A/N: The things that thirst and sleep deprivation can accomplish
Quick
These kisses are mandatory, whenever the both of you are too busy to do much more than exchange hurried "I love you"s, these kisses are given.
Simple and chaste, these kisses act as more of a check-in, a reminder of love when there's no time for anything else. Truthfully, they've become apart of the routine as neither of you seem to function properly without a quick "good morning" peck, nor are you able to rest without a kiss goodnight.
Departing
These kisses are full of longing. Usually given when Zuko has to leave to help the Avatar while you stay behind to rule the nation in his absence. Come morning, you'll kiss him again, just as deeply as you do tonight.
At the moment though, nothing else matters as your fingers bury into his hair, body wrapped around his possessively as you make him swear to be safe. He always laughs a bit nervously at your half-hearted threats. His arms always wrap tightly around you, tightening with each shift in your movement as if daring you to escape as he whispers assurances to you. And when words fail to soothe you, he pulls you in, his kiss conveying what his words cannot.
These kisses take your breath away, not because they're heady (as they so often become) but because within them there's a promise. The weight of his devotion will never be so easily expressed but with each kiss, you feel that you might have an idea.
"I'll always come back to you my love."
Comforting
Sometimes a kiss is just another form of comfort.
Some nights Zuko awakens, haunted by memories of his mother, his sister, his father. Those nights he's no longer the great Fire Lord, ender of the 100 Years War, leader of a new era, he's just Zuko. He's fragile and so very delicate in this state, so much so that all you can do to keep him from falling apart is to hold him.
The lightest kisses are placed along his hairline and soothing words are whispered as he returns to himself. He never quite tells you what disturbed his rest, but he always thanks you for being there, placing kisses upon your dark skin in return.
Teasing
There are times in which you like to rile up your husband (which honestly, is your right, he knew who he married).
When your husband simply has no time to attend to you in the way a husband should, you've often found yourself with an idle mind. You've found yourself concocting many a failed plan to get his attention.
You've long since learned that complaining about alienation of affection gets you nowhere (he thinks it's funny and you always end up waiting anyways). No, you've learned that the quickest way to get Zuko's attention when you're needy is to--to put it simply--piss him off.
Riling up Zuko is surprisingly easy once you know what buttons to push. The most effective strategy you've found is making the most of the quick moments you have with him throughout the day.
"Accidentally" nipping his lip during your 'good morning' kiss, pulling him aside to kiss him breathless in some secluded hallway, smacking his butt as he walks away. Everyone's got a limit, and you do take so much pleasure in agitating him.
He finally snaps after he comes by your office to drop off some papers and you grab him by the collar of his shirt, kissing him fervently before pulling back and coolly dismissing him as you returned to work.
When you looked up from your papers to see your husband standing over you, a familiar fury in his eyes, you knew you'd won this round. The papers he'd needed you to see were quickly forgotten as your husband put your desk to work in a much different way than intended.
Heated
These kisses happen quite often.
They usually start simply. A press of his lips against yours, a hand around the waist, a thumb caressing a cheek. One kiss becomes two, two become tongues mapping out the others' mouth, becomes a moan.
These kisses travel; from the shell of the ear, to the throat, to the chest. And before either of you know it, Zuko's ripped your top or or you've grabbed his hips to keep ahold of him as he rocks into you.
In these moments it never matters who initiates the kiss as both of you become one in chasing your pleasure. These kisses start and stop unpredictably--as you remember to breathe or Zuko grunts out "Fuck you feel so good"--but they're recorded in the gossamer strings of saliva that glitter in the low light briefly before falling away as Zuko moves to kiss another part of your body.
Exchanged sloppily in the throes of passion, these kisses always lead to you feeling exhaustedly satiated. Though you wouldn't trade them or any of the kisses you share with your husband for the world.
Summary: Pet names and nicknames the Gaang would have for you in a relationship
Warnings: Some swearing, slightly suggestive stuff
Aang
Your Name
Aang doesn't really use nicknames with you (with some exceptions of course), but generally speaking, Aang prefers to fluster you with his words and actions, not necessarily by calling you by some nickname. He might shorten your name or give you a nickname based on some variation of your name but for the most part, he just calls you by your name.
Gorgeous
Exception case #1, sometimes Aang is so in awe of you that he just sits there and admires you in order to appreciate how lucky he truly is. In these cases, it's quite common for an off-hand "gorgeous" or "wow" to slip out when addressing you since he doesn't really realize that he's speaking out loud. Whether you call him on it or not is up to you though.
Sweetie
Exception case #2, usually employed when you're behaving abnormally or he's being kind of a little shit. For example, if you aren't acting like yourself, he'll pull you aside and ask privately, "Sweetheart what's wrong?" Other times, he knows exactly what's wrong with you and he's only asking you what's wrong to tease you further.
Katara
Cutie
When Katara's in more of a teasing or flirtatious mood, she'll sidle up to you and greet you with a charming, "Hey cutie." Beware of Katara when she's in this state though, as "cutie" usually means that she's in an affectionate mood and she will become the slightest bit grumpy if you don't let her cuddle you.
Babe
Usually used in her day to day vocabulary, especially if she's calling out for you or trying to get your attention. Babe and baby are just the standard ways that Katara addresses you and you're going to just have to get used to it.
Precious One
Most of Katara's terms of endearment are going to come from her native language. Some of the terms she uses so often that you'll pick up their meaning relatively easy (not that she would keep their meaning a secret from you). Precious one, dear heart, and my love are all terms that she will whisper to you in her language. She loves using terms in her language as they create a sort of private barrier around the two of you, excluding any non-Southern Water Tribe residents from the intimate depths of your conversation.
Sokka
Snookums
Sokka unironically calls you his Snookum Wookum Bug A Bear and he has zero shame about it. It's almost like a challenge for him to come up with the most embarrassing combination of pet names in order to generate the maximum amount of embarrassment and cringe for everyone in the room. Katara has tried to make fun of him in the past but he simply reminds her that he knows exactly how sappy she is in their native tongue.
Hon'
When Sokka's not min/maxing cringe, he does just refer to you normally, either calling by your name or 'Honey'— hon' for short. Though not as common, he does enjoy proclaiming "my honey would never" in varying shades of disbelief depending on what random thing you've been jokingly accused of.
[Insert Complimentary Adjective]
I mean what is there to say? Sokka is your #1 hype man, one moment he's calling you a genius, the next, you're the most creative person he's ever met! It doesn't matter what you do, Sokka's always ready with a well-thought out nickname to highlight your best qualities.
Suki
Cutie
Another person who calls you cutie when teasing you, she does mean it genuinely though. You're just so cute that she can't help but to verbalize it, lest she combust from anticipation.
My Hero
This is usually a bit more sarcastic. If you do anything for Suki, even something as small as handing her a pen when she needs to write, she'll smile and say "my hero", placing a kiss on your cheek before continuing on with her business.
My Love
To Suki, there's nothing that means more to her than letting you know that you're loved. She loves you so much and to her it's a shame that she can't just beam the love she holds for you straight into your heart. To her, saying "my love" in between kisses is nothing but a cheap reminder compared to the depth of affection she feels for you.
Toph
Nerd
Toph is a lot more emotionally in tune than most people would give her credit for. She can feel the intensity of certain emotions through her seismic sense, so having a level of awareness for the feelings of others is almost second nature to her. Unfortunately, her awareness of others and their feelings plummets when it comes to Toph and her feelings. Because of her nature and general emotional repression, Toph expresses her affection for you in...unique ways. Though she doesn't call you this to be mean, nerd is definitely a regular part of Toph's vocabulary, alongside a number of joke nicknames about you.
Baby
Mostly used when she's flirting with you and laying it on thick. She loves to feel the way your heart pitter patters when she calls you baby. A whistle and a murmured, "Damn baby" usually sends you into an embarrassed frenzy, which always puts a smile on her face.
If you turn the tables on her and call her baby, she'll be putty in your hands.
Dummy
Another name that Toph calls you because, well, she's Toph. Usually reserved for the times that you behave recklessly, causing her to panic when she can no longer sense you in the midst of chaos and commotion. When it's all over, and her heart finally calms down, she'll go up to you and say, "You're a real dummy you know that?"
Zuko
Your Name
Like Aang, Zuko is someone who doesn't really use nicknames. He prefers using your name because it's yours and though he may not be the only person blessed with the privilege of knowing and saying your name, the reverence in his tone when he say it sets him apart from all others.
Darling
Zuko is very private with his affection, his preference for using your name isn't just because he loves saying it so much. He's not that big on PDA, and part of that is keeping nicknames and pet names between the two of you (the sappy way he always says your name makes his stance null and void, but let's let him be delulu). In those quiet moments he's able to steal with you, he's so gentle and affectionate. A kiss on your hand accompanied by a, "Hello my darling, how has your day been?", is all he can afford to give in these moments, but, his affections are cherished nonetheless.
My Love
Zuko calls you his love like it's a sacred vow—for him it probably is. Usually reserved for the late nights when neither of you can quite find sleep and your conversations consist more of half-baked thoughts than the intelligent repartee you both are capable of. Zuko, half-asleep, tells you of how you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to him, "You are the greatest blessing, my love."
Summary: Dean has plenty of valid reasons to hate you and yet none of them seem to come to mind when you're on top of him.
Warnings: SMUT (no literally it's porn no plot), I have a grumpy switch Dean agenda welcome to my ted talk, reader's in charge, misogynistic language (it's SPN and it's Dean unfortunately), mentions of violence (reader is a little bit crazy), Dean's inferiority complex says hi
WC: 3.2k
A/N: Now I won't say that B.I.T.C.H by Meg Thee Stallion and Everything Pinka by Monaleo were on the hypothetical playlist for this fic but I won't say they weren't... This idea's been rattling around in my head for a while but I finally got the idea for the general plot down. Reader is a hunter thief/poacher like Bela btw!
Dean Winchester was certain of very few things in life, discovering that monsters are real at the age of four does that to you.
What he was certain of—very certain—was that he hated you.
He and Sam had been working a job which turned out to be a much bigger case than either of them were prepared for when they got word that you and Bela's little hodge podge criminal enterprise were rolling into town.
Now, in addition to being stuffed into a claustrophobic suit and shoes he's sure have to be two sizes too small with how they're squeezing his feet, he also has to deal with the additional headache that you and your "business associate" bring.
Bela he could handle, she was a stuck up, british, priss and he had no problem telling her quite plainly to fuck off. You were the problem. You had a way of making Dean's head dizzy with your stupid expensive perfume and your quiet, lilted way of speaking. Every movement you made made Dean want to stop his heart from beating, if only for the fact that it distracted him from hearing every word that escaped your perfectly plump lips.
Tonight was no different, some charity gala for some stupid rich assholes to feel better about themselves, not that he really knew what the cause was when he was so focused on you.
Sam had left to sneak upstairs and retrieve the amulet before either you or Bela could poach it. His job was to stay downstairs and watch the exits, make sure that neither of you had the chance to slip out of here.
You put the entire room to shame with how good you looked. You were wearing some sort of done-up gown (that he'd bet his baby cost a small fortune) that was pink and covered in a subtle shimmer of what looked like glitter but upon your approach he realized were thousands of tiny crystals, each placed meticulously to give your dress the flowing appearance of being bestowed upon you through magic.
He's faintly aware of the disapproving stares you garner as you move through the room, unbothered by the disdain and disbelief painted onto the faces of the gala attendees.
You spotted him first. In no time at all you glide across the room, the small train created by your dress is no hinderance to you at all. You move so gracefully, so delicately that if he didn't know any better— know you—the way you bare your belly only to claw out the eyes of any foolish enough to fall for your trap—he'd say that you belong here, amongst the diamonds of society. If he didn't know the viciousness with which you could cut—deep enough to scar, but still light enough to heal— he'd push you away and tell you to go rub elbows with the changemakers of the world, not to spend your night with a man who's nursing a champagne flute, hoping it'll magically turn into beer.
He's supposed to be watching you. Bela's run off to who knows where so he'll stick to you like a barnacle to make sure whatever plan the two of you have cooked up doesn't go through.
"Funny seein' you here Winchester", you say like he'd be anywhere else. You know the shadows with which this business operates as well as he does, and he knows you're not stupid.
Still, he says, "You do know what'll happen if that amulet gets used right?"
You don't respond, merely sizing him up with a discerning look in your eye. He didn't notice it earlier, but your dress has a slit up the sides that stops right in the middle of your thigh. He's successfully stopped himself from taking in the view of your breasts provided by the halter cut of your dress but his traitorous eyes find themselves stuck on the delectable sheen of your legs. The bit of thigh he's able to see shines like a bottle of the finest top shelf whiskey and the filthiest of intrusive thoughts peek in telling him to take a sip.
Your conversation continues, you've gotten whatever information you needed from the silent exchange, and he's mentally chastising himself so it's a bit stilted and one sided.
He's not sure when or what made him think this was a good idea but somehow he's gone outside with you. He's got you pressed against the side of his car and you've managed to wrap one leg around him.
The both of you sit in this closeness, every breath he exhales you swallow, and it's doing something funky to his mind. Your spell continues as you break first and kiss him, giving in the slightest bit when he's frozen with indecision while his brain and dick war with each other.
He can feel his cock hardening, it makes the suit uncomfortably tight. He grinds into the plush fabric of your underwear for any hint of relief. It's only when you bite his lip and his hand has slowly snuck up the back of your head—desperately clinging to the freshly done braids you sport—that he stops.
This is wrong. So, so wrong. He hates you.
You steal dangerous artifacts and sell them to the highest bidder, you couldn't care less who dies because of your actions, you've stabbed him, shot Rufus. He should kill you.
"You conniving bitch."
"Dean, language! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Fuck you."
You take his hand in yours, calloused and pliant. He should yank it out of your hand but your perfume fills his senses and he's distracted again. "Now Dean, we were having such a good time together." Your other hand reaches towards the halter of your dress, you cup your breast in the top before pushing the flimsy thing aside, revealing your bare breast to him. "Let's not ruin it with petty fighting, ok?"
You take the hand in your grip and drag it over your exposed breast, groaning when his fingers catch on your nipple. You don't stop there, your hand firmly grasps his wrist, you've shifted its position to create a more secure hold with your nails, and draaaag his hand down the length of your torso, his heart pounds with each bit of soft skin that his fingers are allowed to touch. Your leg is still wrapped around his waist and you use it to tug him the slightest bit closer.
"Or", your voice lilts with the proposition, a promise of something more to come, "If you still insist on fighting, maybe this will change your mind?" With that, you pull his hand down further, using his much larger hand to cup your pussy. You're soaked, the fabric of your underwear is warm and he's overcome with the urge to rip them off of you.
"You can move them you know", you're still there, of course you are. You've bewitched him and your spell has a devastatingly short range. Your hand, which rests atop his, moves to match the shape of his hand. Your fingers, adorned with a fortune's worth of jewelry and a set of gaudy acrylic nails, reach down, puppeting his fingers while he stands powerless to stop you, and force the gusset of your underwear to the side.
The sudden warmth and wetness is a shock to his system, his dick wins the battle over rationality as he mutters out a stilted "car", while scrambling for the keys to his Impala.
You laugh at his panic, because you're evil, and he thinks he grumbles a "shut up" that only serves to make you laugh harder.
He finally opens the door to the car's backseat and you get the memo because he doesn't even have to say anything before you and your fancy-prissy-pants dress are in the car.
The two of you are inseparable once inside. Dean's backseat is pretty spacious but it's not nearly enough space for everything he wants to do to you so he has to formulate his plan of attack.
Scrunching up your dress allows your legs the full scope of their movement and you use your newfound freedom against him, immediately pulling him close to you with a surprising amount of force before he can even get the chance to undress.
He can feel his mind being wiped clean with each press of your lips against his. You're constantly picking at him too, nipping and fighting back against his tongue when it presses into your mouth.
He pulls back first, breaking the kiss for his own sanity, "Fucking—stop distracting me." Your legs loosen their grip and for the moment, you allow him to do as he wishes, laying content as a fat cat in the backseat of his Impala.
Finally. He loosens the bowtie around his neck, not at all missing the pressure it inflicted upon removing it, before moving to remove his suit jacket that feels akin to a straight jacket in such close quarters. With the slightest of restrictions removed from his body, he's finally able to breathe. The scent of sweat and sex fills his car as he huffs the heady aroma.
He rolls up the sleeves of his jacket, undoing the top few buttons before sliding his fingers into the elastic waistband of your panties. You put up very little resistance and it takes everything in his power not to stop his task to lick at the pearl of your clit, as luminous as it is in the lowlight of the backlot he's parked in.
At the feeling of your sharp nails thumping his head, his attention is drawn back to you. You've moved back a bit, pressing your head against the window to make the logistics of positioning yourself for backseat sex a bit more comfortable. "I know she's pretty Winchester but please focus", your other hand comes from seemingly nowhere, drawing his attention downwards as you spread yourself open, "I promise if you're quick, I'll make it worth your while."
In no time at all, your underwear lay forgotten in some unknown shadow of his car while he's head first in your perfect little pussy.
Another thing about you that pisses him off. You don't even have the decency to be ashamed about the sounds he's making as he sucks your hypothetical soul (he's still not 100% sure yours isn't on loan from Hell) out. The gushes and sweet squelches your pussy makes as his tongue and fingers take turns fucking it could make a pornstar blush, and yet, here you are, seemingly unbothered by the obscene noise, only telling him what to do with a firm grip on his hair and breathy moans of "Right there, Dean" and "Fuck me harder".
His dick's aching in need and he palms himself through the suit—rental deposit be damned. You're intoxicating, his fingers are prodding into you, trying to best translate the shape and feel of you to the hand he's half fucking his dick into. Your taste is the sweetest nectar he's ever known—made all the tastier by its tartness and the way your thighs seem to be two seconds from crushing his head whenever he circles your clit. He hates himself just a bit more for the eagerness with which he surrenders to your allure.
He pulls out, your pussy's a suction force and getting it to release his fingers is made all the more difficult by the way your nails dig into his scalp—just painful enough that the promise of violence is there, not certain, but a metaphorical gun placed on the table. "Winchesterrr", your voice is no longer gentle and seductive, it takes on a tinge of restrained fury. This is who he knows you to be—you're not some dainty angel floating through crowds of equally enamored and repulsed idiots—you're mean. You're selfish, vindictive, and you'd kick, claw, scratch, and shoot before not getting your way.
Dean knows he's lost his mind when he feels his dick throb at the thought of you furious with him for leaving you unattended.
You sit up and your hands move. He's successfully freed his fingers from the snatch trap of your pussy but he's not doing anything and it's pissing you off. It's impressive the level of dexterity you have, even with those plastic knives you've attached to your fingers— and he briefly thinks of how your nails might sound, clacking together as you stroke his dick— as you pop the remaining buttons of his shirt open—one by one.
He would be lying if he said that the sting your fingers left in their wake as they ran down his chest wasn't exhilarating. A threat and a promise wrapped up into one as your fingers skirt the hem of his slacks before running back up to settle around his neck.
"Look, I've never been choked by a chick before but—"
You pull his dick out so fast that he's left speechless mid-sentence.
"Shut up", you pump his dick a few times, your nails don't clack together but your hand is so soft that he finds a thousand new fantasies emerging with every up-down stroke of your hand. Your palm presses into his throat, not crushing or painful, just...there, as your fingers come along and press faintly into the sides of his neck.
"Dean, one thing that you should know about me is that I will not be left wanting", you squeeeeze the head of his dick in a rolling motion that nearly has him folding over, "I'd sooner tie you up and gag you. Understand?"
The hand holding his neck moves to grab his chin, you bring him to meet you, eye to eye, as your unimpressed face stares back at him. "I'm only saying this once so pay attention, 'kay", you say this, but the hand stroking his dick doesn't even attempt to slow down, "You're gonna eat my pussy. If you make me cum, I'll do something nice for you. Take what you're given and be good to me and we'll have a good time, nod if you understand."
Your words leave no room for argument and he nods, all fight leaving him as you push him down onto the seat and prepare to mount his face. He doesn't even argue when you put your dirtied hand out, waiting for him to lick the precum from it with an assured expectance. You've stopped stroking his dick in the midst of this, it's uncomfortably hard but you smack his hand away when he tries to reach for it, reminding him to "finish what he started".
With Dean’s tongue having cleaned your fingers, you wipe your hand onto his undone slacks, sinking onto his mouth in one fluid motion. Your dress covers his face for the briefest of moments until you pull the skirt up again, "Fuck, wanna see your face pretty boy."
His dick throbs at the compliment—he'd flip you off if his hands weren't busy keeping you in place.
You seem to be closer than you initially let on. You're riding his face with reckless abandon and he mentally swears at the crick in his neck that he's certain to get from the angle you've maneuvered his head into in order to get his tongue to reach every part of you.
"Fuck! Fingers—Use your fingers!"
Well if he wasn't sure if you were close before now. He does as told, shifting you ever so slightly so he can use his fingers while his tongue lavishes attention onto your clit. You buck into his face one final time, pulling on his scalp in a way that makes him concerned for his luscious locks, before letting go as your orgasm releases and runs through you.
Dean keeps consistent as you ride the feeling out, switching out his fingers to lick up the glaze left in the wake of your orgasm. You seem softer like this, less trigger-happy and almost...vulnerable but before Dean can dwell on that fact for too long, the jingle of some mass market pop song rings out, causing the both of you to sober up.
How you manage to find your phone in the midst of a clothes pile, low lighting, and the jiggly, post orgasm feeling is a feat worthy of some level of respect from Dean (but then again, his dick's still hard and his decision making isn't exactly the best at the moment).
The flash of blue light that illuminates your face before you press the phone to your ear is enough to return some of Dean's senses to his wound-up body. Shit. He left Sammy inside by himself—fuckup was too kind of a word to describe what he was.
You're taking the call and you glance at Dean from the corner of your eye. He's not sure what look you see in his eyes but you press your palm into his chest when he tries to sit up.
"I'll meet you there", is the only part of the conversation that you bother to respond to with words. The rest has been a series of 'mhm's and 'hm's that have left his impromptu reconnaissance with no useful information. You end the call and turn to him, "What a shame, and I was having so much fun playing with you."
You readjust your dress and Dean laments at the disappearance of the nipple that he never got to properly lavish attention on before realizing with a start that you were preparing to leave. "Hey! So you get to fuck my face and all I get is a sloppy handjob?"
You pull a compact mirror out of a purse he didn't even notice you had—god he was getting sloppy—and give yourself a once over, not even bothering to look at Dean as you respond, "Sorry pretty boy, I've got to cut tonight's game short. I've got business to attend to."
You retouch your lips, smudged by the night's activities, before deeming your appearance to be good enough and returning your compact to your purse.
His dick is out, everything's changed too fast for his head to keep up. You open the car door, stepping out before turning back and slinging something at his face. The snap of elastic hits him right in the forehead before he's even sure of what's happening, "However, I did promise to reward you so, in return, you can use my panties to sort yourself. I'll let you keep 'em and everything, free of charge."
Dean rubs at his forehead as he unfurls the underwear you've graciously left him with, they’re pink (of course), with a black lace applique around the hem. Though it's hard to fully make out, he's certain that the bulk of the fabric has lettering printed on it—"They're Dior!"— you say as both confirmation and as if that makes the situation any better.
"I don't want your damn panties! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
You laugh, mocking sound indicative of just how seriously you take his rage. "See you around, Winchester. Better luck next time."
And with that, you close the car door and leave him with little more than a raging hard on and a pair of stupid girly girl panties. Alone, with no external pressures or judgment, Dean's mind makes another (ill-advised) decision.
"Son of a bitch."
Dean really did hate you.
Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog, and leave comments if you enjoyed. I'm thinking of expanding this into a broader story set so please let me know if you're interested <3
Alucard or Trevor get a lullaby from the love after having issues sleeping
Warnings: Some slight angst from both but it's mostly fluff
A/N: First time writing for Castlevania, hopefully I did the characters justice
Alucard
Growing up, Adrian, like any child, had found himself plagued with his fair share of nightmares.
At the time, he would creep into his parents' bedroom, their peaceful dreams interrupted by the muffled cries of their only child.
Being a child so lovingly poured into by his parents, Adrian was warmly welcomed into the arms of his mother and father.
His father would swiftly check for any proverbial monster under the bed (how there could be anything of the sort within the King of Demons' castle was a conjuration only possible through the overactive imagination of a child) while his mother would coo to him softly, singing a lullaby that she had learned from her mother.
Never in his life had the halls of the castle felt so empty.
The aching hole of loneliness is made ever-present by the near complete silence that greets Adrian when he wakes from the cruelest of dreams--a nightmare in disguise meant to torment his battered mind.
Typically, when this ache had become too great to bear, he'd resign himself to staying awake. Whether through drink or the hot iron rod of melancholy, Adrian would relinquish all hopes of peacefully gained sleep-- simply awaiting the inevitable force of blacking out from exhaustion.
He thinks of the many nights he'd spent alone, tormented by the memories of life in a castle so desolately devoid of it.
Then he looks to you.
You look so peaceful, you're sleeping and as much as he wants to reach out to you, seek your comfort when his mind has betrayed him, he'd sooner die than disturb your rest.
He moves to the door of your shared chambers-- already he misses the warmth of the bed-- and moves to leave, hoping that there'd be a spot in the library that he could cuddle into until sunrise when--
"Adrian? What's wrong?"
Ah, how foolish of him. Of course you'd notice he was absent from your bed, you needed him just as he needed you.
"My darling, it's nothing. Just a bad dream."
Concern colors your expression as a frown begins to form on your face.
Suddenly he feels very guilty.
"C'mere my love."
He does as bade, crossing the room in the blink of an eye. You're kind, even in your admonishment of his behavior. "We swore a vow to each other. I swore to protect and care for you, how can I do that if you hide your pain from me?"
He doesn't make a habit of arguing with his spouse, nor does he intend to start. He agrees with you, it's easier that way. Besides, he already feels the ache within his lonely and rejected heart begin to recede in the the face of your warmth.
You lay his head in your lap. Soft words of a song foreign to his ears but melodic all the same tumble from your mouth.
In between the verses of the song, he does recognize one phrase--one that you'd taught him so that he'd know it each time it fell from your lips.
You love him. As wretched and cursed an existence as he was destined to live, you took his cold hand in yours and stood firm by his side. He was certain that he hadn't done anything to earn the fortune of your company after such a miserable foray into his young adulthood, but maybe he didn't need to earn it.
His eyes close as your voice carries him off to dream land-- this time certain to be filled with much more pleasant dreams of you-- he thinks, not for the first nor last time, that he is incredibly grateful to have you.
Trevor
In general, Trevor is really bad when it comes to sleeping.
Not that he was necessarily a paragon of mental and physical health but Trevor doesn't really do well with anything that requires him to be still for an extended period of time.
He's used to fighting demons and monsters through the night, an activity that's famously known for it's sleeping benefits, of course.
And on the rare occasions when he's not fighting through the night, he still struggles to get any restful sleep.
He saw his family slaughtered at age 12 and he's been on the run, defending himself since.
Siting still long enough to fall asleep and the accompanying nightmares once he does fall asleep just remind him of everything he's lost, and too often the feeling hits him when he's unable to numb the pain in the bottom of a bottle.
It's not exactly difficult to piece together the reason that Trevor's been so irritable lately (...well, more than usual).
It doesn't take a unique sort of genius to see that Trevor's been avoiding sleep. In fact, you've had many a night in which you've had to force Trevor to bed, although it rarely worked.
One day, the both of you have managed to stumble upon a town with actual travel accomodations. The innkeeper was friendly enough and didn't pry into you nor Trevor's backstories.
That night, you feel the greatest sense of relief at the feel of the plush mattress. It was nothing fancy but when you've been sleeping on wood and straw for weeks, it was downright indulgent.
You'd made Trevor strip out of his clothes, demanding that he not dirty up the bed with his filthy outdoor attire.
Beat back with exhaustion as you were, you were one more slow blink away from just passing out, but the sight of Trevor pacing the floor next to the bed gave you pause.
"Trev", a yawn slips out before you can even think to stop it, "What's the matter?"
"Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."
Well that was the most concerning dismissal you'd ever heard from him. Not only had he brushed you off, he hadn't even noticed that you'd never really went to sleep to begin with.
You called him over, lifting the blanket up so that he could find a comfortable position beneath the comforter before wrapping your arms around his midsection.
You don't know what possessed you to start humming a lullaby--an old one that you'd learned in childhood-- but the sound of the song reverberating through your chest seemed to soothe Trevor the tiniest bit.
Your fingers found purchase in his hair, tracing nonsensical patterns against his scalp.
You kept humming though, even as the shapes in the room blurred and the world became little more than dream sand, you kept humming for Trevor.
It wasn't until Trevor started snoring that you'd nodded off, still singing that sweet little lullaby.
Warnings: Suggestive content (they r grinding on each other pls DNI/DNR if under 18!), language
A/N: I'm getting back into the groove of writing again, please bear with me loll. Idc that magi is a dead fandom, you will pry this show out of my cold dead hands. Also I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible but please lmk if I missed any gendered terms <3
Sinbad was above all ambitious.
He was never going to be the sort of man content with serving his lord, content with his lot in life as a peasant. Instead, he viciously fought and clawed his way up into becoming a man whose name was whispered in awe amongst the commonfolk and nobility alike.
Suffice to say that a man with such overarching ambition would likely become a bit greedy. Though Sinbad was never greedy when it came to ensuring the good of his citizens or friends. Even in securing diplomatic relations the man could almost be considered profligate with how generous he could be.
Though greedy is not a word many would use to describe Sinbad, it was one you found yourself using more and more with each passing day.
He’d decided that his latest attempt to shirk his administrative duties would revolve around the complete monopolization of your time. In this way he was not only greedy, but selfish, as he ensured that neither of you would be getting any work done today.
“Sinbad, we have to get up. I’m sure Jafar is already on his way.” Your husband merely groaned into your chest, which he’d hungrily claimed as his pillow after pressing a thousand love bites into your skin.
“I’m sure I can convince him to leave us be", you rolled your eyes at the utterance, knowing that barring serious injury, illness, or death, Sinbad's advisor would show up and drag Sinbad to work kicking and screaming. Sinbad’s arms tightened around your waist, muscles that had been honed by years of training, flexed tantalizingly and you had to bite your lip to keep from sinking your teeth into them.
“And what of my plans for the day?”
He raised his head, chin settling into your chest before fixing you with a look that had gotten you into trouble a thousand times before, “I’m sure I could convince you too.”
Without even a moment of warning, he scoots further down your body, stopping at your navel to place a few gentle kisses there. The featherlight sensation is more ticklish than anything and you fight to keep yourself from reacting.
All innocence is ripped away from the moment when Sinbad’s tongue licks from your navel to your clavicle. His warm tongue leaving a rapidly cooling trail along your nude skin. He moves to continue his ministrations from the night before when you regain your senses.
You place a hand on his chest, the simple gesture enough to stop his lascivious advance as he glances at you. “Sinbad, I mean it. We’ve both got work to do to prepare for hosting the Imuchakk tribes. The longer we put it off, the bigger the mess to clean up and the bigger headache for Jafar.”
He stalls for a moment, mind seemingly shifting from your horny husband to the King of Sindria.
“You make an excellent point my love, we should return to our duties post haste.” If you hadn’t known your husband as well as you did, you’d think him possessed. You were no stranger to his tricks though and you knew that the glint in his eye meant trouble. You'd never known Sinbad to concede without putting up a fight unless he had something else up his sleeve, "I'll just need one kiss from the love of my life to keep me going while I finish all that paperwork."
The all too innocent smile on his face causes you to look at him with further scrutiny.
"Just one my ass."
He feigns offense, placing a hand on his chest and sitting up on his knees dramatically, "Do you doubt me? I promise on my honor as the King of Sindria."
In sitting up, you could better see his dick, half-stood at attention and nearly poking through the blankets.
"My eyes are up here my treasure", your gaze travels upwards and...damn him. He's too attractive for his own good and he looks so happy that if you weren't already going to fuck him, you'd jump his bones just for looking so damn good in the first place.
“...Just one kiss right?”
He knows he’s got you and his smile grows impossibly larger.
“Yep.”
No sooner than you acquiesce does he pounce. Strong hands gently cup your face as he lovingly places a kiss on your forehead, eyelids, and nose, before finally placing one on your lips. You breathe a sigh of relief, as greedy as he could be when it came to you, you never found yourself growing weary of his antics. Truthfully, if he ever asked for every ounce of your time and affection, you'd gladly indulge him.
When he pulls back, your lips follow his ever so slightly. He laughs, "Just one, remember my darling?", he moves to pull away from you and exit the bed.
Your hands find their way onto his shoulders and around his neck, "You and I both know you're never satisfied with just one", your second kiss quickly becomes heady. A leisurely pace is established but the way that Sinbad's hands run over you as you press his body into yours is nothing short of electrifying.
Tongues dance as mouths open and hips are shifted to slot against each other. You've lost track of time and your breathing between kisses and the dizzying effect on your mind is intensified by the way Sinbad's bare cock ruts against you.
"Ah- Sinbad, we really shouldn't--shit! Shouldn't put that stuff off though."
"We're not putting it off, we'll get to it soon as I'm done with you."
Ah well, you supposed it wouldn't hurt to let him be greedy just this once.
Hiiiiiiiiiiiii can you do castiel x insomniac!reader and he knocks them out with his grace (consensually) bc they haven't gotten enough sleep
Hiiii!! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope I did your request justice
Castiel x GN Reader
WC: 2.1k
Warnings: some swearing, slight violence mentioned/knives mentioned, questionable uses of grace? it's all fluff tho
A/N: Funnily enough, this is my first SPN fic that I've actually published so I don't quite have a masterlist for my SPN posts yet. It'll be updated soon I promise! In the meantime, feel free to send me SPN requests so I can fill up the new masterlist
"I don't understand why you can knock out a room full of vampires but when I ask for a little assistance going to sleep, it's a problem."
With your head facing the window of the Impala, you don't exactly see the irritation on Castiel's face, but the irritated click of his tongue and the accompanying sigh make the picture clear enough.
"It doesn't work that way", he reaches out, trying to make contact with you in the midst of your dignified, adult, not-at-all a tantrum reaction. "I'd be more than happy to explain it to you again if the confusion upsets you--"
"Don't bother, looks like it's another sleepless night for me", you turn to look at him with a smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes, "Thanks Cas."
He goes to argue when Dean's voice interjects, "Alright you two, cut it out. I'm not gonna be the cabbie for the Bickersons tonight, no one wants to hear the two of you arguing about your"--his eyes cut to meet yours in the rearview mirror-- "sleep problems."
Though you'd typically argue with Dean for speaking to you like that, you aren't in the mood to talk--the weight of exhaustion is pressing into you and it's making you more irritable than usual. Castiel appears to be sufficiently chastened and when he twists his head to look at you-- puppy dog eyes locked and loaded-- you simply close your eyes to avoid continuing the conversation.
Dean was right, you'd all need to get whatever sleep you could tonight and if Cas wasn't gonna be any help, you'd need a head start if you were gonna get anything resembling sleep.
Crashing at a motel wasn't ideal but it'd be another fourteen hours to get home and Dean was insistent that he drive his car and no one else so, motel it is.
Though the life of a hunter isn't exactly cush, you never really enjoyed the whole sleeping in motels bit. It was hard enough for you to fall asleep in the comfort of your own bed where you had dozens and dozens of gimmicky (and not-so-gimmicky) sleep aids to help you fall asleep on your indulgently soft pillow top mattress, satin pillowcases, and weighted blanket. Motels, understandably, had none of that. Most mattresses were rock hard, and the abysmal quality of the sheets, blankets and pillowcases meant that what little sleep you could reliably get at home was little more than a pipe dream here.
Admittedly, this motel was pretty nice, Dean must've opened a new line of credit or something because the mini suite he'd put you all up in came equipped with two beds and a pullout sofa, a small kitchenette (equipped with a functioning stove and oven!), a dining nook that divided the open concept kitchenette from the rest of the room, and a bathroom that didn't have any suspicious stains in it (which was a low bar but one that was not consistently cleared).
In every sense, you should be overjoyed. You should make like Dean and be face down, passed out on the bed (still in his outside, nay, his hunting clothes, which was...something). You just needed to sleep for a few hours and then you'd be on the road again to meet up with Sam and then head home, that's all.
You kept repeating the words in your head like an unhelpful motivational speech as you stared blankly at the ceiling. It was nearly four and here you were, staring at the ceiling. You'd tried everything, closing your eyes, counting the same dumbass sheep, counting to the highest number you could think of (not that high, it's boring) and nothing worked. You chance a glance at Castiel, he's laying on the sofa bed, he's facing away from you, curled up in the same way that a fetus might in the womb. He let you have the bed, stating that it's more comfortable, but honestly, you would've taken the couch if only to spare him the discomfort of having to fit the length of his body onto a bed designed for those significantly shorter than he is.
The sight of him all curled up sleeping, brings to mind the argument you had with him just a few short hours ago. Some part of you is still upset with him but the rest of you is just tired, body aching and mind desperate for some sort of relief--a reset.
Mentally throwing in the towel, you get out of the bed--slowly and quietly, not that you'll think you'll wake either man, btu still--and make your way out of the room.
You're not quite sure where you got the habit from but on nights you can't sleep--that is to say most nights--you'd go for a walk to clear your head and hopefully tire yourself out. It never really worked but it was better than sitting in bed staring at the ceiling while waiting for the sun to rise. The only reason you'd stopped going for walks is because Castiel would keep you company whenever you couldn't sleep. You'd turn on the TV, set it to a random channel and the two of you would just talk. His dry wit and genuine confusion at the portrayals depicted on screen never failed to make you laugh and the angel had somehow managed to endear himself to you, finding a spot right in the brightest corner of your heart, snuggling up and basking in the warmth.
The mind is such a funny thing. It has such a succinct way of instilling guilt, brokering no room for misunderstanding as shame and embarrassment flow through your head at the reminder of the way you acted towards Castiel. With a sigh, you swore to apologize to him first thing, he probably wouldn't accept it knowing him but you still want him to know that you're genuinely sorry.
Your insomniac adventure takes you to the edge of the inner courtyard, you're at the set of rooms on the complete opposite side of the building from your room. You've passed a cropping of bird poop, a trash bag filled with what appeared to be a week's worth of food waste, and a nice pool/jacuzzi situation on your way here. Your curiosity has rewarded you with the sight of an ice machine. Before you can assess whether or not your excursion was worth it, you hear the telltale sound of muffled footsteps approaching you. Ducking into the nearest hiding spot--a small alcove created by the overhang of the two connecting corner walls-- you pull out your weapon, a small hunting knife made from silver, as you mentally curse yourself for not bringing your gun.
The shadows peek around the corner, the light of the wall sconces outside each room isn't nearly bright enough to give the shadow of the figure a distinct impression. Just as you're getting ready to drive a knife into the kneecap of whoever comes around the corner, a familiar voice calls out your name.
"Are you there?"
Your posture instantly loses it's rigidity, you relax--partially in relief and partially in confusion-- what the hell was he doing here? "Cas? What are you doing up?"
Lo and behold, who should round the corner but Castiel, looking a bit more disheveled than usual. He's forgone his usual trench coat leaving him in nothing more than his usual business slacks and a button down shirt missing it's tie and with two buttons undone. His hair is mussed from what you're certain is sleep though he lacks the distinct tired look in his eyes that someone fitfully woken from sleep would have.
"I sensed that your presence was no longer in the hotel room so I came looking for you."
"Oh."
The two of you stand there for a moment, lacking the words to continue the conversation leaves you both off-center and awkward.
"Were you craving ice?" "I'm sorry."
The both of you go silent again, beginning the back and forth repartee of deciding who gets to speak first.
"I'm serious Cas, you can go first."
"I was wondering if you had a sudden craving for ice again. Though I don't believe this hotel has bubble ice, which if I remember correctly, you have declared as the superior ice shape."
The serious consideration with which he assesses the ice machine behind you combined with his mutterings about how he's "not sure how one arrangement of crystallized water molecules can be superior to another" cause you to let out an embarrassingly pitchy giggle.
The full force of his attention shifts to you at the involuntary sound and you cover your mouth in shame as your eyes widen in shock. It takes a few seconds for you to be sure that your body won't betray you again (well, any more than it already has) before you speak, "I'm sorry I don't know where that noise came from."
"Are you feeling well? That noise obviously came from you."
You choose to ignore his comment, "And also, I'm sorry for getting upset with you earlier."
"You do not need to apologize--"
"No, no, I do. You said no and you have your reasons", you struggle to meet his eyes, piercing a blue as they are, "I shouldn't have gotten all pissy with you just because I was jealous of vampires that got to have angel grade melatonin."
You hesitantly look back at Cas, fear of rejection restraining your movements more than anything, only to find the softest smile gracing his expression. "I'm not certain that 'Angel Grade Melatonin' would be approved by your government's Food and Drug Administration. Can you imagine the headache regulating it would cause?"
He lets the smallest of laughs escape. It's rough, unpolished and unrefined, as though it needs to be expressed more before deciding the kind of laugh it wants to be. The easiness in his expression (and maybe the slight bit of sleep deprivation) cuase you to burst into laughter too--whether it's at Castiel's joke or the idea of the US government trying to regulate angels--something about the moment bubbles up inside you and spills out, easy and free flowing like a fountain.
Castiel is insistent about you getting your ice, he claims that he wants to try it with you to try and understand the rationale behind your ice ranking, but honestly you think he just likes seeing you happy.
You've convinced him to roll up the legs of his slacks to dip his feet into the jacuzzi with you while you watch the sun rise. After a few moments a shuffling, trying to find the best spot to enjoy the jacuzzi (jets included!), the sunrise, and each other's company, you've settled on a position.
It's still dark, the slightest bits of pink have made their wispy entrance and the sky has shifted from the blackest blue to a deep purple in response. He calls your name, softly as to not disturb the moment, "Truthfully, I'm hesitant to put you to sleep using my grace for my own selfish reasons."
His blatant admission, catches your attention immediately and you scoot a bit closer to hear him better, keeping your eyes trained on him all the while. "I enjoy our late night talks, I'm not always able to be around nor am I always able to spend time with you", he pauses, thinking about the next word he's to say, "it's true that I'm hesitant because I'm not sure what effects my grace may have on you, but...when it's just the two of us late at night, I feel like I have all the time in the world with you."
The spot in your heart that's changed shape to make room for Castiel gleams impossibly brighter, almost burning in it's fervor. The dawn stretches into the sky, the tapestry of night tearing away readily to make way for daylight. The lights that illuminate the jacuzzi and pool are no longer as hideously green against your brown skin and Castiel is there. Like always, he's there; steady, soothing, calming, there.
You blink a bit slower as a yawn slips out, "'S ok Cas, 'm not mad. Know 'm great company."
"If you'd like, I can use my grace. It's a long drive and I doubt that Dean will bother you--I'll make sure he turns his music down."
"You'd do that f'r me?"
His brows furrow, a non-verbal "of course" in Castiel-ian--Castiel-ish?
You nod and in no time at all a sweeping calm runs over you. It's the most relief you've felt in years. You think you mutter good night to Cas at some point but honestly, his grace hits like anesthesia, a very disorienting blink and it's done sort of feeling.
The last thing you remember before completely surrendering to the world of dreams is a firm hold and a gentle sway, like the swaying cradle of a dreamy rock-a-bye lullaby.
Thank you for requesting anon! I hope you liked it, thank you to everyone else for reading, if you'd like to see more, please feel free to send me an ask.
A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Sinbad is overly affectionate. He's so clingy that you'd think he was touch-starved before he met you. Of course, you know that's not true because you were friends with him before you started dating and he was clingy then too.
His preferred method of affection is really just physical contact, he always has to be touching you in some small way, whether it's an arm around you or holding your pinky while you sit next to each other on your thrones, being able to touch you is grounding to him. Although if for some reason he isn't close by, he'll send you love notes throughout the day to let you know how much he thinks of you.
B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Sinbad's a really good friend but he will stress you the hell out. It doesn't matter how long you've been friends, he will inevitably do something that sends your blood pressure through the roof. Other than that though, your friendship primarily consists of deep conversations. Sinbad's surprisingly philosophical and the two of you spend a lot of time just talking about the world and your outlooks on life.
C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Does Sinbad like to cuddle? Is the sky blue? Sinbad's a "bit" of a cuddle monster and you have to learn to accept that. He's not too picky about the position, he loves being in your arms or having you in his, though he can't deny that he loves when cuddling acts as a precursor to other...activities.
D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Domesticity is an interesting concept for Sinabd because on the one hand, he can't truly imagine himself settling down in the traditional way. He'd still want to be able to go on adventures and he wouldn't want to feel confined by his obligations to his family. However, deep down Sinbad does yearn for a family, it's a desire that comes to head more frequently once he's in a serious committed relationship so he struggles with himself for a bit because he has to figure out what domesticity looks like for him.
As for cooking and cleaning, it's kind of a non-issue because, well, he's a king and has a palace full of servants. But let's say hypothetically he did have to cook and clean; he'd be ok at it. The food would likely be a little bland or a touch over-seasoned and his cleaning skills are nothing to write home about but he did have to learn those skills growing up so he can do them, he just doesn't need to.
E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
I can see a breakup with Sinbad going two ways. The first being if the breakup was mutual, he'd be upset but ultimately you'd probably end up as close friends that flirt with each other sometimes (He may or may not try to convince you to give him a second chance). The second scenario would be if the breakup was not mutual. You're most likely going to be the one to end things and Sinbad is not happy about your relationship ending at all. He doesn't take it out on you but any relationship between the two of you is soured because Sinbad never really gets over you breaking his heart.
F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
Sinbad honestly isn't one for commitment in general, let alone marriage. If you're someone who prioritizes marriage as an "end goal" in relationships, you probably wouldn't be compatible with Sinbad.
The two of you end up dating for a long ass time (think like 10 years) and neither of you are particularly bothered by it. In addition to neither of you being in a rush to marry, both of you have got shit going on that's significantly more pressing than having a wedding.
When the two of you finally do get married, it sort of spirals into a grand festival as the citizens of Sindria celebrate the wedding of their royal couple.
G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
While Sinbad is incredibly socially adept and aware, I don't think he's the gentlest when it comes to your emotions. Physically he's pretty gentle, he's aware of his strength and makes a conscious effort not to harm you (especially when he's in his Djinn-equip forms). But emotionally, he can be a bit careless as he doesn't really consider how something might affect you before he does it, which leads to a lot of arguments.
H: Hold( How do they hug/cuddle/hold you in general?)
As previously mentioned, Sinbad is a clingy person, he loves to be able to hold you close. His favorite way to hug you is running up and hugging you from behind, he always gets fussed at by you when he does it but seeing your cute little surprised face is worth it.
I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)
Sinbad is fast in knowing he loves you but he ends up telling you way after he comes to the realization because he spends all his time trying to think of the perfect way to tell you.
J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)
Sinbad's pretty secure so he doesn't really get jealous. If anything, you're more likely to get jealous as a result of him flirting. On the one or two occasions where he did get jealous, he just placed an arm around your waist and maneuvered you away from whoever made him jealous.
K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Sinbad's kisses are toe-curlingly good. They start with one hand holding your cheek while the other holds the back of your head-- supportive and anchoring at the same time. His lips are smooth and his kisses are warm like the sun. He's cheeky so he'll nip your bottom lip before his tongue delves into your mouth. Eventually his hands move from your head and his lips follow, he'll kiss every inch of your body as he takes his time savoring you.
L: Little ones (How are they around children)
Sinbad's better with older children than younger children. He tends to prefer being seen as a cool older advisor rather than a parental figure (or god forbid, an uncle) so he does better with older kids. On an additional note, he's terrible with babies and toddlers. Babies don't seem to like him (the second a baby starts crying, he panics) and toddlers make him feel old so he tends to avoid them.
M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Mornings are usually spent trying to soak up all the alone time you have together. Sinbad's a king but he's also a man with needs. Said needs involve his face being buried in your chest with your arms around him but, hey, they still count!
N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Nights between the two of you depend on the day. Some nights, you pass out in a pile of documents and wake up covered by a blanket and a note to come see Sin if you need a massage for your back. Other nights you both stumble back into your chambers, giggly and drunk, hands teasing and kisses sloppy, the both of you ready to attend to the fire stoked by wandering hands and heady looks, when Sinbad undoes his pants and promptly passes out on top of you.
O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
I think Sinbad's level of openness depends on when you meet him. If you knew him from childhood, or even from his teenage years, he's a lot more open to you because of the shared history you have. You know him and he knows you know him so there isn't much he's able (or willing) to hide from you. However, if you meet him once he's an adult--doesn't matter if it's a few years after the formation of his trading company or once he becomes a king--he's a lot harder to crack. He struggles with letting you know the real him because he isn't even sure that that's who he is anymore.
P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)
Sinbad's not quick to anger. Though he can come across as impulsive, he's usually very certain of himself and his capabilities so even when he's attacking someone, he never loses his cool.
Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He's pretty bad when it comes to remembering things about you. He does remember important dates and important information like if you have allergies/what you're allergic to but that's it. He's one of those people that knows your darkest secret but doesn't know your favorite color. Not for lack of trying, but he's always been a big picture sort of guy so he's not really wired for it.
R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
His favorite moment in your relationship has to be the moment he finally confessed his love for you. He did a special reprisal of his performance recounting his adventures in honor of Sindria's founding. The stage was awash with color, lanterns gleaming and creating a soft glow that made you look ethereal. He called you upon the stage to be a part of an impromptu dance and the joyous laugh you let out as he spun you combined with the shimmer of the lights stole the breath from his lungs. The words spilled out of his lips as he froze, all thoughts of the play vanishing from his mind as he said it.
After all, how could he do anything but love you?
S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)
Sinbad's extremely protective of you, he doesn't play at all. At any given time, you're accompanied by your personal guard, at least two additional knights, and a skilled mage--especially if Sinbad isn't around. You're technically the monarch of Sindria, in addition to that, Sinbad's got a list of enemies a mile long and for a decent portion of them, it'd be nothing to kill or torture you to weaken him so yeah he takes your safety incredibly seriously.
T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Sinbad actually puts a lot of effort into dates. He tries to consider something that the both of you would like and his dates usually involve going on an adventure of some sort or exploring something new together. Same thing with gifts, as much as he enjoys lavishing attention onto you, he loves to see you covered in finery that he purchased for you or full off of food he had made/purchased fresh for you.
With regards to everyday tasks, he's a pushover when it comes to you. Anything you ask of him, he'll do and more often than not you use your powers for "evil" to get him to do his job. He obliges but he whines that Jafar has turned his own lover against him.
U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs? (I’m gonna add arguments here because they aren’t on the prompt list I found))
Sinbad's worst habit is his flirting. It's a big point of contention in your relationship, especially because you've likely had to become ok with him flirting to gain some sort of advantage. It's hard, and it doesn't really click for him until you teach him a lesson by entertaining the advances of a particularly attractive foreign dignitary. It's one of the few times you've seen him genuinely angry and jealous and the two of you got into a giant argument about it that lasted days.
V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Sinbad's pretty vain, he's a pretty boy and he'd like to keep it that way. Of course, he doesn't always have time to sit and fret over his looks but he has good genetics so he always ends up looking like he got off set of a magazine shoot no matter what and it's annoying.
W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Sinbad doesn't feel incomplete without you per se--but he does feel uncomfortably empty when the two of you are on the outs. He bristles at this realization, especially because it comes during the argument the two of you had that was mentioned under letter 'U'. You've moved your things out of your shared chambers and you aren't even acknowledging him, let alone speaking to him. Seeing the same room he's lived in for years be so barren and feeling ice where he used to have your warmth, leads to him feeling hollow and desperate for any sort of reconciliation.
X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)
Again, depends on when the two of you officially got together. Most likely though, you're both coming into the relationship with a decent amount of experience. As far as SFW experience goes, previous relationships factor in in that neither of you feel like you're in a rush, nor do feel like you need to hold things close to your chest. The both of you just take your relationship one day at a time and you don't feel any pressure to meet a certain standard.
Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)
I don't think Sinbad would do well with a partner that's too sensitive or too much of a pushover. Of course, you should tell him when you're upset and you're more than free to express your feelings but if you cry or give in at the first push he gives, he loses interest fast. Sinbad prefers a partner that can stand their ground be understanding of who he is while still calling him on his BS.
Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)
Sinbad sleeps in the nude pretty regularly. Sindria is really tropical which means lots of humidity during summer months. He started stripping naked out of necessity but eventually it became comfortable to him, especially because he sleeps on the finest silk sheets known to man.
A blog in the big 2026 writing for Magi: labyrinth of magic and Black Butler and has active request open!!! May I request any type of ABC headcanon for either Hakuryuu from magi or Sébastien from Black Butler?
Hi!! I wasn't sure if you wanted SFW or NSFW so I did 'ABC' for both. Hope that's ok!
Sebastian Michaelis x GN Black reader; Hakuryuu Ren x GN Black reader
Warnings: Smut below the cut ofc, mentions of body insecurity, Sebastian is evil, possible typos
Sebastian Michaelis
SFW
A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Much like everything else about him, Sebastian's affection is a carefully wielded weapon designed to ensure a desired outcome. Meaning that he can be incredibly withholding or generous with his affection depending on the day and what he wants from you. In an ideal relationship, where Sebastian respects you as an equal and doesn't view you as fleeting entertainment in between missions assigned by Ciel, you'd be solidly immune to his bullshit.
Although he's quite adept at faking needy or appearing unaffected by your lack of fawning over him, his true expressions of affection are not found in hollow words or empty kisses. Sebastian is affectionate in the ways that you may not necessarily see, but that you know are him. You'll find that your typical workload has lightened significantly, suddenly your wallet has a few more bills in it than it did the day previous, all manner of things quietly, dutifully done without overt acknowledgment from either of you. Though he may not be the most genuinely affectionate physically, Sebastian's actions tell of his love for you much more truthfully than his body and words can.
B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Truthfully, the two of you are a pair of mean, judgmental, catty bitches. Sebastian's got a reputation to maintain as the Phantomhive butler (and he will remind you that as a member of staff, you do too), but he's not above a scornful remark or two. His absolute favorite times are the looks you give him whenever some manner of ridiculous thing happens. He finds it incredibly amusing how much your eyes reveal about your inner thoughts.
C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Sebastian isn't that big a fan of cuddling, even well into your relationship. He doesn't need to sleep so cuddling for him is essentially a big time waster where he serves as you personal body pillow until he can extricate himself from your python-like grip. He still doesn't much care for cuddling but it makes you happy and he's woefully underpracticed in the art of telling you no.
NSFW
A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Aftercare with Sebastian isn't really intimate. He tucks himself back into his pants-- ensuring no cum stains the impeccable creases of his uniform-- before reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, grabbing his handkerchief, and cleaning you up. You're still fucked out of your mind, but at least he kisses you on the forehead before leaving to go and attend to the ever-growing stack of chores he has to attend to.
B - Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite body part would have to be his hands; they're so versatile and allow him to dispatch all who'd dare to challenge him. He also thinks that this vessel iteratation has particularly nice hands (which you also enjoy and take advantage of).
His favorite part on you-- as "loathe" he is to admit such a shameful secret-- is your rear. Not only is it his favorite spot to smack (he loves making you count the amount of times his hand makes contact with your ass), He also enjoys the sight of it clapping as he fucks into you from behind.
C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Although he doesn't much care for the mess, Sebastian enjoys covering you in cum. There's something in him that hums with satisfaction at the sight of you filthy because you're covered in his spend.
Hakuryuu Ren
SFW
A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Hakuryuu is very gentle with his affection, the best way to describe it would be princely. He's always offering you his hand whenever you have to climb out of something or silently covering your body with his robes at your slightest shiver. His chivalrousness is one of the few things about him that remains the same after he becomes hellbent on revenge. Although his mind roars with the need for violence, he finds his thoughts straying from his plan whenever he sees that you're about to open a door on your own.
B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Hakuryuu as a best friend kind of changes depending on when you knew him. If the two of you were childhood best friends, you can kiss that relationship goodbye. It's not your fault necessarily, but any reminders of his life before the fire cause him to spiral. He'll never mention any of this to you of course, but he figures that avioding you until you get the hint is good enough.
If the two of you become friends as adults, there will be a distance between the two of you. Although Hakuryuu craves close companionship, he won't allow himself to get any closer to you. It isn't until you see him at his worst that your friendship will be truly tested, if you see the darkness in his eyes and stay by his side anyways, then the two of you will become best friends and Hakuryuu will be your loyal shadow until the day he dies.
C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
He loves to cuddle but he's so touch-starved and repressed that he'll only act on the desire when he's incredibly intoxicated. Even if you're the one initiating, any act of affection that presses your bodies together will cause Hakuryuu to tense up--and in really extreme cases, run away. When he's drunk though, he prefers to be the one getting cuddled, whether he's the little spoon or he's made your chest his pillow for the night, Hakuryuu wants to be held, it's just a shame that he only acts on it when he's drunk.
NSFW
A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Aftercare with Hakuryuu is often very unbalanced. Sex for Hakuryuu isn't really that enjoyable (in regards to the sensations for his body) so he tends to focus on bringing you pleasure more than anything. That means that you'll be a sweaty pile of goo and Hakuryuu's just slightly flushed-- looking like he just finished a light workout and not at all like he just made you cum nearly three times in a row. Hakuryuu is very gentle with aftercare, he's doting-- all too aware of the fragile state that you're in-- and he prepares a bath for you, one filled with drops of lavender. You're very apologetic, upset that you had more fun than he did, but he just continues rubbing down your sore body, assuring you that seeing you fall apart for him was exhilirating.
B - Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He doesn't have a favorite body part on himself. He doesn't really like himself all that much and he only appreciates his body as far as it keeps him alive and allows him to protect the people he cares about.
His favorite body part of yours (as embarrassed as he is to admit it) is your chest. Hakuryuu is a chest man through and through, although, he at least has the decency to look ashamed whenever he's caught staring at your chest.
C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Hakuryuu actually has a harder time orgasming than most. Part of it is that he gets really in his head about his body and it takes a lot of buildup and teasing for him to get out of his head long enough for his dick to get hard. The other part of it is it genuinely does just take a lot of stimulation for him to orgasm. That combined with his general anxiety, and the fact that he doesn't really enjoy cumming means that he ends up working you over several times before precum even dribbles out of him.
Thank you for reading!
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