The wife of everyone I simp for tbh. #1 Jamil Lover. Bullseye one chance please ✨ •|•Please give some love to the authors of the works you found here <3 •|•
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•Fandoms Reblogged Below•
If you are a minor please be careful of what you read, I cannot dictate what you do but I can tell you to be mindful and be safe. Also don’t share info to strangers.
Note: at the bottom of this post you will have 2 options with consequences on how to proceed!
Minor note: BnD/Books and Daggers refers to the Café Jason mentions in his profile!
Notification: Would you like to...
-> ⌞ghost Jason⌝
⤷ consequence: he sends you a message at night that reads:-
"Hey, I'm sorry if I acted rude/weird/offensive in any way and caused you to be uncomfortable. I genuinely thought we were connecting, but if that was something one-sided and you felt pressured to speak with me, I apologise. I wish you well and hope you have a nice day."
-> ⌞meet up with Jason⌝
⤷ consequence: have a friendly hangout at Books And Daggers
May i request the Lin kuei brothers with a reader who has a pocket watch or locket that has a picture of them that they always keep on hand? It's just a random cute thought I had (Totally okay if you don't do this also i hope you're doing well!!)
Me when my name is RestInSlices and I’m supposed to be writing but the demons in me are tweaking so I sleep all day. OOOPS
Haven’t rewatched the main story in a minute but hopefully this still makes sense for their personalities
Bi-Han is such a fucking hard ass so I don’t think he’d make it obvious how he feels about it
He gives me “acts of service” vibes so I see him finding out about the locket while taking care of you
He’s noticed that you wear a necklace all the time but he’s never asked about it
You typically tuck it away under your suit but this time, you forgot
Bi-Han is checking on you (and by “checking on you” I mean he’s being a mom and looking over your suit and “this is too tight” “this should be here” “this should be on top of this”) when he notices it’s not tucked as usual
That’s when he notices that it’s actually a locket
And because he’s as nosey as any typical black mother (we’ve discussed this and I refuse to change my mind) he opens it
He stares at it for a second, his brain processing what he’s looking at
Bi-Han isn’t the best with social situations and looking at things in a non “FOR THE LIN KUEI” way, but it’s not like he’s never heard of this whole picture in the locket thing
Once he processes what he’s seeing, he just goes “hmm” and tucks it under your shirt
“Am I to take your grunts as words?” “Am I dying soon? You don’t need this” “I like having you near me” “I’m always near you” “Okay, Bi-Han”
He doesn’t necessarily get it until after the mission
Things went terribly. An explosion went off in the midst of the fight and the two of you were separated. And while it was good that the Lin Kuei eventually ended up winning the battle, he still couldn’t find you. At least not right away
You’re badly injured and disoriented, and what he couldn’t help but notice as he picked you up, was your open locket
He mentions it days later when you feel better, telling you how foolish it is to stare at a picture instead of calling for him or crawling away
“I had enough strength to stay awake because I had a picture of you near. My lungs were burning, the skin on my legs torn, smoke clouding my vision. But I could still see you. As long as I could see you, I could remain strong and either wait for you to find me, or die looking at my favorite person”
He gets a locket with a picture of you soon after
Assassins aren’t supposed to have things on them that can identify them, but while growing up, Kuai Liang noticed that some of the Lin Kuei would carry things that reminded them of their loved ones
One time, he asked his father about it
“They shouldn’t, but they are still men. Love is the one thing even the best of us cannot kill. And when these men are lost and need a reminder on why they need to keep fighting, it will be the thought of their wives and children waiting at home that will give them the strength to crawl out of any grave they have found themselves in”
Real wordy but Kuai Liang sorta got it
He understood those words better when he met you
Someone he loved so much, he began to ache when you were not near
He opted for keeping one of your hairpins with him at all times
I mean, look at his hair. Just put that hairpin in with no problem
He notices your locket on a whim. He just happens to look over when he notices you take your Shirai Ryu (?) pin off and open it
Mind you, it’s not supposed to be able to open so he’s like “what was that?”
That’s when you tell him that you messed with it and turned it into a locket/pin and put a photo of him inside
First of all, that’s impressive
Second of all, he can’t help but smile when he looks at it
He’s always known that you love him but this gives him the extra confirmation he never knew he needed
It’s understandable to imagine the whole older brother letting his father die thing would cause him to have doubts in the relationships he’s made, even if he doesn’t realize it
Shows you the hairpin he took
“My hairpin with the jewel on the end that I’ve been looking for has been in your hair the entire time?” “Let’s not focus on details”
Keeps the hairpin whether you tinker his Shirai Ryu thing into a locket or not
I also see him opening your the locket on your shirt at the random times
You’re talking to some random male and here he go tryna assert some sort of dominance
He a lil undiagnosed but it’s okay
Take that shit the fuck off NOW
BUT WAIT, let me explain
Tomas lost his entire family, right. And yeah, it was the Lin Kuei that killed them, but he can’t help but be paranoid
He worries that his association with someone marks them for suffering and/or death
Like with him and Kuai Liang. Bi-Han made the choice to let their father die because “he doomed the Lin Kuei to mediocrity”, but Tomas sometimes worries that by not killing him, his father started to look weak in Bi-Han’s eyes which ultimately led to his death
And then Kuai Liang goes against Bi-Han with him, and what happens in return? People in their new clan are killed. Kuai Liang and Harumi could have been killed as well!
He worries about you constantly, and now you have a locket with his picture in it?
What if you’re captured and they see his photo and kill you because you know him? What if someone was watching his family that night and got away and what if for some reason they really want him dead and what if-
I don’t mean to baby him or anything. I’m just saying I can see his trauma effecting (affecting? Idk) him in multiple ways
He goes from “people are watching me” to “never mind, ptsd was just beating my ass”
He just like you fr. Yeah bitch, I said YOU
But moving on
He freaks out when you show him and you have to sit with him and calm him down
You might even have to come up with some sort of compromise
“I just don’t want you getting hurt by knowing me. I think about this all the time and I’m so sorry I’m being difficult but-” “No need to explain. Not to me. Not for that”
He would prefer you have a ring or necklace that looks black but once you damn near press your eyeball to it, you see the photo
A locket is too obvious to him. These captors he imagine would immediately notice it’s a locket
You do that for him and he’ll keep something of yours. Something small and not obvious. Like a scrunchie maybe
One day his heart will let him rest, but that day is not today
I wrote this on the app and while on hold for fucking Walgreens BUT hopefully nothing is misspelled and I think they all have around the same amount of writing
ok i’m having some #thoughts… what if fbi!dex and reader were dating before the whole fisk bullshit and when he went to the mental hospital, reader never visited him. he was so confused and hurt bc u told him you’d never leave him, so when he escapes prison, the first thing he looks for is u. he shows up to your apartment and sees a kid standing behind u, the right age for dex to be the father…
Scared of Life
Benjamin Poindexter x fem! Reader
warning: hurt/comfort, angst, depression during the pregnancy, your daughter being a little possessive over you
A/N: WAIT I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH OMG???? Thank you so much for the request, I hope you like this <333
Dex remembered promises with terrifying precision.
Most people forgot small details over time. Words blurred together. Memories softened around the edges until they became easier to live with. But Dex’s mind didn’t work like that. Every important moments burned itself deep beneath his skin like shrapnel he could never fully remove.
Especially when it came to you. Especially that night.
You had been laying half on top of him on the couch, wrapped in one of his shirts while some terrible late night cooking show played quietly in the background. Dex barely remembered the show itself. What he remembered was your heartbeat against his chest. The warmth of your fingers lazily tracing the scars on body. The way you looked at him like he was still human even after learning all the ugly parts of him.
“What if I get bad again?” he asked quietly. You lifted your head almost immediately after that. Confusion crossed your face first before sadness slowly replaced it. Like the question itself hurt you more than him.
“What do you mean?” Dex shrugged slightly beneath you, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of your face.
“People leave eventually.” His voice stayed flat when he said it, almost detached. “Usually after they realize I’m too much work.”
Your expression tightened instantly. You shifted upward until he had no choice but to look at you. Your hands cupped his face carefully, thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw.
“I’m not people.” you whispered softly. Dex stared at you for several seconds without speaking.
Then quietly:
“You promise?”
Your forehead rested against his.
“I promise.” That promise became the thing that haunted him most after Fisk destroyed everything.
Because you disappeared. Completely.
No visits during recovery. No calls to the hospital. No messages. Nothing.
At first Dex thought maybe you were hurt. He asked about you constantly during the first few weeks until doctors started exchanging uncomfortable looks every time he brought up your name. Eventually one nurse admitted nobody matching your description had visited him once.
That answer hollowed something inside him immediately. Still, he made excuses for you.
Maybe Fisk threatened you. Maybe the FBI forced you away. Maybe you thought he hated you now after everything that happened.
But as weeks turned into months, the silence became impossible to explain away. Dex sat alone in sterile hospital rooms replaying every conversation you ever had together until it drove him half insane. Every memory became evidence against himself.
Maybe he scared you too much. Maybe you saw what he really was. Maybe loving him finally became exhausting.
Eventually the worst possibility settled heavily into his chest and refused to leave. You abandoned him.
Just like everyone else always did.
The realization destroyed him more thoroughly than Fisk ever could. Because Dex loved catastrophically. His body craved you like oxygen. He was utterly miserable and obsessed with you. Once someone mattered to him, they became stitched directly into his nervous system. Losing them didn’t feel emotional.
It felt physical. Like skin being ripped apart. Like he was told to stab himself over, over and over again.
So when Dex finally escaped months later, bruised and angry and barely holding himself together beneath layers of violence and betrayal, there was only one thing he needed before anything else. You.
He found your apartment just after midnight.
The building sat in a quieter neighborhood than your old place. Smaller too. Safer. Warm yellow light glowed faintly through the curtains while flower pots rested carefully beside neighboring doors.
Dex hated how normal it looked.
You used to talk about wanting normal someday. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere without constant sirens and blood and fear clinging to every street corner.
Apparently you built that life without him. The thought twisted sharply in his chest. Dex stood outside your apartment door listening carefully before moving closer.
Two heartbeats. His expression darkened instantly.
You moved on???
His jaw tightened hard enough to ache before he reached for the lock. The mechanism clicked softly beneath practiced fingers. The door opened silently.
The apartment smelled exactly like you. Vanilla candles. Laundry detergent. Coffee. And your parfum in the air made it worse.
For one dangerous second, Dex nearly forgot why he was angry.
His eyes moved carefully across the room. A blanket tossed over the couch. Crayons scattered across the coffee table. Tiny shoes abandoned near the kitchen.
Tiny shoes? Dex frowned slightly.
Then he heard your voice somewhere deeper inside the apartment.
“Lily, if you’re still awake, I swear to god-” Small footsteps thundered instantly through the hallway. A child’s laugh followed.
Dex froze completely.
You appeared seconds later wearing oversized sleep clothes, hair messy like you’d been trying unsuccessfully to get someone into bed for the last hour. The second your eyes landed on him, every bit of color drained from your face instantly.
The air left your lungs so sharply he heard it.
“Dex.” His name sounded fragile coming from you. Emotional enough to make something ugly twist inside him all over again. You stared at him like you’d seen a ghost. Dex stared back just as hard.
You looked tired. Not physically exhausted exactly.
Just worn down around the edges in ways he didn’t remember. Softer somehow too. There were faint shadows beneath your eyes, old stress lines near your mouth, and despite everything crashing violently inside him, Dex still thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Then anger surged back hard enough to choke him.
“You left.” The words came out rougher than intended. Your expression cracked immediately after hearing them.
Before you could answer, another figure peeked around the hallway corner behind you.
A tiny human, a little girl. Maybe five years old.
Dark curls slightly messy from sleep. Big eyes narrowed suspiciously at the stranger standing inside her apartment.
Dex’s breathing stopped instantly.
Because she looked like him.
The eyebrows. The cheekbones. The expression.
Even the way she tilted her head while assessing him looked painfully familiar. The little girl blinked once before gasping dramatically.
“MOMMY!!!!!!” Dex barely had time to process what was happening before the child suddenly shoved herself directly in front of you with shocking determination.
“MOMMY GET BEHIND ME!!!!!” she yelled loudly. “THERE IS A MAN HERE.”
Dex stared blankly. The tiny girl spread both arms protectively in front of you like she genuinely planned on fighting him herself if necessary.
You looked one stress induced headache away from collapsing entirely.
“Lily, sweetheart-”
“No!” she shouted. “I saw this happen on the big screen.”
Dex blinked slowly. The child pointed accusingly toward him.
“You cannot break into our house.”
Dex frowned slightly. “Technically I already did.”
“THAT’S WORSE.” You made a strangled noise beside her that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
Dex looked deeply offended instead. The little girl squinted harder at him.
“You look sus… uh… susbizi- Mommy what was the word for weird dangerous looking people.”
“Suspicious, baby. Suspicious.”
“YOU LOOK SUSPICIOUS!!”
“I look suspicious.”
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes critically. “And your face is weird.”
Dex actually looked wounded by that statement.
“My face is normal.”
“No it’s not,” she argued immediately. “You look like a sad potato.”
You physically turned away to hide your laughter. Dex stared at the child in complete disbelief. Then suddenly her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed further.
“Oh my god.” Your face lost every remaining trace of color.
“Lily-”
“You have my eyebrows.” Silence filled the apartment instantly. The little girl looked between both of you several times before gasping loudly enough to wake the entire building.
“MOMMY.” You covered your face with both hands immediately.
“IS THIS THE GUY YOU SAID WENT ON VACATION WITH PEPPA?”
“Yes, Lily. That’s him.” honestly? what were you supposed to tell her when she asked you where her dad is. So you came up with the excuse that her father is on vacation with… peppa the pig.
“So… that’s your secret husband?” she asks innocently.
“What? No!”
Dex looked equally alarmed. “Absolutely not.”
The little girl pointed directly at him again.
“You’re the daddy my mommy told me about.” Dex forgot how breathing worked. You looked ready to die on the spot.
Lily marched directly toward Dex after that with terrifying confidence before stopping directly in front of him. She planted both tiny hands on her hips while staring up at him with the exact same intense focus he’d seen in mirrors his entire life.
“Okay,” she announced seriously. “Here are the rules.”
Dex blinked once. “Rules.”
“Yes.” She pointed between herself and you. “Mommy is mine first.”
You made another choking noise somewhere behind her.
“I’m not sharing,” Lily continued firmly. “Even if you are my dad.”
Dex stared at the tiny child standing in front of him issuing territorial warnings like a mob boss. Then very seriously:
“You don’t wanna share your mother.”
“No.” She crossed her arms harder. “She’s my favorite person.”
Something inside Dex cracked slightly hearing that. Because he understood immediately. Because you’re his favorite person, too.
Unfortunately for him, Lily apparently inherited every protective instinct he ever possessed. It was as if your genes didn’t even try other than her getting your eyes.
“You can stay!” she decided after several seconds. “But if you make mommy cry, I bite.”
Dex nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“She actually bit a pre school teacher once.” you admitted weakly.
“He was rude to you!” Lily defended instantly. Dex nodded again like this was perfectly rational behavior. Honestly, the fact that he seemed proud should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The next hour passed in complete emotional chaos.
Lily interrogated Dex like an FBI agent while simultaneously climbing all over you possessively anytime he sat too close. She demanded answers to increasingly bizarre questions while Dex answered every single one with complete seriousness.
“Do you know dinosaurs?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Velociraptor.”
Lily gasped dramatically. “That’s mine too.”
Dex looked absurdly pleased by this information.
Meanwhile you sat frozen on the couch trying unsuccessfully not to emotionally collapse watching them interact.
Dex looked at her like she hung the moon itself.
Eventually Lily began falling asleep curled against your side while still glaring suspiciously toward Dex anytime he moved too suddenly.
Her tiny hand clutched your shirt tightly even half asleep. Dex watched her carefully from the opposite side of the couch.
Memorizing every detail about her. About his daughter.
Then Lily’s sleepy eyes slowly lifted toward him one final time.
“You better not go on vacation again.” she mumbled quietly. The room fell completely silent. Dex froze instantly. Lily yawned softly before curling closer against you.
“Mommy gets sad sometimes.” she whispered sleepily. “She cries when she thinks I’m sleeping.”
Dex looked at you immediately. And the pain on his face nearly destroyed you. After carrying Lily carefully into bed together, the apartment finally fell quiet.
The second her bedroom door clicked shut, all the tension both of you had been avoiding rushed back violently.
Dex stood near the kitchen counter while you lingered several feet away uncertainly. Neither of you knew how to begin unraveling five years of grief.
“She’s five.” you said softly. Dex nodded once.
“She likes dinosaurs. Hates cherries. Talks a lot about wanting to build an animal farm. Thinks every stray cat belongs to her.” His expression softened briefly before tightening again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There it was. The question he keeps asking himself the whole time.
You looked down immediately because suddenly meeting his eyes felt impossible.
“Because I was terrified.” you admitted quietly. Dex stayed completely still.
“After Fisk.” you continued shakily, “people watched everything connected to you. Hospitals. FBI contacts. Your apartment.” Your throat tightened painfully. “Then I found out I was pregnant.”
Dex looked physically unable to breathe.
“I kept thinking if anyone found out about her…” Your voice cracked slightly. “They’d use her against you. Against me.”
Tears blurred your vision.
“So I disappeared.” Dex’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“I wanted to visit you,” you whispered. “God, Dex, I wanted to so badly.”
His breathing became uneven instantly.
“But every time I thought about bringing her near any of that…” You shook your head weakly. “I couldn’t do it.”
The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Too small for all the pain sitting between both of you.
“The pregnancy was horrible without you.” you admitted softly after a moment. Dex closed his eyes briefly.
“Not because of her,” you said quickly. “She was an angel. Felt like she knew I wasn’t doing well and tried to not give me a even harder time.” A weak laugh escaped you through tears. “But because every scary part of it made me want you.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“I wanted your arms around me when I got sick.” Your voice shook harder now. “Wanted to tell you when she kicked for the first time. Wanted you there during ultrasounds.” Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now. “I wanted to lay against your chest and hear you tell me everything would be okay.”
Dex physically flinched. Like every word hurt him. Like you just stabbed him in his heart.
“I needed you,” you whispered brokenly. “And I couldn’t have you.”
For several seconds, Dex said absolutely nothing. Then suddenly he crossed the room. His hands cupped your face carefully. Like he needed physical proof you were still real.
“You protected our daughter.” he said fiercely. You cried harder instantly.
“You should hate me.”
“No.” The answer came immediately.
“I thought you abandoned me,” Dex admitted quietly, eyes burning into yours. “But you were protecting her.”
Your chest hurt painfully.
“I waited for you every day,” he confessed. “Every single day.”
Something shattered inside you hearing that. You wrapped your arms around him instantly.
Dex made a quiet sound against your shoulder that almost didn’t sound human at all. Relief hit him so hard it physically shook through his body. His arms locked tightly around your waist while his face buried against your neck like he still couldn’t believe this was real.
“I will never leave you again.” he whispers loud enough for you to hear.
bestfriend!kei accidentally rats himself out for having a huge crush on you.
wc: 1.4k
usually, the air in tsukishima’s room smells like expensive laundry detergent and the faint, lingering scent of old books, but today it was saturated with something far more lethal: the scent of your shampoo. it was a tactical assault on his senses. he sat at his desk, pretending to care about a history textbook, but his brain was busy cataloging the exact frequency of the fabric of your hoodie rubbing against his bean bag chair.
he was currently enduring a very specific kind of torture, one where he had to pretend that your presence didn’t make his pulse do a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. it was exhausting. he deserved a medal, or perhaps a small kingdom, for the restraint he was showing by not simply collapsing at your feet and asking you to step on him.
“i’m heading out to the convenience store,” you announced, stretching your arms over your head. the movement caused your shirt to ride up a fraction of an inch, and tsukishima felt his soul temporarily leave his body through his tear ducts. “do you want anything?”
he didn’t even look up. if he looked up, he was compromised. the golden light of the afternoon was hitting your hair in a way that made him want to write a five-page thesis on the physics of light reflection.
“yeah,” he muttered, his voice a dry rasp that betrayed absolutely nothing—he hoped. “your affection. but whatever.”
the silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a small sedan. tsukishima froze. the words had slipped out like a rogue spy escaping a high-security prison. his heart was trying to punch its way through his sternum to find a more dignified owner.
“what?” you asked, tilting your head.
tsukishima finally turned, his face a masterpiece of practiced indifference, though his ears were glowing a shade of red usually reserved for emergency flares and fire trucks.
“what.” he repeated, deadpan.
“did you just ask for my affection?”
“i asked for strawberry shortcake,” he lied, the falsehood so blatant it practically grew a nose. “clearly, the lack of sugar is making you hallucinate. it’s a tragic symptom of your deteriorating mental faculties. go buy your snacks and leave me to die in peace.”
“kei,” you said, stepping closer. you didn’t call him ‘kei’ often. usually, it was nicknames or just a sharp poke to the ribs. when you said his name like that—soft, like something just shared between you two—it felt like a physical weight pressing against his lungs. “i heard you.”
tsukishima felt like a cornered animal, if that animal was six-foot-three, wore glasses, and was hopelessly in love with a girl who thought he was just a grumpy beanpole. he pushed his glasses up his nose, the plastic clicking against his skin. he wanted to vanish. he wanted to be a puddle. he wanted to be the very floorboards you were standing on so he could support the weight of your entire life.
“your hearing is as questionable as your taste in movies,” he snapped, though the bite was gone. his hands were shoved so deep into his pockets he might have been touching his kneecaps.
you didn’t back down. instead, you leaned into his space, your eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and something that made his knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles. “you’re blushing.”
“it’s the lighting.”
“it’s four in the afternoon and we’re in the shade.”
“the sun is reflecting off the neighbor’s roof,” he countered, his brain scrambling for any logical explanation that didn’t involve him admitting he would literally let you ruin his life if you asked nicely.
you reached out, your fingers grazing his forearm. the contact was electric. to tsukishima, it felt like being struck by lightning, except the lightning was warm and smelled like fruit. he felt a desperate, localized heat blooming wherever you touched him. he was a goner. he was a pathetic, shivering mess of a man disguised as a cynical middle blocker.
“if you wanted affection,” you whispered, moving even closer until he could see the tiny flecks of sparkles in your eyes, “you could have just asked. you don’t have to be a weirdo about it.”
“i’m not a weirdo,” he breathed, his height suddenly feeling like a disadvantage because he had to look down so far to see the person who held his entire cardiac rhythm in the palm of her hand. “i’m a person with standards. standards that you’re currently vibrating against.”
“shut up,” you laughed, and the sound was so bright it felt like a direct insult to every miserable thought he’d ever had.
before he could formulate a witty retort about your lack of decorum, you surged forward. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his waist.
tsukishima stopped breathing. his nervous system went into a full-scale lockdown. he felt the soft pressure of your chest against his, the puff of your breath against his skin, and the world simply ceased to exist. there was no volleyball, no exams, no annoying teammates—only the weight of you.
his hands hovered in the air for a second, trembling like a victorian orphan in a blizzard, before he finally broke. he collapsed into the embrace, his long arms winding around you with a ferocity that bordered on primal. he tucked his chin over your head, squeezing you so tight he was worried he might actually merge with your atoms.
“you’re so warm,” he murmured into your hair, his voice losing every ounce of its defensive edge. it was a vulnerable sound, a complete surrender. “it’s annoying. everything about you is an inconvenience to my peace of mind.”
“is that so?” you teased, muzzling into his sweater. “should i let go?”
“if you let go, i’m filing a police report for emotional battery,” he threatened, though he was currently stroking the back of your head with a tenderness that could have melted a glacier.
he was so far gone. he was wandering in the desert of your attention and he never wanted to find an exit. the way you fit perfectly under his chin felt like a cosmic joke, a puzzle piece designed by a deity who specifically wanted to see tsukishima kei lose his entire mind.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. his expression was no longer bored or smug; it was tender. he looked at you like you were the only source of oxygen in a vacuum.
“i don’t want anything from the store,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed register. “i was being literal. i want you to stay here and keep making me feel like my heart is going to explode. it’s a very interesting sensation for me. i’d like to study it for the next fifty to sixty years.”
you beamed at him, a smile so radiant it probably could have powered a small city for a month. “fifty years? that’s a long time, tsukki.”
“i’m a very thorough student,” he whispered, leaning down.
when his lips finally met yours, it was a bit clumsy at first—the height difference was a logistical nightmare—but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you upward, and everything clicked. it tasted like strawberry lip balm and the kind of quiet, domestic forever that tsukishima had spent his whole life pretending he didn’t want.
he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the texture of your soul. he kissed you with the bottled-up desperation of a thousand nights spent staring at his ceiling, wondering if you could hear his heart screaming through the walls.
when you finally broke for air, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed. his glasses were slightly crooked, and his hair was a disaster from your fingers running through it. he looked human. he looked happy.
“forget the store,” you breathed, clutching the front of his shirt. “i think i have everything i need right here.”
tsukishima let out a huff of a laugh, a genuine, throat-deep sound that vibrated through both of your chests. he pulled you back into the circle of his arms, burying his face in your shoulder once more, determined to never let another inch of space come between you again.
the history textbook remained forgotten on the desk, its pages fluttering in the breeze, utterly useless compared to the lesson he was currently learning about the gravity of a girl who finally loved him back.
n: this was supposed to be a crackfic but i somehow turned it into a sweet fic.
I've been really intrigued by a reader that is Daniels assistant and while there is plenty of stories in the iwtv space none of them really scratched that itch, so I made some headcanons. I might write some actual stories in this universe, we'll see! This is mostly pre season one going into season one at the end.
As always, gender neutral reader
Mostly focuses on Daniels relationship with reader (platonic)
(hints of future armand x reader)
• assistant! reader who probably has a degree in something very academic and hard to get jobs for and get funding for ( think anthropology or sociology)
• assistant! reader who is just trying to pay their way through grad school and the only option they found that was even slightly related to their field is assisting Daniel Molloy with research, first draft editing, appointments, etc.
• assistant! reader who is a little overwhelmed in the beginning by Daniel being...well Daniel. However, overtime they learn to play off his odd energy and blunt remarks with things even odder and blunter
• assistant! reader who forms a tentative frenemies relationship with Daniel
• assistant! reader who is easy sailing for the first year because of Daniels writers block, they are mainly just asked to schedule things and do a bit of research here and there
• assistant! reader who is the only person that Daniel tells about his Parkinson's diagnosis, not because they are super close but because they will probably be the only one effected
• assistant! reader who makes every single doctors appointment and always drives him home after his infusions
• assistant! reader who is the first to see the email requesting that Daniel fly to Dubai and redo his interview with the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac
• assistant! reader who is ready to delete the email, thinking that it's just someone messing with them
• assistant! reader who asks Daniel about it just in case
• assistant! reader who is equally appalled and fascinated as Daniel tells the story of how he met a vampire at a bar and interviewed him
• assistant! reader who is adamant that Daniel not go, saying that not only is his health declining, but also his previous experience with this so called "vampire" lead to him being attacked
• assistant! reader who reluctantly goes with him anyway just to ensure his safety, totally not because they are curious or anything
• assistant! reader who stays to themself at the beginning of their time in Dubai
• assistant! reader who is taking constant notes during the sessions, not only of the major things discussed but also any particular mood changes that may be significant and follow up questions to speak to Daniel about later
• assistant! reader who does not lift their head even when addressed directly so absorbed in notetaking
• assistant! reader who takes a sip of whatever drink they have to hide their smile whenever Daniel says anything particularly funny or snarky
• assistant! reader who notices Louis's little shadow focusing more on them then anyone else when he is in the room
• assistant! reader who tries to connect with "Rashid" afterward because he looks to be around their age and because of his position in the house they might be able to bond over stories
• assistant! reader who takes Rashid's coldness towards them a little too personally, becoming extra snippy around him and withdrawing into their shell even more
Summary: Aemond can't seem to get his brother's new court jester out of his head. Lucky for him, you have a knack for showing up at the right place at the right time.
Warnings: Smut, fem reader, slight slight incest vibe, reader is able to some contortion type stuff for the plot (not that theres a lot of plot), slight rough sex
AN: Okay so this is technically already posted on my ao3 account but since then I’ve felt like it needed some work, so in honor of the new hotd season coming out soon I’ve cleaned it up and reposted it here. Can you tell I like pathetic Targaryen men lol
4.6k Words
Aemond couldn’t think straight.
For days, weeks, months now, his mind, a mind he’d sculpted to be impenetrable to any enticement or seductions, was under the control of a dark force he could not name. A force so powerful he’d been bound to his bed for hours, hand wrapped around his aggravated cock, unable to break from the spell of his brother’s newest form of entertainment.
You were from far away. Pentos, Essos, he couldn’t remember. He certainly wasn’t about to ask Aegon. He refused to give his older brother the satisfaction of knowing he desired, that he needed something, that he couldn't get a silly little court jester out of his head.
It began as a midnight fantasy. He would lay down to sleep, pale, damp hair splayed out on his pillow. Eye patch discarded, bare skin on the silken sheets of his bed chamber; it was the closest he got to true comfort. As his eyes closed, he saw you. Your ridiculous costume you wore to charm the court. Pastel and small- practically naked. Ruffles around your neck only added to the pageantry, and your cap and bells danced around your head when you flipped and turned.
He hated your performances, watching you tell your stupid jokes, juggle pins, and bend your body in ways he could not have imagined in his wildest fantasies. Your face, shrouded in paint, was a mystery to him. Dark smudges around your eyes, bright blushing cheeks, on the background of stark white. It was your lips that enticed Aemond the most though. You would paint them a vivid crimson, soft and plush, Aemond had devoted many hours to imagining them wrapped around his fingers- or his cock. When you stood before the iron throne, enrapturing his brother with your comical songs, or dancing, or magic tricks, Aemond could feel his blood go hot.
On more than one occasion, he was forced to flee the throne room. It infuriated him, but he couldn’t spend even one second in your presence if your attention was all for his brother. Aegon’s attention was certainly on you. His eyes never leaving the bouncing of your breasts or the curve of your bottom in the leotard.
In his darkest moments, he pictured you and Aegon, you submitting to him, Aemond watching from the shadows as his brother pounded into the object of his attraction. He always felt dirty after coming to the image.
The shame wasn’t enough to stop his musings.
Most of his fantasies revolved around you coming to him in the night. Falling to your knees before him, begging for him, confessing to your hunger. He would smile, rub the blush into your cheek, and take you apart. It had gotten to the point where he was leaving meetings early, cutting his time in the training yard short, missing meals, only to skulk around the keep aimlessly. He would wander for a while, unsure if it was to find you or run, before finding a place, his room, a closet, an empty hall, and touch himself to the thought of you bouncing around in your little shows.
He would gently stroke his cock, forehead against the cold stone wall, imagining you there in front of him. He liked to imagine what your face looked like, or the color of your hair, which you kept tucked into your cowl. Only your eyes were visible, piercing, staring into his soul.
Aemond imagined those eyes looking up at him, smaller hands expertly wrapped around him, whispering your little jabs.
Oh how you seemed to love making jokes at his expense. You were certainly clever enough not to bully the king, but apparently the Prince was not exempt from your ridicule.
It was the other reason he ran when your acts began. It wasn't even that your words were particularly mean, but the thought of joking in a way that elicited a laugh from the knights and courtiers enraged him in a way that made his cheeks blush and his trousers tighten.
His one saving grace was that you avoided the mention of his scar.
Never were your jokes about his horrific deformity, the way maidens turned down hallways when he neared and guards snickered about him when they thought he couldn't hear. No, you liked to laugh at the way he stood, rigid and guarded, or the way he stalked through the courtyards and breezeways like he was in a rush. Aegon would laugh at the way you acted like the dark Prince, stomping about and flipping your imaginary long blond hair. Aemond’s blood boiled when you would try to imitate his voice, creating a caricature of his temperament. On days when the jester would pretend to be him, he would only need to touch himself for a moment before he was shooting come across whatever unfortunate surface he’d found.
*****
The first encounter happened because Aemond attempted to find a place to relive his aching cock.
He’d had a long morning. Aegon requested his presence at breakfast, only to go into detail how he’d keep his little clown on her knees in front of him if she'd let him. Aemond had gripped the edge of the table as his older brother complained that the courtly fool would not let him touch her. He’d left in a hurry, a sorry excuse on his lips as he left the gazebo his brother had invited him to and strutting through the gardens, looking for a place to empty himself. He couldn’t get the image of his brother fucking you out of his mind.
He turned down a walkway, almost running past the fragrant roses and bright foxgloves, moving toward a small stone alcove he liked to read in. Several times before, he’d ducked into the space to touch himself after a particularly vexing or titillating performance. He saw the opening, half hidden by the branches of a willow, gently moving in the summer warmth. Aemond rushed in, turning to press his back to the wall next to the opening and squeezing his eye shut. His chest heaved, and his hand came up to press against his heart.
“Whats got you in such a twist?”
Aemond’s eyes shot open to the gentle sound of familiar teasing.
You were smirking, the red of your lips turned up and your white teeth showing between them. What were you doing here? In his spot, crouched on his bench, making fun of his current state?
“Why are you here?” Aemond gritted out.
You stood up on the bench, turning from him and walking along the edge on your toes, your arms outstretched.
“Oh, I was just exploring the gardens, when I stumbled on this charming little place. What a perfect place to practice in, don't you think?”
You spun to face him, giving Aemond a deep curtsey.
“My Prince.”
You looked up at him through your lashes as you continued to bend forward, waiting for his response. Aemond knew the smart, responsible, princely thing to do would be to leave, to not give you the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he glared at you, pushing off from the wall and stomping toward the bench. You stood back up, eyes narrowing and lips spreading into a grin. Your amusement did nothing for his temper. He stopped before you, looking up at your painted face in indignation.
“It's a wonder you've never been punished for your insolence." Aemond said, crossing his arms. You laughed, throwing back your head and making the bells on your cap ring.
“My insolence is precisely why I’m so popular. The people around here are amused by my teasing; it adds to my mystique."
You turned back to the bench, folding forward and placing your hands on the stone to push up into a handstand.
“I’m certainly not amused by your arrogance.” Aemond growled, “And I’m certainly not interested in your mystique.” He walked down the bench as you walked on the edge.
You kicked your legs back and forth before answering.
“I disagree.”
He narrowed his eye and knelt down to be level with your eyes.
“Oh? Most members of the court would be loath to disagree with their Prince.”
Aemond stared into the darkness surrounding your eyes, satisfied with his quip. There was a long pause before a response.
“I think you're enchanted my mystique,” You taunted, “In fact, I think you spend a lot of your time thinking about me.”
The amusement drained from his face and he stood quickly, stepping back from the bench.
“I think you secretly enjoy my performances, I notice the way you're always staring, when you think no one can see you, the way you rush out of the throne room after I move.”
You kept your eyes on him.
“And I think-” Pushing your legs forward, you stepped down onto the ground in front of him, bringing your head up from the bench and looking up into his eyes.
“I think my teasing secretly turns you on.”
You whispered your final stab up at him, chest brushing his. The strange pair of you stared at each other, both breathing heavily as the weight of your accusation rested between you.
The longer Aemond waited to respond, the wider your grin grew, until you were vibrating with laughter and your bells jingled. The sound broke him from his trance, and he roughly grabbed you by the arms and pushed you backward until you were pressed against the wall of the alcove.
“You want the truth?” Aemond snarled, face bent to press the sharp point of his nose against yours. Briefly, you imagined a smudge of white on the tip when he pulled back, and let out a garbled titter.
“Oh, that's funny to you?”
He ran his hand up from your arm to your neck, wrapping his long fingers around it under the lace of your ruff. He held you closer to the wall, pressing you up onto your toes.
“You think it's funny that you’ve taken over my every waking thought? That I must leave rooms when you're near to touch myself? That when my brother speaks of your body, even the image of him with you turns my cock to stone?” Aemond pushed his nose against your cheek, and you could feel his words against your flesh. The rough plaster of the garden wall dug into your back, and later, when you checked in the mirror, you would find the skin between your leotard and ruff rubbed raw. Presently, though, you couldn't feel it.
You couldn't really feel anything but Aemond’s hand on your throat, his breath on your face, his chest pressed against yours, Aemond Aemond Aemond. His piercing lavender eye stared down at you, the intensity pulling a guttural sound from the back of your throat. Aemond grinned.
“Who knew the Fool had such a lust for pain?”
You moaned again. Aemond pulled his hand down from above your head, lightly running his long fingers up your bare legs to the apex of your thighs. You wiggled against him as he pressed his fingers into the fabric, and Aemond let out a breathy laugh.
“Look at you, so wet and I’ve barely even touched you,” he growled, “You really are a little slut, aren't you? Dancing around court, bending your body, teasing me, you've wanted me to snap, hold you against the garden wall and fuck you rough.” He began rubbing his fingers back and forth down your clothed cunt, the only sounds coming from heavy breathing and the wetness between your legs. You moved with him, pushing Yourself against his hand.
Aemond pulled his fingers away when he felt it.. He pressed his forehead to yours as he slowly slid his fingers past his thin lips.
He smiled around them.
“You taste as good as I imagined.”
You mustered up a smirk for him.
“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about how I taste?”
What was meant to sound taunting ended up coming out in a breathy moan. It was Aemond’s turn to laugh at you.
“I’ve had many thoughts about you, and I intend to act on all of them. Now,” He pressed his lips to your ear.
“Kneel for your Prince.”
Aemond gripped your shoulders and pushed you down to your knees.
“Take my cock out, little Fool.”
You rushed forward, gripping his belt and pulling at the fastingings of his trousers until his large, throbbing member sprung free. It was long and thick, bigger than you’d seen before, and you couldn't take your eyes off the purplish-red head, angrily dribbling precome onto the stone beneath him.
Looking up at him through your lashes, you noticed his chest rising and falling rapidly. Slowly, you leaned forward, keeping your eyes on him as you stuck out your tongue and licked the tip. An animalistic sound left his mouth as he reached forward and grabbed the tassels on each side of your hat.
You took it as an invitation to wrap your lips around him, taking him farther into your mouth as he pulled you forward. Down, down, down, until his cock was firmly lodged in your mouth, your nose pressing against the pale hair on his pubic bone. You pressed your tongue against the bottom of his cock, running it along the underside as you pulled back, sucking your lips around him. Aemond threw his head back, gripping your cap and moving your head faster, pushing himself farther and farther into your mouth.
Tears edged at the corners of your eyes as he shoved his cock through your lips, mixing with your spit and running the paint down your face. The dark from the eye makeup smeared down over the white, and your red lips smudged around him. He let out a loud groan, loud enough that anyone walking past the hidden alcove would have heard the Prince get his royal cock sucked. He gripped your cap harder as you made a choking noise at the back of your throat.
“Seven hells, your mouth feels so good. You feel-” You sucked your cheeks in and ran your tongue up the underside of his cock again, causing him to choke out another moaning purr. He thrust against your mouth, faster and faster as he got closer to completion. You gripped his thighs and hung on for dear life as he used your lips to finish himself off, spurting warm spend down your throat.
“Fuck, take it, swallow it.”
He held your mouth at the base of his cock and felt you swallow against him.
Aemond let out shaky breaths as he continued to grip, keeping you close to his body. Your eyes remained on him, looking up through your lashes at this pale, severe face, which was at present the most relaxed you’d ever seen him.
“Come here.” He managed to growl out.
You giggled.
“I certainly don’t see how I could get much closer to you, my Prince.”
He sighed again and let the corner of his lips turn up. Loosening his grip, he slowly moved backwards towards the bench you’d been sitting on when you first started taunting him that afternoon. Dropping down to sit, Aemond patted his leg for you to join him.
Quickly, you crawled over, thankful the smooth tile of the alcove didn’t scrape your knees. You gripped his thighs, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and anticipation. His gaze darkened; he liked the feeling of someone submitting their power to him. Aemond bent and gripped your waist, hauling you up into his lap so that you sat on one of his thighs. An arm snaked around you, pulling your side closer to him, while his other hand slid down your body, gripping one of your breasts harshly before making its way down to the apex of your thighs.
“Spread your legs for me, wide. I know how far you can bend them,” Aemond growled into your ear, “I know you’ve felt my eyes on you, watching you entertain my brother. You show off for me, don't you?”
He tugged the crotch of your leotard to the side, exposing you to the garden. Briefly you thought of the consequences that might fall upon you should any unwitting passerby see you in such a compromising position, but all thoughts were pulled back to the bench when Aemond landed a sharp smack to your cunt. You let out a startled, half squawk, half groan.
“Girls like you,”
Smack.
“Showing off,”
Smack.
“Doing anything to get attention,”
Smack.
“I know what you really want.” Aemond spoke, lips pressed to your ear.
“You want to be broken,”
He pressed his hand flat against your cunt.
“Used,”
He pressed two long fingers against your entrance.
“Taken until you ache, until you can’t do your pretty twirls, until all you can think about is finding your way onto my cock.” With that, he pushed his fingers inside, eliciting a loud moan from your soft lips. He smiled against your cheek as he continued to move his fingers in and out.
“I want the whole Keep to know how much of a slut our little Fool is.”
Curling his fingers deep inside you, he reached until he was met with the roughness he knew would pull another animalistic noise from your mouth. You did not disappoint, gripping his bicep with one hand, and his knee with the other, trying to stay balanced with your legs spread in his lap. Aemond added another finger, increasing the speed in which he thrust them while reaching up to free your breasts with his other hand. He gripped the front of your costume, pulling down until they sprang free. The lace of your ruff gently lay across the tops of them, and he watched as his movements caused your breasts to bounce enticingly. He grabbed your breast harshly before squeezing and rolling your nipple between his nimble fingers.
You threw your head back and moaned again. This brought a smirk to Aemond’s thin lips and he repeated the action, alternating between pinching and rolling, tugging and squeezing, all while continuing to thrust his fingers into your aching wetness, curling them in a way that made you feel like nothing you’d ever experienced before.
No man had ever treated you this way, using you, bending your body to his every whim. You felt the last ounces of your resolve slip away as he slid a third finger in. Your legs shook, and the wet sounds of Aemond’s fingers in your cunt grew louder. Moaning grew louder as you came, clenching around him and gripping him where you could so that you wouldn't slip. Aemond held you against him, gripping your breast hard enough that there very well might be a mark the next day.
Heavy breathing, your whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you came down from your high. You leant your forehead against his jaw, and he turned in to you as he slid his fingers out.
Aemond let out a huff of a laugh at the wet sound they made. You smacked his shoulder, but it held no real force behind it. He wrapped his large hand around your smaller one.
“You could be thrown in the dungeon for hitting your Prince, you know.” He whispered, bringing your fingers to his mouth and kissing the tip of each one. You smiled softly up at him.
“Good thing you like my insolence, right?”
Aemond took your face in his hand, other arm pulling you impossibly closer before pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss; your arm tightening around his neck as you slid your hand into his pale hair. He snaked his tongue past your lips and you melted into him, gripping the hair at the base of his neck. Aemond released your face and reached down to take your breast in his hand, squeezing and gently rolling a nipple between his fingers. You pulled your mouth away to let out a sigh, and a string of saliva connected adjoining lips. He kissed you again, softer this time, almost gentle, trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear to whisper:
“I’m going to fuck you know, little fool, I’m going to bend you in half and take you until the only thing you can say is my name. Would you like that?”
You could feel his tongue against your ear as he whispered, and you grabbed the leather of his doublet for balance before answering.
“I thought I was supposed to call you my Prince?” You let out, airily giggling. Aemond smirked, wrapping his arms snugly around your waist before flipping you onto your back on the bench. He hovered over, blocking the light with his larger form and canopy of long hair.
The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, and you stared up at him, mouth agape. He stroked a finger down your cheek, gently trailing down to your dripping cunt. Aemond let out a sigh.
“Gods, you're still so wet for me,” He groaned, as he rubbed the tips of his fingers over your clit, “I can’t- I can't tell you how many times I’ve thought about this, watching you contort your body, fucking you in your twisted positions.” He moved his hands to the insides of your thighs.
“Let's see how far you really bend.”
With that, Aemond pushed your thighs back, back, back, until your feet were well over your head and your legs were open wide enough to get a full picture of your weeping sex. You wiggled in his grip, but he held fast and you found you couldn't move from the prone position.
He grinned, before leaning forward and spitting on your opening, lowering himself to give it a harsh, scalding kiss before rising up on one knee on the bench. Aemond towered over you, and the look on his face told you not to move your legs from the position he’d put you in. He stroked himself,his cock already hard again.
Aemond leaned down, resting a hand beside your head and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, before sliding the spongy head of his cock through your folds. You let out a loud, unladylike moan, and willed yourself to keep your legs up for him. His face, usually so harsh, was contorted in a way that showed just how much your body affected him. He moved slowly, rocking his hips back and forth to push himself through your heat, rubbing against your clit with each thrust. He let out a whimper, and you gently took his face in your hands.
Aemond turned his head to press his lips to your palm, before pressing the angry tip of his cock against your opening. Both the Prince and the Fool let out a sigh as he sheathed himself into your heat, bottoming out when his pelvis met yours. Aemond gave you a moment to adjust to him before pulling back, almost all the way out, and slamming back into you with a force that shook your frame against the bench. It caused a light twinkle from your bells, and he gripped your thighs to get a better angle into your aching pussy. You moaned loudly, the sound mixing with the jingling of bells and the slap of his balls against your ass.
Aemond’s bliss was indescribable.
If there really were seven heavens as his mother so often preached, he didn’t really care to know. Surely none of them were better than the feeling of his little harlequin wrapped around his cock. The sound of your voice, so often teasing him, was now only emulating your craving for him. He couldn't even decide where to look. Your face, smudged with paint and tears, or your bouncing tits, enticing his fingers and mouth? Or was it the connection, his member diving into your gooey cunt that drew him in the most?
He moved a hand from your leg to your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his relentless thrusting. A poor fool you were, holding on to him for dear life as you reached your high again, arching your back and pressing your hips ever closer to his as you let out a half shriek at your completion. Your legs shook overhead, eyes seeing white stars as you rode out your orgasam on his thick member.
Aemond was captivated by the sight of you writhing against his cock. Your greed, finishing and still pressing yourself against him, brought him to the edge. The Prince roared, stuffing his cock into you and holding himself there, erupting. You moaned again at the feeling of his warm seed filling you, running out of your opening onto the stone of the bench.
The two of you stayed there for some time, connected, breathing together, Aemond’s face pressed against the lace at your neck as you stroked his hair.
“I’ve thought about this too, you know.” You pretend-whispered, turning your head to him. He looked up at you in confusion.
“Seeing you in the crowds, watching me, rushing out when I've done something provoking,” You took his face in your hand, “I imagined you were rushing off to touch yourself, thinking of me.”
You laughed then, and he joined in before kissing you again. Aemond pushed himself off, slowly removing his softened cock from inside you. He paused to watch his come leak out, and when you whimpered at the loss of him he tried to memorize the sound. He offered his hand.
“Why do you think I rushed in here today?”
I bright smile spread across your cheeks as you took his hand and stood, adjusting your costume to cover yourself on wobbly legs. Aemond did the same, tugging up his fallen trousers and adjusting his belt. Both of you pausing to hold onto one another when your knees felt weak. When he finished, he looked up to see you were already staring at him, head tilted and a shrewd grin on your face. He gave you a questioning look, and you stepped closer, rising onto your toes and licking your thumb, before rubbing it against his lips.
“What are you doing?” Aemond questioned, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist.
“The paint can be hard to remove, you wouldn't want anyone seeing all this red on your lips, would you?” You answered slyly. He released you, watching you continue until you seemed satisfied with the removal. You ran your fingers from his mouth up his jaw, cupping his face. Aemond closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against your palm.
Lifting back up onto your toes, you rested your other hand on his chest for support when you leant forward to whisper to him:
“Maybe later, you can have me rub the paint off your cock.”
Aemond’s eyes shot open as you stepped away quickly, turning to skip out to the entrance of the alcove. At the last moment, you turned in the doorway, giving him a heated look, and then a long, exaggerated bow.
it’s really important to me when men put their heads in women’s laps. one of the most important things i can see on my tv. men laying their heads in women’s laps or men sitting and women standing and the man holds her around the middle and presses his face into her tummy as she hugs him around the shoulders. two very important poses. extremely soul igniting tableaux.
Now I’m imagining a sad bestie because the giant lovey dovey dog (or even funnier small dog) is being a therapy dog for Armand instead of her…the dog resting its huge head on his knee and just staring at him with big wet eyes
Bestie would be a little bummed about Armand stealing her dog, but would also be happy to give Armand that kind of therapeutic outlet.
It would be extra funny if Armand was the most against getting a pet. Bestie has been begging for one, Louis isn’t strongly against the idea, and Armand has spent weeks insisting that the only one that gets to stay in the penthouse just because they’re cute is bestie.
Eventually, bestie wins the argument because of course she does, but that doesn’t mean Armand wants the creature near him. He’ll help out when it comes to caring for it, he won’t be cruel towards it, but he’s not seeking out the dog for comfort.
The dog starts following him around. He’s not sure why, but the dog keeps choosing to sit next to him instead of Louis or bestie. It’s there when he wakes up, there when he goes to bed, there when he wants to play on his iPad in the living room.
He stops trying to fight it. If the dog wants to rest its head on his lap and stare at him with large wet eyes then so be it. Over time, Armand notices that the dog starts sniffing at him whenever he has heavier thoughts, and that the dog always comes and lies on his lap when he’s about to spiral.
It’s kind of like when a dad swears you better not bring a dog into his house just to end up best friends with the dog.
I'm just imagining Spock who thinks he's making an absolute fool of himself in front of you. I mean, he’s absolutely appalled at how obvious he's being with his feelings for you. And you have Literally No Idea.
He's out here mentally scolding himself for explaining some calculations on a new planet too affectionately. Fully calling himself a slut in his own head because he let your fingers brush for a second when he handed you a plant specimen or something. Meanwhile, you're just staring at him like, “wow Spock sure does have a lot to say today,” completely unaware of the turmoil he's experiencing
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