
You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.
“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”
You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”
And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.
And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.
But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 2
STATUS: Endangered.
SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE
NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.
He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—
As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.
His throat locks up.
“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”
He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.
“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”
“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”
He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”
“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”
Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.
“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.
It's a feeling he has to kill.
“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”
This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.
The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.
If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?
“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”
You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.
Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.
You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.
But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.
(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.
It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.
But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.
Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.
His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.
Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.
In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.
Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.
In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.
And he has you. Finally, he has you.
He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)
.
.
.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.
So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.
The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.
This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.
It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.
Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.
I have another idea, silly silly idea about sahsrau.
The Aeon of Truth!Reader, but the Aeon never truly tells the truth. Strange, right? How can that be possible? Simple, all the words they say become the truth, if the Aeon told you that sharks were four legged creatures, you'd never believe it because that wasn't true.
But! Boom! They're right, and the next time you see sharks they walk on four legs.
Imagine this, on a reader who doesn't care about power or is just a huge Bimbo/Himbo!
Like, they could have all the power in the world, but they choose to be dumb about it.
The truth here works like reality manipulation, as long as the Aeon says something, it will always, and be officially the truth, because the universe bends itself to the Aeon's power to make their words a reality.
Imagine, this Aeon interacting with the characters.
"The beauty, Idrila, is the most peerless beauty of them all!" We all know Argenti says that, but what if the Aeon says that?
It doesn't matter that a random stranger liked dolphins more than sharks ten seconds ago, now they like sharks more than dolphins because of the Aeon's words.
They'd always win in an argument too!
Greatest line ever for people who simp for hsr characters, "I'm married to [Character]"
The idea is incredibly silly because you could do so much with this! But this can only work on one-shots or something, like comedy scripts?.. Basically, I doubt this can turn into an actual story 😭
♡̵♥︎♡̵̵"All you wanna do...is see me turn into...a giant woman!" ♡̵♥︎♡̵̵
This is gonna be my first ever fanfic and its for hsr😭😭
Its probably gonna be ass but I need to get this out of my head actually.
No use of y/n. reader is called "You"
Only like 2 characters r mentioned by name you'll understand that later
I know little to nothing abt hsr so alot of this might just be brain worms.
Idea credit to @eternityofend they r so silly for this idea go follow them plz
You were a unique Aeon, however, thoroughly confusing all who had studied you. You weren't callous and cruel like other Aeons, in fact You took a great pride in putting your all into caring for your followers and all around you. You were utterly perfect in their eyes.
Which Is why they were so confused when it came up to researching you. Your kindness and passion towards all you deemed good was well documented but one thing was not. Your appearance. You seemed to only appear to your followers in dream-like states. To your dear acolytes, You were a complete mystery, those few who did happen to see you only recalling how utterly loved they felt. They could only vaguely describe what they believed was You with statments varying each time.
It stayed that way for a long time as the seasons passed and sightings of You dwindled. Everything seemed so bleak without You, the greenery seemed to dull, the once colorful skies seemed to darken, and it could be felt by everyone.
Especially those blessed by you, most importantly, the Trailblazer. The Trailblazer always had a unique connection to You, often hearing your velvety voice for fleeting moments or seeing visions of You in dreams.
They had grown accustomed to your presence, even if you weren't physically there. When they had come to the realization that you were pulling away from your loyal, devoted acolytes they didn't take it well.
What had they done to forsake you? Why were You abandoning your Trailblazer?!?
They had moped around for weeks, delivering offerings to your shrines spread about the planets You had forged by hand out of love for your creations.
Without your guidance they began to spiral. Getting a little too rough with enemies, not tending to their own injuries after battles, often staring off into space, they were losing it. They needed you.
It wasn't until they had finally reached their breaking point until they heard it. A giggle, that laugh that would make all their worries wash away. Their breath hitched in desperation before they the thought of you out of their mind. You couldn't be back could you?
Then they heard it again. They didn't know why but they started running. It was if their body knew where to go but their mind didn't. They didn't know why they were running, You had never appeared in physical form yet.
They ran in the direction of your voice before hastily stumbling upon You. My were You a sight for sore eyes. The Trailblazer paused as they took in every inch of You, committing every last bit of you to memory, just incase this really was psychosis. You were sat in what seemed to be some large plains as your acolytes swarmed You like small bees.
You let out a chuckle at how adorable they all looked and how much they had grown since you last saw them. They were still so small and so needy but you loved every bit of them. Your acolytes peppered You with questions, praise, and presents as You gretted them all.
Sometimes you'd even let them crawl into the palm of your hand so you could get a better look at them. The person in question currently receiving this treatment being none other than March 7th. As she stared at You with star-struck eyes You couldn't help but giggle.
You continued to play with your acolytes before seeing the Trailblazer. You beckon them over with a smile, one the Trailblazer hadnt seen in months now.
As they approached You gently set March down, as to not hurt her before turning to the Trailblazer. Sensing how tense they were You brush a gentle finger through their hair as if anything harsher could crush them. As you pet their hair they seem to melt into your touch, making you laugh at their content smile.
You weren't expecting this. You expected your acolytes to be intimidated, scared even. You were white large and you could decimate them in seconds. That didn't seem to phase them as they chattered amongst themselves about larger temples and bigger offerings.
They just had to find a fitting celebration for your return, lest you take their hesitation as ungratefulness and devoid them of your presence again.
The trailblazer seemed to be keeping you company as the others made preparations for a mighty celebration in your name. As you patted their head their breaths were shaky as they professed their unbreakable loyalty to You.
It spooked you a bit. You didn't know your dear trailblazer could be so passionate, as You had only really been around them when they needed truly needed support or answers.
You didn't stop them however, You believed they needed to get this off their chest to sooth themselves.
You turn your gaze away from the Trailblazer for a moment, still allowing them to nuzzle into your fingers as long as they avoided your sharp nails. Now that you had a physical form you should probably file them down. You didn't want to harm your acolytes did you?
Your gaze falls upon the small crowd starting to form as they stare up at You. You flash them a charming smile, melting their hearts and making their minds feel fuzzy as you do.
That doesn't stop them from glaring daggers at the Trailblazer however. Just what was so special about them that your other acolytes couldn't do?
Their little angry faces were adorable to You. You just couldn't stop yourself from 'Aww'-ing at them!
Their heart skips a beat as hear it. Did you belive they were..cute? they feel all of those sleepless nights filled with extensive research on your disappearance was worth it. You swear You heard someone in the crowd offer You their newborn.
'This will be eventful.' You think to yourself as cou continue tending to your acolytes. Your heart swelling with unbridled joy.
UH YEAH.
My first fanfic done yippiee yippiee
Can you tell i haven't got past the tutorial of hsr because my phone is ass or naw be honest☹☹☹
Might put out a part 2 if the brain worms become too much idk
Also please tell me if I did anything wrong or something is misspelled or misused just dont throw pebbles at me for it thx!!!
YALL I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS EARLIER IM GONNA RIP MY FACE OFF AUGHHG.
Thinking about how if HSR had an Aeon of Unity/Creation, which would be the reader-- they'd just be GIGANTIC.
Like?? I just love it, sure they can change forms but they choose to be large. Imagine having a normal sized Trailblazer, and then a fucking 100ft tall Aeon who created the ENTIRE universe behind them, giggling like a little child as they just poke Trailblazer's cheek with their large ass finger.
And the Trailblazer we all know and love, they don't even budge, they're just enjoying the pokes while someone sane probably watches the interaction, let's say Dr. Ratio right, he's just watching and he's like "Wtf.. how is this possible?"
Like, ever played Roblox VR? There are these tiny and real humans and then YOU, big person who play with them like toys.
Imagine Aeon!Reader who accidentally squished a bug once and now you're crying because you're either disgusted, feel sorry for the bug, or you're scared of bugs, it's gotta be one of those options, unless you're an ass who did it on purpose 😭
Writers! Whoever is out there! Listen to me!! Big Aeon of Unity!Reader x SAHSRAU/SAHAU!HSR, It's a cute concept I promise 🥰
Pairing: Wally West x f! reader (reader has a pussy + uses female pronouns)
Genre: smut/NSFW
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: as a speedster, your boyfriend has near unlimited stamina. unfortunately for you, your stamina is very much finite
CW: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies, unprotected sex (be smart), mentions of oral (f! receiving), lots of praise, mating press, Wally is an absolute madman
hi I wrote this in 45 minutes after waiting in line for 10minutes at 7/11 for hot chocolate because the guy in front of my didn’t know how to use Apple Pay. anyway I am absolutely here for Wally accidentally overstimulating you because he just has so much energy
Kinktober Masterlist
The best thing about having a speedster for a boyfriend? He has nearly unmatched stamina. The worst thing about having a speedster for a boyfriend? He has nearly unmatched stamina.
Wally looks up at you with a smirk, green eyes glinting with mischief. His lips, along with the entire lower half of his face, are coated in your slick. Your juices drip down his chin and roll down his muscled chest.
“Cumming already?” He teases, “we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.”
Your boyfriend barely seems phased by the fifteen minutes he just spent between your legs, but that’s not out of the ordinary. Most days, Wally could spend hours eating you out if you’d let him.
You roll your eyes, legs trembling as you attempt to close them around his shoulders. “You’re just too good, Walls.”
“Hey, I didn’t say we were done yet.” Wally pulls your legs apart, an ankle thrown over each shoulder.
He tugs down his boxers, letting his cock spring free. As usual, he’s eagerly dripping precum. Wally keeps his eyes on yours as he rubs his cock between your lips, letting the mixture of your juices and his spit act as lube. He lines his tip up with your entrance and lets it slip inside.
He almost whimpers as he bottoms out, the sheer heat and tightness of your pussy overwhelming for him. No matter how many times he’s been in this position, no matter how many times he’s fucked you, it always amazes him how well you take him. How well your pussy just molds to his cock.
“God,” he groans, cock filling you completely, “you take me so well.”
You’re practically folded in half with your legs over his shoulders and his body leaning over yours. He’s so deep inside of you that you feel him with every breath.
Wally starts moving, taking up that familiar fast pace you’re so used to. He bottoms out with every thrust, pulling out just as you register how the head of his cock hits that spot inside of you. You reach out desperately, gripping at his hair to give yourself a sense of control as he drills your poor pussy.
He presses a hand down on your stomach, his other arm keeping him propped up. His muscles flex with every thrust, abs clenching and biceps bending. His green eyes have darkened, that familiar shade of jade being drowned out by his desire.
He slows down, opting for harder and deeper thrusts that have the headboard slamming against the wall each time. Your body moves with the bed, his cock bullying into your walls. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the waves of pleasure roll over you. You cum at the same time as Wally, his hips stuttering as he tries to bury himself as deep as possible within your walls.
You desperately grip at his forearms, nails digging into the soft skin. Wally whines as he cums, painting your walls white in thick, long bursts.
He smiles down at you, attempting to catch his breath. “Still hanging in there?”
You nod, though your pussy is starting to tingle from all the pleasure it's received and that dull pressure has filled your stomach.
“Good,” he kisses you and starts to move again, his cock still painfully hard. “Cause I’m not done either.”
Wally’s stamina hasn’t seemed to take a hit as he resumes his earlier pace, slamming his hips into yours almost hard enough to bruise. His cock is still sensitive from cumming, but your walls clenching around him feels so good that he never wants to stop. He has his eyes closed as he fucks into you, focused only on trying to get himself as deep inside of you as possible.
You keep your fingers wrapped around his biceps and let yourself get lost in the overwhelming pleasure. It’s not unusual for Wally to want to go multiple rounds, overstimulating both of you in the process. Still, you never quite get used to the extreme highs he gives you in the heat of the moment.
Wally’s pace increases, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He’s brutal in his speed, sweat beading down his temples as he pushes you even further. The bed shakes and you can barely catch your breath.
You look up at him desperately, pleading at him with your eyes. Wally looks down at you and you can see that he’s somewhere else, focused only on the heat of your puffy pussy.
You tighten your grip on him in an attempt to ground him, opening your mouth to speak. No words come out, though, drowned out by your pathetic whines as another orgasm rolls over you. It’s so intense that your senses fade away from you, the lewd sounds of Wally fucking you drifting somewhere far away.
Wally cums a minute after you, bringing you back to your senses when you feel his hot cum filling you up once more. He lets himself collapse on you, keeping his cock still inside of you.
He rubs a hand across your cheek, “still with me?”
You nod weakly, your head spinning with the aftershocks of your last orgasm. The black spots that filled your vision still haven’t gone away.
Wally grabs your hands, pushing them further into the bed and using them as leverage as he starts to fuck you once more. You shiver with every movement, the pleasure almost painful at this point.
Wally kisses your forehead. “Give me one more, okay? Just one more.”
He’s much lazier this time, much more gentle. He keeps a steady pace, trying to give you time to recover while also chasing his own high. Any sensitivity he’s feeling is drowned out by how fucking good you feel around him, how fucking pretty you look when you’re all fucked out like this.
He holds your hands the whole time, whispering praises into your ear with every thrust. “My good girl,” he mumbles, “‘m almost done.”
You squeeze his hands almost painfully tight, blinking back the tears that form in your eyes. It feels so good, but it’s too much. Too hot, too wet, too much pressure. Wally is your only grip on reality, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to the exhaustion that hangs over you.
His hips stutter and he buries himself deep inside of you as he finishes. The heat of his cum fills you and though it feels good, it overwhelms you. You whimper while he pumps his cum inside of you, letting the tears start to roll down your cheeks.
Wally wipes them away, kissing your wet cheeks. “Did so good for me,” he slurs, “so fucking good.”
He doesn’t pull out, still lazily moving inside of you. He kisses all around your face, petting your sweaty hair out of your eyes. Your pussy aches, twitching around him tiredly, as if begging for a break. Wally looks at you with hearts in his eyes. You look so cute and used up, he swears he’ll melt.
He finally pulls out, letting his cum run out of you and coat your thighs and bedsheets. “Let’s give your pussy a break, hm?”
“Yes, please,” you mumble out, finally succumbing to your exhaustion.
PAIRING: Francis Mosses x Female!Reader ( Slight Doppelganger!Francis Mosses x Reader. )
Requested: Can I request something for Francis, the Milkman? Like the scenario is: Y'all be talking then, they do it under the desk while the reader is working?
MDNI +18, NSFW.
You scroll through your phone, time ticking with each passing second as you get even more bored. Your job as a doorman was nice however the hours needed to work were plenty enough of time for you to wish you had never taken up such a job in the first place.
You hear a tap on the window as you see Francis in front of you, holding a carton of milk in his hands, his movements were sluggish and his eye bags were darker than when you last saw him.
You ignored the concern building in you and tried to find your wallet to pay for the milk you ordered from Francis, keyword: tried. You frantically searched your pockets and the drawers but there was no sign of a leather wallet in all of the places you searched.
Francis stares at you with a blank expression, completely minding his own business as he didn't question the amount of time it took for you to find your wallet.
"Hey.. can I pay you up in a different way?"
Francis raises his eyebrows, skeptical about your request but nods his head; far too kept up with how much time this delivery was taking. He wasn't used to social interaction anyway, he just wanted to get out.
You motion for him to come into your office, opening the gate for him and closing it once he went through.
A few minutes later, Francis knocks on your door and you let him in, he's still holding onto the carton of milk which you help him put on your desk.
"Mmmm.. so what's this different method of payment are you talking about?.." Francis mutters, his voice husky with the tiredness he felt from his job, tone as curious as ever.
You walk up to him, putting your hand on his chest while smiling innocently.
Francis looked at you with a curious expression, gulping as he was nervous about what you were going to do with him.
Francis looked at your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes, trying to distract himself from the weird thoughts he was thinking; perhaps he was watching too much inappropriate stuff, he should limit himself on that.
"Do you live alone?" You asked, knowing well what his answer would be.
Francis tore his gaze away from you, now staring at your wall. "Yes.."
He hears a small laugh come from you, and his body feels tingly with extreme nervousness. Why were you laughing? Did you expect him to have a roommate or something?
"So you have no one to milk you at home then?" You whisper in Francis's ears, watching him tense up as he caved in to your voice and touch.
You saw the way his knees trembled to hold onto his body, cheeks turning redder than the scarlet milk he frequently delivers.
You put a hand on his cheek, making him look at you with a smile on your face. "Let me help you, that's my payment." You utter, watching his eyes widen as he came across a conflicted statement-- not knowing what to choose.
You really didn't have to wait long.
Francis stares up at you, hand on his mouth as he leans against the wall, ears flushing with blush as he attempted to conceal his noises from you, afraid of someone hearing.
You rubbed your shoe against his bulge, looking at him with a mischievous look on your face, wanting to make him cum from a dry orgasm before you fully fuck him.
"Ah~ Hnn~ Ngn~" Francis moans out, his sounds muffled by how hard he was biting on his hand, throwing his head back at how lewd your method to pleasure him was.
His eyes were teary and his cheeks were flushed, he looked as if he already got fucked by you even if you hadn't advanced that fast yet.
You grin, pressing on his erection with the heel of your shoe-- enjoying the way he stuttered, gripping onto your leg with his free hand.
A tap on the window stops you from admiring him longer, and Francis panics. He couldn't run out because it would be suspicious if the visitor were to see someone come from below your desk, he didn't want to spread rumours as well if someone recognized him.
So he just sat there, both hands covering his mouth.
Wait.. what were you doing?
Francis bites onto his hand, heart pulsing as he felt your shoe rub more against his dick, you were crazy! Why were you still continuing?!
You grinned, twirling your hair as you faced a doppelganger of one of the visitors, not even having to check the ID to know it was a doppelganger.
You had to admit, it sure mimicked the resident properly, but if it weren't for the real Francis already being below your desk, you would've let the doppelganger of Francis in, there were barely any differences as well.
"Oh? My appearance..? I don't quite follow.." The doppelganger muttered, trying to keep calm as he felt rage from how fast you figured out he was a doppelganger.
You were not only a pretty doorman but a smart one too, the doppelganger held back on transforming, wanting to see if he could still convince you that he was the real one.
You chuckle at the doppelganger's confused expression, adding a bit more pressure to your shoe as you pressed on Francis's erection, hearing a small moan come out of him.
The doppelganger's eyes widened, looking around as he was confused at where the noise came from.
What a shame, you'd so tease the real Francis using the doppelganger if only you weren't allowed to spread the fact that Doppelgangers existed.
"I'm sorry, but I don't quite think I can let you in."
You rang the DDD and let them handle the situation, completely forgetting about Francis beneath you, trembling at how much pressure he was receiving.
By the time you remembered about him, you were already finished with the doppelganger situation, seeing him all teary and red just from your shoe.
You laugh, lifting his face up as you stop rubbing your shoe against his dick, grinning at him with a new idea in mind.
"Let's start with the milking process now, shall we, Milkman? But first, why don't you eat me out first?"
You catch his flustered expression as he nodded, moving his hands all the way to your thighs as he got rid of your panties.
Francis moves closer to your pussy, licking on it as his eyes widened from the taste, it was much different than the milk he was used to.
You let out a breathy moan, spreading your legs wider as you felt Francis shove his tongue straight into you, eating you out as if he was a man that was starved for years.
His tongue flicks against your clit, and you let out a full moan, suddenly closing your thighs around Francis's head, he didn't seem to mind however.
"Shit... you sure know how to eat pussy.." You mumble, biting on your lip as you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sensation of his cold wet tongue.
Francis's hooked nose makes you moan as it pressed against your pussy because of how close he was.
You moan, throwing your head back when you feel Francis's tongue licking on your clit, lapping it up as if it was water.
Your grip on his hair tightens, clenching down on his tongue as you orgasmed.
Francis moans beneath you, the vibration running across your entire body making you shake and tremble.
You breathe out, your pussy pulsing while Francis explored your insides, eager to drink up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste.
You pull Francis's head away to face towards you. And the moment you see the expression on his face, your pussy twitches at the sight. His eyes are half-lidded, staring at you while his tongue and mouth were filled with your cum.
Francis smiles, and swallows your cum right in front of you, making you bite your lip from how aroused you were.
"We aren't done yet, Milkman." You grin.
But apparently the story is done! I hope you enjoyed the story, this is my second time writing smut :)
> Reminder that this is not canon/accurate to his personality (this is before Boothill gets released.)
+ contains nsfw (Is labeled)
( Art credit: @ Luvmybabygirl0 )
SFW
I'd like to imagine, that this man just does a hair flip every time he's offended at what you said.
Ex.
"My Love, I know you're jealous but it's just a cat.."
Boothill looks at you for five solid seconds, and then hair flips to let you know he's really offended. "Tell the cat to move then, that's my place."
Does not skip leg day, would probably kabedon you using his LEG or if he does work out he'd probably want to use you as weight, like letting you sit on him while he does push-ups.
Loves going on little trips with you using horses, if you don't have your own horse he'd definitely let you ride his horse but you're in front of him.
Bonus points if you're shorter than him cause he'd put his chin on top of your head while his hands go around your waist to grab the rein.
Would flex to everyone about you, like- he's in a fight with someone? "You weak cutie(bitch), my lover hits harder than you."
Would call you petnames like "Sugar", "Honey", "Darling" , "Babe/Baby" , "Sweetheart" , "Love" , "Love bug" , "Sunshine" , "Pretty (boy/girl/thing)"
Listens to Lady Gaga, I'm sure of this, he would so rock it out on the dance floor and get you to dance with him.
Has eaten a bullet in front of you and was incredibly confused at your reaction that was just like 😰, until you tell him that you were surprised he ate a bullet he'd just be like 🤨 but if you did tell him straight away, he'd cackle at you.
Sometimes forgets he was originally a human so he does the craziest things knowing he can get fixed up anyway (he once jumped off a 13 foot building to chase after an enemy)
Loves to cuddle you, he wants to feel your warmth while he sleeps or relaxes.
Lets you braid his hair or comb it if you want to, once he gets used to you combing or braiding his hair he'd just walk up to you at random times with a brush in hand and let you do what you want with his hair.
Really reckless and causes a lot of trouble sometimes but there are days where he's really calm and all he wants to do is spend time with you, like he just acts like a cute little kitten who just woke up when he's calm.
If JoJo existed in their world, he would be a big fan of it.
Would let you name his gun or horse, does not complain at all even if you name it "princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble" he'd just laugh, completely accepting the name.
Even says the name during fights, he'd say "Your time's out, time to die by my princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble." 😭😭
Looks at his reflection in the mirror a lot while practicing poses, even getting you to watch from the bed or couch while showing you a new pose he likes.
Kisses you a lot, even in public he's really affectionate and touchy, cause no way is he letting other people look at you and think you're single.
You're hot and he knows you're hot so he's trying his best to make everyone know you're already taken.
If someone TRIES to flirt with you in front of him, he's already got you by the waist, against the wall, making out while he flips off the one who tried to flirt with you.
Would let you pick his earrings, always excited when you say you bought a new earring for him.
Looks good in an apron, like, really good. Househusband material frfr.
Plays with your hair a lot, twirling it, and even kissing some strands while he looks at you in the eye.
Easy to get flustered but it always leads to him making you more flustered, he takes everything like a challenge but he does love it every time you sass him back or flirt with him.
Causes a lot of trouble for you and with you, if its for you it's going to be super romantic however it'll make some people irritated, but if he's causing trouble with you, its more chaotic and a LOT of people will 100% get pissed.
Cannot sleep without you in his arms, he'll walk over to your room (if you guys aren't sharing one), hair all messy from tossing and turning because you weren't in bed with him. He'll just plop into your bed, it doesn't matter if you're even awake or not he just wants to hold you while he sleeps.
NSFW
Definitely takes off his hat and puts it on you BUT only when he's letting you ride, if you're having normal sex he'd probably just keep it on or let you bite on it while he fucks you from behind.
Probably says something weird during sex which I would love to imagine would just be "Yeehaw" because he can't curse.
Probably into roleplay where you're a criminal and he's a cowboy who successfully hunted you down or the opposite, has a bunch of handcuffs just to use it for roleplay.
I feel like he'd just be the type of person to use sex toys, not dildos though cause he wants to be the only dick inside you, something like collars, leashes, handcuffs, whips, ropes,
He'd be into gags, bondage, dirty talk, lactation, blindfold sex, spit, both praise and degrading kink, spanking, anal, lap-dances, fingering (he'd be conflicted about receiving), oral (receiving and giving), sensory deprivation, and gun play!
If he doesn't have a dick, he'll probably have a bunch of straps, he's good at giving oral but would still prefer fucking you with a dick than fingering or eating you out. (Unless he's the one getting fucked)
I feel like he's a switch but more on the dominant side, he's super open to submission as long as his partner can pleasure him real good.
This man walks around technically naked all the time, so he's got to have imagined having public sex here and there, but most likely in bars where everyone's busy and doing their own thing. Like it'd turn him on if you were just on his lap humping his erection while you both are in a bar but everyone else is just too drunk to notice at all.
Super vocal, grunting, moaning, sometimes even whining and whimpering, you got it all, bonus points because he does it all straight into your ear.
Uses his sharp teeth to mark you all over your body and then sucks on it to leave hickeys, would likely be a little menace and leave his marks somewhere visible even if you're wearing clothes so people would know your his
Wants you to pull on his hair while fucking, he wants to be able to know how good he's making you feel and hair pulling would be his goal to make sure you're getting actual pleasure.
When he kisses you or makes out with you, it'd always involve tongue, has a little hand that sneaks over to your waist stopping at your hip or your ass.
Slaps your ass loud, especially in public, he just smacks it while you're in mid-conversation and the sound just ECHOES, it doesn't hurt it just sounds like it does, he just stands there smirking while you stare at him.
He's an ass guy, boobs are nice to him cause he can suck on the nipples but definitely an ass guy, you cannot tell me he doesn't fuck you from behind solely to see your ass jiggle with every thrust he does.
Flat? Nuh uh, he's making that shit bounce no matter what.
Likes playing with you using his gun, frequently flicks the handle of his gun over your nipples or dick/pussy, sometimes he shoves a little bit of his gun in and if you get your cum on the muzzle, he'd lick it right in front of you.
Likes praising you and getting degraded, is into getting whipped too, he secretly wants to be on his knees begging for you, worshipping you, while you're standing over him with a whip in your hands. (The whip doesn't actually do any damage)
Does not care what gender you are, sometimes he'd misgender you on purpose and call your ass a pussy or if you're a girl, he'd probably call you "pretty boy" just to get you riled up.
His favorite positions when bottoming would be cowgirl, and his favorite position if he's on top would be Doggystyle.
(Edit: I just realized how much of a power bottom he is, but it's up to you, the reader whether you want to fuck him or be fucked by him 😇)
Please do remember everything is just a headcanon and is not actually linked or accurate to what Boothill's like in canon.
A/N: This is my first time writing smut, I apologize if it isn't that good.
"Mmm..."
You coo, caressing Francis's face as you kissed him on the nose. How adorable he was for a man who didn't care much for others, merely focusing on his work instead of interacting with others.
You felt special, considering you were the only one he opened up to, the only one he'd talk to without shying away.
But it was only right.
You let out a ghost of a smile as you continue caressing Francis's cheeks with your hands, kissing his neck lightly as you felt him tremble by your touch. Every touch of your lips on his skin sent him vocally expressing just how truly sensitive he was, gripping onto the fabric of your clothes as Francis threw his head back, face redder than scarlet milk.
Francis breathes out heavily, his hand going behind your head to grip onto your hair as you continue to litter kisses on his neck without end.
"[Name]-"
Poor Francis, barely even able to speak out more than one word before suddenly releasing a high pitched moan, gripping tighter on your hair as he was caught by surprise by the bite you left on his neck.
Francis's entire body trembles, but he doesn't tell you to stop.
You lick your lips, leaning your head up as you took Francis's chin in your hand and made him face towards you.
He looks like a puppy because of his teary expression and red cheeks. You sigh, how adorable can this man get?
You take his lips into yours, slipping your arm behind his waist as you hum in content, kissing him with vigorous passion that you knew would make him struggle to get air after.
Francis whines, trying to kiss you back with the same passion you were giving him but the best he could do was open his mouth and let you take control, leaning back on the bed he was on.
"Francis.." You mutter his name, breaking the kiss as he panted, his lungs fighting to get air after making out with you for a minute straight.
Your fingers cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, staring at you in the eyes while panting quietly. You smile, pushing him on the chest, forcing him to lay down on the bed as you crawl on top of him.
"I'll take good care of you." You whisper into his ear, your hand already unbuckling his belt and zipping down his pants.
"[Name].. please-" Francis mutters something with a rasp tone in his voice, gazing at you with such doe eyes that activates a bottomless pit of hunger, of lust, in you.
You pull down the last barrier that covered his dick, your eyes swirling in lust as it leaked pre-cum, the tip flushing a light flustered pink, sensitive to your touch.
"Relax, I'll make you feel good tonight, okay?" You whisper in a gentle tone, already rubbing his dick up and down with your hand, eager to make him orgasm within 5 minutes.
You wanted to break him, hear him scream out your name when he cums.
He was simply just so adorable.
Your pace increases, and you feel the slightest twitch of Francis's dick in your hand as he suddenly whimpers, moaning out words for you to slow down.
"Wait- Wait- Mmmm.. [Name] please- go slow!-" Francis chokes on his words as you did the complete opposite of what he wanted, throwing his head back, his hips thrusted up to match your pace. His eyes rolling back, as the only thing that came out of his mouth were broken moans.
"Haa.. Ha-" Francis grips onto the sheets, letting out a chorus of "Ah, Ah, Haa~" completely letting you know he felt good.
You exhaled, trying to control yourself as you felt yourself get even more aroused just by listening to how lewd his sounds were.
"Shit, fuck.. you drive me crazy." You groan, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, biting on his skin; pumping even faster.
Faster.
More.
You needed to hear more of him.
"Fuck- Cum for me, Francis." You utter, feeling his dick twitch and convulse at your words. Just a second after, you immediately felt warm and sticky cum dropping on your hand as Francis let out a loud moan of your name.
Your eyes blurred with arousal, wanting to break him more.
"[Name].." Francis whispers out, but you shush him before he could say anything else.
You smile, getting on top of him as you pull down your pants. Rubbing your pussy on the tip of his dick as you used his cum to lubricate your insides.
Francis just stares at you, panting. His hand on your back, but he was mostly curious on what you were doing.
"I can help you.. if you wan-" Francis's eyes widen, letting out a sudden moan that cut off his sentence as he felt his dick enter your warm and wet pussy. He gripped hard on your hips, whining in pleasure as he felt your walls tighten even more around his cock.
Francis wasn't even fully in yet but he already felt like cumming again.
"[Name]. [Name]. [Name]. Fuck- fuck.. you feel so good, sugar.." Francis whines, thrusting his whole length inside of you. Moaning in the process of doing so, almost cumming when he felt your pussy clench so hard on his dick.
You pant, wrapping your hands around Francis's neck. Letting yourself rest for a while before raising your hips and dropping down on his dick.
"I'm gonna milk you dry.. Mr. Milkman."
Francis groans at the name, his dick twitching as he imagined you taking every single drop of his seed, he imagined filling you up to the brim.
You ride on Francis's dick at a fast pace, wet slapping echoing throughout the room as skin met skin.
Francis moans, changing his hold to grip onto your ass, his head burying into your neck while you bounced on his cock.
"Sugar.. you're taking me so well." Francis mutters softly, completely in bliss by how good your pussy felt.
You moan, your pussy clenching at his words. Despite him being the bottom this time, he still had a way of making you feel like you were the one being submissive.
A frustrating feeling grows in your stomach, wanting to show Francis that you were supposed to be the dominant one.
You clenched tighter on his dick, increasing your pace as you made sure he completely felt every inch of his dick get swallowed by your pussy.
Francis mutters something under his breath, completely lost in pleasure as he moaned in ecstasy, cumming in you for the second time.
You pant, continuing to ride Francis even if he already orgasmed, you wanted to show him that you were more than capable enough of giving both you and him pleasure.
"Sugar, wait- agh- haa~ slow down.." Francis tapped on your hip, grunting and moaning as he felt your tightness.
You moaned, leaning backwards as you rode Francis as if he was a mechanical bull for you to conquer.
Just a few seconds after, you feel Francis cum another time, whining and whimpering, begging you to stop.
"A little more.." You say, panting. Ignoring the feeling building up in your stomach as you tried to at least make Francis reach another orgasm before you finish.
"Sugar- God, if you don't stop- Ngh~" Francis's voice crumbles, his tone deep but filled with cracks as it was raspy and tired.
"More.."
You feel yourself almost cumming, and you moan. Throwing your head into Francis's neck as you slammed yourself down on him and bit down on his neck.
Francis pulls on your hair, gasping in surprise as he felt your body shake above him, his cock does the same, twitching and pulsing because of how intense you were clenching down on him.
"You're going to kill me one day, Sugar." Francis mumbles, running his hands through your hair as he grabbed a strand and kissed it.
You whine, still not getting off his cock, your body too tired to even move.
"I just missed you.. you've been gone for so long because of work, and you look like you haven't even gotten enough sleep." You complain, caressing his face as you leaned on his shoulder.
The tips of Francis's lips turn upwards, a soft yet baffled chuckle escaping from his mouth.
"Mmmm.. I didn't realize you missed me that much, you should've told me, Sugar.. I would've come home immediately." Francis places a kiss on your forehead, lifting you off his cock as cum dripped from your pussy to his thighs.
Francis puts two fingers inside your pussy, scooping a load of your cum before putting it in his mouth.
A satisfied expression appears on his face as he swallows, pecking you on the lips before saying something that makes you mumble in embarrassment.
"Much better than milk." Francis laughs out, kissing you on the lips with complete gentleness.
"Now let's get you cleaned up.."
You hum, gripping onto him tightly as he lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom.
Let's just say, you both did much more than just clean yourselves up in the bathroom.
prguitarman
gummygunk
stormborns
areudirty
vaporwave
janainaart
annaxmalina
