#after all he knows what it’s like to lose someone that’s red

[srngrque]

apocalypse.

pedri gonzalez x fem!reader. fluff feelings are normal but not when its this.

The best solution to the summer heat was a rainbow popsicle that accumulated all sorts of fruit flavor. So, in the peaked heat of Barcelona, Pedri and you were sitting on the cold floor of your apartment and licking the popsicle as the coldness hit your tongue.

Pedri knew it was your favorite popsicle since he was a kid. You were always the quiet kid in the classroom, not many friends, and you never had the courage to make friends, no matter how much you wanted to.

But Pedri was the popular one, even in kindergarten. Yet, his brown eyes never nervously looked for you, as you did not haste to make any friends; while he was too submerged with friends that he did not have any time for you.

"Take this," Pedri pushed the popsicle he bought with his own pocket money to make you feel better while going home after school. You stared at the popsicle, confused at his gesture.

Quietly without complaining, you took it from his hand, peeling the wrapper; you instantly had a smile upon your face; your smile reached your eyes, creating a small crescent moon. You gave Pedri a thumbs up, nodding as a sign of approval.

Pedri never stopped visiting you, even after his peak fame of daily masterclass every week. Even in this heat, even when your air-conditioner stopped working, Pedri just sat down next to you with sweat forming upon his forehead.

Pedri, who lavishly lived in the more expensive side of Barcelona with his older brother, would not have much of an idea on how often air-conditioner actually malfunctions. Considering how he had your favorite blue standing fan in front of his face, the sweat that was dribbling down his face disappeared as the cold breeze hit his skin.

The room was filled with the sound of the fan, annoyed you lean forward to lower the level of the fan, as it was taking up too much noise in the room of yours.

"Please stop being a crybaby over this." You said before licking the popsicle from the side to welcome the coldness in your tongue. Pedri glanced at you, without realizing, his eyes slowly trailed down to the way your lips were taking the popsicle in.

He gulped, visibly struggling to keep a straight face. Like a child who just entered someone's room for the first time, his eyes roamed around your room; anywhere but you. As unnecessary pictures kept infiltrating his thoughts, he gently clenched his hand.

Pedri was never like this, even in puberty, he was not like this. But recently, he had the urge to always glance at your lips, if you are speaking, if you are biting, and even if you are eating. He felt too embarrassed to accept the pace of his heartbeat, too shy to want to accept that his feelings might have grown a little by little for his best friend.

But the sound of you slurping took a hold of his ears. "Why are you not eating?" You paused, quickly looking slightly up to Pedri, who had his ears slightly red, lips tightly sealed. You raised your eyebrows, "What demon are you fighting within, my friend?" You questioned, holding onto your popsicle rather than licking.

Pedri quickly glanced at you, yet nothing left his lips. Not sure what to say to you, not sure how to explain the way his heart is beating on his throat, and his palm itching to cup your cheeks. So, he shook his head, peeling the wrapper to open the popsicle.

There is no actual point in ruining a well-made friendship, but oh, how much Pedri wanted to jump and ruin this friendship for the sake of just wanting your soft pink plumped lips on him, your rough yet gentle hands running through his skin. Pedri wanted to know all the moles he did not know about, scars he did not know about yet when you looked at him; he just never wanted you to stop looking at him, or looking for him. The fear of losing you held him more than his feelings that harbored over you.

At times, Pedri would see a glimpse of affection passing by your eyes, and simply, he wondered if you felt the same as him. Pedri wondered if his presence clouded your mind about his whereabouts or if his absence drilled a hole in sadness.

But moment like this, where you are sitting next to him with no care about how you look, about how your dyed hair is looking like a birds nest or about the way you are dressed; is something he still fear of losing.

"My friend is setting me up on a date." You said, mouth still occupied with the popsicle. Pedri paused, almost thinking he heard wrong. He hummed in question, with furrowed eyebrows you removed your popsicle and repeated.

"Oh," He acknowledged.

Not knowing what to say, but a small pit of nervousness formed in his stomach, the unexplainable swirl of feeling pooling inside.

He cleared his throat, "Who even does that these days?" He questioned, tone almost mockingly, but you knew him better than anyone. You raised your eyebrows, chuckling. Childishly pinching his cheek, "Are you jealous?" You asked. Pedri does that often, always wanting to level up to show off his competitiveness or wanting to know more yet having a mocking demure on him to not show how much of a loser he can be seldom.

He contemplated for a few seconds, he focused on you. The mischievous smile forming upon your lips, almost like a smirk. Your eyes glistened with amusement at his question, as if his words were only playful to you.

He lowered his popsicle on the floor next to him, twisting his body to face you fully. "Okay, what if I am?" He challenged. Pedri had his heart on his sleeve now, his doe eyes sparkling with so much affection oozing out. You paused, but your heartbeat embarrassed you.

The way it was beating faster with his question as more questions raised within you. "What does that mean?" You softly whispered. Pedri gulped shakingly, looking around your room. He does that often when he is thinking about how to answer in his head or when he is too shy to answer.

You cupped his cheek, making him look at you directly. Then you noticed. The growing redness forming on the apple of his cheeks, his lips slightly red by the biting he did that went unnoticed by you, and his ears had a beetroot color. Pedri almost looked like a red traffic light with how flustered he was looking.

"If it bothers you," you continued softly, caressing his cheek, "I won't go." You finished with a gentle smile falling on your lips. Pedri believed that was an opening, an opening that you might reciprocate back, that you might just feel what he is feeling for you.

His lips formed a small pout, his brown eyes looking at you, a sense of fear terroring in his eyes. "I mean, if you do go, it's just going to be more annoying." He playfully shrugged you off, leaving you more confused once again.

There was this silence, he scrunched his face regretting all the words after it left his lips. Wanting to take that back, you sighed. "You know by now that I love annoying you." You smirked, getting up from the cold floor to throw the popsicle into the rubbish bin.

He sat in silence alone with his feelings almost leaking out from his system, he cannot lose you to some other men again, but . . if he does explain his feelings, then he might just lose you as a friend, and things will become awkward. Slowly, he might never see you again.

What is better? What's worse?

Fighting with his own thoughts, the multiple sounds of a notification caught his attention sneakily glancing at the phone that you left behind.

ynfriend: remember the guy i am setting you up with? he might just be your dream guy, girl.

ynfriend: He is perfect for you.

ynfriend: im so excited !!!

Even before processing the words written by your friend, his feet were already dragging him out of your room into the small living room where you were trying to find snacks out from the cabinet.

"What is your dream guy?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. You closed the cabinet, putting your hand on your waist, again confused by his words. Pedri never asked such questions, he never bothered asking much about what kind of guy you were interested in or how many guys you have been going out with.

"You are being very weird today, Pedri." You laughed lightly, not sure if you have to take his words seriously or not. "Let's go inside and watch a movie together." You said, eyes lightening up as you waved a bag of chips that only you would be eating since Pedri barely eats any snacks.

"So you won't answer me?" He pestered furthermore, still standing there. You groaned, throwing the chips on the dining table. "Why the fuck do you care? Since when?" You fought back, asking him back the same difficult and confusing questions.

Pedri did not answer, again you dealt with his silence. "See, when I ask you back questions, you always do this." You complained more. The weather had been pissing you off, and here you have a male spiece in your apartment, who was not helping.

"Why is your friend saying that the guy she is setting you up is the dream guy for you?" He asked, ignoring all your questions. Only wanting his questions to be answered, selfishly enough, he was dealing with his feelings alone.

"I like a guy who makes time for me, I like a guy who likes me more than anything. I like a guy who can show he cares for me." You confessed. If he wanted answers, then so be it. "I like a guy who wants to be there for me, my smallest achievements, and my biggest. I like a guy my parents would adore having home in Christmas. I like a guy who shows."

"I can do that too." Pedri breathlessly screamed, almost whining out the truth, he shook his head. "No, actually, I am all that. I make time for you even when I am exhausted after training. I cared for you when you broke your arm while cycling down a hill, and I cared for you when you had a fight with your parents." He continued as he walked closer to you.

But your mind was already pacing back and forth at his outburst. His restlessness that edged him to this.

"Your parents love me every christmas. You know I have shown that I care for you more than anyone in this world. I am this dream guy, so do not go out with this guy." Pedri panted, shaking his head in denial.

You froze.

Your ears were ringing at his words, and the heat in your cheek slowly picked its course. Your best friend just confessed to you, he . . did he just?

"Pedri, do you kno-" You nervously smiled, unsure if he knew what he was just screaming out.

"Yes, I know. It is okay if you do not feel the same, I do not want you to force it. I just wanted you to know because . ." He softly said, feeling small in front of you, Pedri had wanted to show that he is a man you could lean into yet here he is, confessing his feelings like a child screaming out loud for everyone to hear.

"You said if it bothers me, you will not go." He gently went back to your words. "And I know I might have fucked this friendship up just a few minutes ago bu-"

Pedri would never forget that feeling. The voices in his head claiming he fucked up slowly disappearing, the thoughts completely being blocked as he felt your soft lips giving a peck against his lips like a breeze.

Before you could pull back, Pedri cupped your cheek with his palm as he leaned towards your lips harshly, as his other hand landed on your waist slowly pulling you into his body heat.

His lips were soft, softer than you imagined it would be. You glazed at his face, gently cupping his cheek to feel the blush that decorated his face beautifully. Pedri had you fully, lips moving perfectly against his.

Trailing around, your hand landed on his soft hair as he pushed you to sit on the dining table, the soft sound of lips crashing against each other, as soft moans escaped from your lips. You grabbed his hair harshly, pulling him away to breathe, but before anything, he was already following your lips for more as he whined.

"Pedri," You warned him.

His hand pressed on the table now, caging you in his small embrace. "I thought about this way too many times." He uttered as his lips danced down your neck.

"Okay, so you just want to sleep with me huh?" You playfully asked. Pedri nuzzled his head in your neck, aggressively shaking his head. "No, no, I really just want to kiss you first." He confessed, still hiding his face.

You played with his hair, not believing just how he was snuggling against you when a while ago, you were ready to give this random guy a chance. "Always had a doubt you were in love with me, when did it start anyway?" You teased him.

Pedri instantly laughed, throwing his head back at your question.

This feeling of winning, he loved it.

[blackynsupremacy]

GETTING EVEN

pairing: nicholas chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: you’re getting fed up with nicholas staying out so late at god knows what time with god knows who. the bad vibe is literally causing you to lose sleep. when one of your friends shows you a screenshot of nicholas looking cozy with his ex, you decide that instead of losing sleep, you wait up for him and let him know you’re not the one to be played with.

contains: lots of words, established but toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, lying, gaslighting, swearing, angst, anger, arguing, implied/ambiguous breakup.

taglist: @sabrinasopposite @supaprettyg @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @zombigrlll @ellethespaceunicorn @gxuxhdjdu @elitesanjisimp @afrowrites @rosiestalez

it’s nearing one a.m. and your boyfriend of two years, nicholas chavez, has been coming home late—too late every night to be exact. you’ve just been having a bad vibe lately and it’s been eating at you for a good month. the anxiety has been getting so drastic, you’ve been losing sleep. you’re up tossing and turning in your empty shared bed, endlessly thinking about what the hell he could be doing and with who until you hear the door unlock and you’d have to pretend to sleep. he’d bend down to place a kiss atop of your forehead and leave to shower, change, and lay on his side until he’d fall into a deep slumber. you would ignore all of the subtle signs: the smell of perfume that wasn’t yours, keeping his phone face down when you’re around, and constantly on his phone when he thought you weren’t around. you wanted so badly to snatch his phone from the night stand, or at least check the constant buzzing notifications, but your heart was battling against your brain. you had to trust him. you trusted him with your mind. your body. most importantly, your heart. he wouldn’t betray the things he’s supposedly loved and cherished with his entire being, right? wrong. you understood that nicholas’ acting career was on the rise and you couldn’t be more proud of him and his success, but you knew that with fame, came with attention. lots of attention. your boyfriend was fine as hell, so you’d consider yourself lucky, but as of lately, not so much. another thing you understood with his career came events that involved traveling and parties. you’ve been on a couple of trips yourself with nicholas, but as time went on, it’s becoming less frequent.

a few hours ago, your friend sent a screenshot that almost made you chuck your phone against your full body mirror. it was a photo of nicholas looking quite comfortable in a love seat and his arm was around someone else. this someone else wasn’t just some random off the street, it was his ex. you’d never try to be insecure in your relationship, but what got you tight was that victoria looked good as hell and nicholas was eating it up with that shit eating grin smiling in her face. tonight was the final straw. you were fed the fuck up. if he wanted to step out and smile in bitches faces like he was single, you might as well confront him on the matter and get your lick back all in one. you devised a plan. the classic sit in the dark and reveal yourself when he comes home type of ambush. you prepare yourself by showering and spritzing on your favorite perfume which also happened to be nicholas’ favorite. you pull out your strapless black velvet body con dress with a silvery low cut lining. you’d just bought it, so nicholas never had the chance to get a glimpse of it. after tonight, that’s all he’s gonna get. a teeny tiny glimpse. you wear nothing, but a red laced thong underneath before pairing the dress with black and silver wrap up heels. after perfecting your hair and makeup, you slip a black satin robe over your ensemble. you check the time to see its five minutes til’ one. nicholas has created a pattern of this kind of thing, so he should be back within exactly five minutes. you return to the foyer, shutting off the lights to give off the illusion to nicholas that you were asleep, better yet unsuspecting. you made yourself comfortable in the large armchair next to a floor lamp to sit with one leg over the other, awaiting his arrival. your stomach was in knots, but your head was on fire and your heart was on the brink of heartbreak when you hear the lock click and the front door slowly creaking open. nicholas was home. you noticed how deliberate his movements were. moving as if he were trying not to wake the dead. as soon as he made sure the door was shut and locked, he took a few steps towards the stairs to your shared bedroom, but came to a halt when the flicker of a lamp shown an amber glow in the corner of the foyer where you were seated. he jolted and held a tight grip close to where his heart is.

“going somewhere?” you question, tapping your heel against the hardwood floors. your brown eyes cutting a scrutinizing gaze towards this person who was supposed to love, please, and cherish you stood dumbfounded at your presence as if you haven’t been living here for a year.

“shit! fuck, y/n! you scared the hell out of me. it’s really late, babe, shouldn’t you be in bed?” he questions, he’s sort of fidgeting by smoothing his hands down his clothes and running one of them through his chocolate tresses.

“i don’t know, nicholas. shouldn’t you have been home like an hour ago? don’t try to look at me like that because i’m not stupid. you told me that after party ended at eleven. it’s damn near one, so tell me, babe, where were you tonight?” you quizzed with your elbow on the the arm rest of the chair, your french full set fingertips tap against your bronze toned face.

“y/n, i’m not sure what you’re assuming, but the after party ran a little late. there was so much to do and people to see, you know?” he answers with a shrug, his brown eyes glance over to somewhere on the wall before landing on you again. you quirk a brow at his response. time to reel his ass in. you pull out your phone and tap on your photos. you made sure the screenshot had today’s date with the time, let’s see how he’ll get out of this one. you get up from the chair and saunter across the foyer to where he is. with a tight lipped smile, you keep your eyes on the incriminating picture of the two. the clicking of your heels reverberate through the room before you stop right in front of him with one arm under your chest and the other, holding up the picture for him to see. you caught his cheeks flame with red and his face falters with the realization of the main problem at hand: himself. with a click of your tongue, you smirk.

“people to see, huh? i think you meant just one person, so, would my adoring and loyal man explain to me why in the fuck he’s grinning in his ex’s face with his arm all around her like he hasn’t been in a committed relationship for two goddamn years?” you tilt your head as you see the gears in his mind turn to conjure up either the cold, hard truth or a bullshit excuse.

“if you’re thinking what you think it is, y/n, then you’re seriously fucked in the head. victoria just happened to be there and we just caught up that’s all. it’s all a coincidence, so whatever you think you’re doing is gonna work, it sure as hell won’t work.” he combats in such a serious manner, his own lips tighten and muscles tense.

“that’s some bullshit, nicholas and you know it! so if i were at a party and happened to see my ex, keith powers, and i just so happened to sit in his lap, drink my wine, and have my whole ass face in his after being broken up for over a year, you wouldn’t find that suspicious?! it makes me fucked in the head for thinking that, huh? i’m fucked in the head for assuming you’re stepping out because you won’t touch me in bed, or when i smell that perfume when you kiss me when i’m supposed to be sleeping, and as for you and that phone, i could go on and on, but i’m fucked in the head!?” as the volume of your voice raised, you started to get vulnerable as it cracked, but refused to let any tears ruin this face beat for tonight. you took a deep breath and blink up to the ceiling while adjusting your hair as he spoke.

“i’m telling you, y/n. you’ve got it all wrong! you know i would nev—” nicholas’ breath caught in his throat as he watched you untie the robe and letting it cascade down to the floor to reveal your outfit for tonight. he blushed as his eyes raked your figure. that dressed hugged every single curve perfectly. to him, you looked so alluring, tantalizing. if you weren’t having this argument, he’d ripped that shit off and gave you what you should’ve been given this past month. he was kicking himself in the ass for it as he watched you smooth out your dress and type away on your phone. nicholas swallows before filling in the tense silence,

“where the fuck are you going wearing that?” he aggressively interrogates.

“i’ll tell you when you tell me the fucking truth, asshole.” you retort with venom in your words.

he shuts his eyes, his broad chest heaving with frustration trying to keep this innocent facade barely alive.

“y/n, for the last goddamn time, it’s not what you think it is, so i suggest you stay your ass at home if you know what’s good—” you cut him off with a sharp quickness.

“what’s good for me? you know what would be good for me? when you admit that you royally fucked me, that’s what’s good. nicholas alexander chavez, you got one last fucking chance or i’m going out to do exactly what you’ve been doing.”

“i’m serious, y/n, if you walk out that fucking door, i’ll—”

“you’ll what? dump me? baby boy, i’m just giving you the same energy you’ve been giving me. the fuck would you dump me for? you’ve already caused me not to trust you!” nicholas stood there frozen and before you could rip into him some more, you’re interrupted by the sound of a horn blaring outside, that sounded like meg had pulled up to scoop you from this mess. you take your purse and walk up to him to whisper in his ear,

“i’m gone. don’t check for me or text me unless it’s with the truth. if you’re a good boy, we might work it out because i’m a good ass woman, but as a good ass woman, i deserve better. don’t wait up too late, nicholas.” you place a red marked kiss upon his tanned cheek and intentionally bump into his arm as you exit out of your house with a harsh slam of the door. your heels sauntering down the driveway to the large, black suv that’s awaiting for you. with all of the anxiety, insecurity, and anger aside, this was your ticket to get even. as you do so, nicholas throws himself into a fit of rage. a rage against himself for being so selfish, so neglectful, and so stupid that his fist flies into the wall to create a gaping hole.

“FUCK!” he exclaims, holding his injured hand. that didn’t hurt as much as the heartbreak he’s inflicted on you.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Part two of this Worst!Logan request

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part 1; I hope you enjoy part 2 just as much! I have a lot of request that I am currently working on but request are still open for both Logan and Bucky!

Where we left off:

Logan was left standing in his room with wide eyes. Wade was trying to convince you that he loves you…why would you need the convincing? Obviously Logan knew that he needed convincing, like look at him? Hundreds of years older than you, from a whole different universe than you, full of a dark past and trauma…but you loved him too? Or at least you did before he threw a hissy fit tonight. 

FUCK! Logan yelled out when he realized that he had to go fix this now! 

*********************************************************************** 

Logan had to fix his stupidness. After the realization hit him like a truck he rushed out of the apartment with no shoes on. You only lived down the hall, something Logan was always thankful for, and he was even more thankful for it tonight. He reached your door in seconds and knocked on your front door with such force that he was slightly afraid that he might’ve broken the door. I’ll fix it later. He thought to himself as he tried to catch his breath and fix his hair before you opened the door. 

You opened the door far too quickly for his liking, yet way too slow. He was already in his head trying to convince himself that it was probably better for you to be mad at him, for you to not want him around anymore. That’d keep you safe…it would keep him safe. Feelings can be dangerous, relationships and getting close to someone can be dangerous. But he would die if he didn’t have you in his life anymore, he’s gotten greedy, selfish, he’s gotten comfortable for the first time in a long time and he isn’t ready to lose that yet. He won’t lose you, not when he knows you love him back. 

He was in the middle of fixing his hair when you opened the door, embarrassment flooded his body and he quickly ripped his hand away from his hair. “Logan?” You croaked out weakly, your voice thick with tears. His heart breaks in a way it never has before when he looks you in the eyes and sees the redness, the puffiness, the tears falling freely. “Oh. Oh darlin I am such a fool.” His shoulders fell and his own voice thickens with tears. The shame he felt when you started to reassure him made him want to dig his own claws into himself, he shook his head interrupting you and started going into a rant before he even realized what he was doing. 

“I am a fool! I was so wrapped in my own head that I convinced myself that for some fucking reason you were already taken and I didn’t want to get in between you and Wade-” You cut him off quickly, “Wade!?!” Logan winced when you exclaimed his roommates name, “I know okay! I know how ridiculous I’ve been, I was so blinded by you being close to Wade and all of the whispers and the sharing of clothes and the touching that I didn’t even notice the way you would get up early to make my coffee or stay up late when I had to work a closing shift even though you had to be up at 5 in the morning, I didn't notice that you always asked me how I was doing and never took okay or fine as an answer. I didn't even realize that you only cleaned my wounds and allowed Wade's wounds to get infected if he didn't clean them himself! I didn’t allow myself to see how much you cared about me because I still don’t think I deserve that; I don’t deserve tenderness, the soft caresses and whispers…I don’t deserve you darlin I just don’t.” He ended his rant with a whisper, nearly ashamed of himself for feeling this way and for admitting this aloud to someone as caring as you. 

He knows how much you care about him, he knows you won’t judge him or be mad at him for long, but he is so ashamed that he ever doubted you, there’s still a part of him that’s upset with himself for being so mad towards Wade when he thought you were with Wade. Wade deserves someone as kind and loving as you, Logan just wants to be greedy and keep you to himself.  You could tell that Logan was starting to get back into his head, he was starting to get that dazed off look in his eyes, it was like he was in another word when he started overthinking like this. “Logan” You called out to him before slowly touching his arm. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make us some coffee or tea and we can talk about where you’re taking me on our first date.” He looked at you with clear shock on his face, he was fully prepared for you to tell him to fuck off. Your laugh ringed through the air making his heart mend back together again. “Come on you fool” You teased him with a smirk and a quick roll of your eyes, he stumbled over his feet and ended up on your couch quicker than he could notice. 

It was the first time he had actually been in your apartment, and he never wanted to leave. Looking around it looked very you, very lived in, very homey. Your warmth surrounded him, your scent enveloped him, it felt like home. It felt like peace. 

You came back with two mugs and handed him his with that soft smile that he fell in love with. You sat next to him and started listing ideas for what the two of you could do for your first date; “We could go to dinner, we could watch a movie, we could go to a museum, we could–” You ended up sitting your mug on your coffee table in front of the couch at some point during your ramble, Logan wasn’t sure when it happen but he is positive that it did happen because he’ll never forget the feeling of your head on his shoulder as you finally decided where the two of you would go this weekend for your first official date. 

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@squishyfruitloop

@negan-morningstar

@p3ryt0n

@ayamenimthiriel

[strangelysamantha]

Could you do a Y/n x Rafe Cameron fluff where they go from friends to dating but they start dating bc of topper was texting y/n to talk rafe that she likes him and all that stuff but topper didn’t know that rafe was on her phone when he sent those messages, and make it super fluffy and stuff!! Please and Thank you!! Btw I love your work!

exposed ❀

rafe cameron x reader.

warnings: none.

words: 740.

summary: rafe sees a text from topper, exposing your little crush on him. at first you try to play it off, but you gain enough confidence to tell rafe about your feelings.

request: yes!!

a/n: this is such a cute idea tysm! thank you for requesting i really appreciate it. love and reblog if you enjoy, possibly a follow if you're feeling generous. im so happy to have an audience to share my stories with. :)

masterlist link

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rafe cameron was the sexiest guy you had ever met. unfortunately, you were stuck in the friend zone. you never attempted to make a move, too nervous to ruin what you already had. the friendship was nice, and rafe was too difficult to read.

he was currently at your house for a hangout sesh. you two started with watching a movie, eating popcorn, laughing at the cheesy lines. you guys' shared looks, cringing at the poor acting. "would you be down to order some food?" he questions. "i'm down! what would you like?" you open doordash on your phone, quickly handing it to him. "let me see what they have." he scrolled the app, overwhelmed by all the choices. he chose a restaurant, now searching for what meal he wanted to order. he laughs suddenly. and you get nervous. "what?" you question, he points your phone towards you, a text from topper. are you with rafe right now? you need to tell him how you feel.

a red tint lifts to your cheeks, you bite your lip nervously. you are unsure of what to say, so instead you stay silent. topper texts again, come on you know he likes you back it is so obvious. you dramatically grab the phone from rafe, "maybe let's wait to order food, or we can use your phone." you set it behind you, ultimately pissed at topper for exposing your secret so carelessly.

"do you like me?" he's calm and curious, his face completely unreadable and now your stomach is flipping at the thought of telling rafe the truth. "i don't know what topper is talking about, were just friends." you laugh gently, quickly glancing away. when you look back, you see a moment where his guard is down. sadness flashed over him, but he quickly covered it up. "right, why would we ruin what we have?" silence settles between you two, time slowly passes as you stay on the couch, unable to move. "why would topper even think that?" he questions, smiling. he elbows you gently, "i don't know. i think he just feels bad because i haven't had a date in a month." rafe nods, looking away. you think for a moment, and after that moment passed you came to the realization that topper was right. the longer you wait to tell rafe, the more time you give your feelings to fester. it's better to rip the band aid off, cut the plug before anything got too far.

"topper knows that i like you rafe." you straighten yourself out, finding courage to admit everything. "all summer he's been urging me to express how i feel, but i've been too scared." rafe is shocked at your words, his heart starts to race. he stays quiet, letting you continue. "i never thought i'd tell you, because we are great friends. and i'd rather be just a friend, then risk losing you entirely. but i can't hide it anymore. my feelings are real..." you lower your voice, "my attraction to you is real too." you look at rafe, desperate for him to say something, "i really like you too, but i didn't think you could love someone like me." you shake your head, shushing him gently. "don't say that. you deserve so much love rafe." he forms a small smile, you lean in, "would you consider going on a date with me?" he shakes his head and for a moment your heart stops. "i'd rather be your boyfriend." you sigh with relief, "of course rafe." you lean in for a kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist. "i've been dying for this moment." he whispers, close to you. the close proximity to rafe fills you with nerves, his scent strong, and his eyes soft. "me too, so bad." you kiss him again, hungrier this time. desperate for his taste and touch. you pull away, "i should have said something sooner, huh?" he grins. "definitely. but at least you did today." you frown.

"why didn't you make a move first?" your question was endearing to him, he shrugs, "well i didn't know if you actually liked me or not, and i figured if you did like me, you would have said something already." you pull him into a hug, and he snakes his arms around you. "let me take you on a date tomorrow." you grin, "yes please." he looks at you, "it's a date."

[sinlilith]

★ 彡 STRESS RELIEVER. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA

oneshot ❥ you're struggling to keep your focus with the stress and miguel offers to ease that worry off you.

❥ tropes: modern + college au. afab reader + playboy miguel. ❥ content warning: explicit content (18+), finger f*cking, dirty talk. minors do not interact. ❥ extras: divider creds: cafekitsune. ❥ wc: 3,573

a/n. this is long overdue for someone who requested miguel to finger fuck reader as a stress relief. i aged reader and miguel to between 22-23 in this oneshot since they're college students. this fic is longer than intended but hey, we like to take it slow burn here.

Sometimes you contemplate why you put yourself in this kind of situation. 

You were aware that you have exams coming up in the next few weeks. But you were focused on making sure that you got your assignments done before the deadline. So it was natural for you to prioritise those. You wish you had paid more attention to the dates because just when you thought that you would have more time to revise, you didn’t. Leaving you with only three weeks until your exam. And now you’re struggling to get information into your head. 

“Fuck,” you mumble. The machine makes a soft drilling noise as it pours coffee into your mug. You rub your forehead with your hand as you wait for your drink to finish. Thinking about what topics you need to revise for the exam. Mentally planning how you would organise and plan yourself for another long session of studying. It’s going to be another long night.

When your drink is ready, you stride your way to the dining table where all your notes and books are set. With not enough desk space you have in your room, the dining table has turned into your second desk to accommodate all the reading materials and your laptop to work on. You strap yourself in your seat, ready for another torturous session of studying for the finals. 

All the caffeine from the coffee, tea and sugary energy drinks didn’t last long in your system. At first, you feel the buzz of the caffeine that helps you go through two hours of reading and answering mock questions without a proper break. You feel yourself pushing through, feeling motivated that you can do this. But then, the effects wear off, and now you’re struggling through short video clips on your laptop after two hours into your study session. 

Your mind battles. Reminding you about the consequences of you losing more time. But you can’t be bothered at the moment. You are convincing yourself that you deserve a break from studying for fifteen minutes which turned into a two-hour rest and procrastination. 

At this rate, you know that you won't get any studying done. You’re going to have to face the consequences of that but you can’t be bothered about it for now. Staring mindlessly at your laptop with headphones on as you watch a reality television adaption to pass the time. 

“Dios, you’re still here this late?” 

Your eyes look up from your laptop to find your roommate in the dining area. Miguel stands at the entrance in his black leather jacket, red shirt underneath and dark-coloured jeans. His black helmet rests on his left lip and it looks like he’s returned from wherever he went or did. You didn’t realise that he wasn’t in the house you both shared all this time. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror? You look shit.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You say. Your relationship with Miguel O’Hara is rather tricky, to say the least. Sometimes, the two of you get along and have a decent conversation with each other about careers, and personal experiences and share similar interests. Though other times, it’s not necessary. It’s mostly when he would bring people over to the house and then take one girl up to his room. Having to hear moans from the girls he fucked and Miguel’s growls and dirty talks. 

It annoys you to no end, especially the one incident when you walked into the bathroom with him getting a blow job in the shower. It’s still his fault for not locking the bathroom or even putting a sign on the door to say that he’s busy getting pleased.  

Even after that, your subtle attraction for Miguel still resonates with you. 

You realise your mug is empty, another drink that is supposed to keep you going has gone to waste in your system. You can’t be bothered but you know that you’ve wasted time not studying when you’re supposed to. So, you get up from your seat, walk into the kitchen and do the same routine that you’ve done the past few weeks when you’re cramming for finals. Either make your coffee, or tea or grab an energy drink. The caffeine from the coffee is too much for you to handle at the moment and tea isn’t strong enough for you. So you settle for an energy drink where it’s in between enough caffeine to maybe help you go through for another three hours for now. 

“Are you thinking of studying again?” Miguel sounds a bit disbelieving, but not surprised. He’s now in the kitchen with you as you take your energy drink of choice for the night—or early morning. You don’t want to look at the time “There’s no point. You’re not going to remember anything at this rate.”

“Can we just… not do this?” You warn, holding your hand up as a sign for him to stop talking. Stop creating conversations that would lead to an argument because you know it would happen. Especially with your emotions all over the place.  

Miguel stares at you, his eyes roaming up and down. Not long after, his lips curl into a smirk. Leaning his side against the frame of the long, rectangular entrance arch. “You’re stressed out. Miss Perfect finally breaks down for finals.”  

A tired sigh escapes out of your mouth. You focus to proceed on opening up the can, hearing its fizziness before pouring it into your mug. “You could say that.” 

The kitchen falls into silence. What he says is certainly true and you feel that you brought this on yourself. You were off-tracked with your assignments and didn’t check the right exam dates. It’s an error on your part but you are trying to do your best to make it through another year of college without failing. At this point, you’re willing to accept a passing grade just to make it to another year.  

“I’ll study and keep you company,” Miguel declares. “Only to make sure you stay focused and get on track. No more messing around. Got that?” 

You blink, unprepared for his words. You’re not sure why he’s doing this to you but what he said made a rush of warmth fill your chest. Despite his words, you guess that he thinks it’s better to have someone to study with rather than doing it alone. But you don’t ask Miguel if that’s his intention, in case he decides to rethink his offer.

“Thank you.” 

Miguel unfolds his arms and lets it drop to his sides. His hands are in his pockets as he’s about to leave, but then he looks over his shoulder to you. “And also; nadie bebe su bebida energética de una taza.” He says before disappearing elsewhere. 

You blink and look down at the mug in your hand, guessing that Miguel is talking about how energy drinks are meant to drink from their can, and not from a mug. 

* * * * * 

You did manage to push yourself for another two hours before you came crashing again. 

“I can’t focus on anything else right now. My mind has gone blank.” You sigh, slumping on your seat. That’s another study session that failed.

“Hm,” Miguel responds. Focusing on his study materials. “I think you’ve studied too much. That’s why you’re burned out.” 

There is some truth to his words. You have been pushing yourself to the bone for this exam and now your mind is haywired. Everything feels numbing in your head. The feelings of exhaustion, guilt and unbotheredness are jumbled in you. 

“I’m just really stressed out. I want to do well on this exam but my brain just… can’t grasp anything that I’ve studied.” You say, sounding a little disheartened. “I can’t focus, I can’t concentrate.” 

Miguel couldn’t help but glance at you. Taking in the way you’re slumped in your seat and how hollow your eyes are, filled with fatigue and emptiness. You look stressed out. He wonders when was the last time you had rest – a proper break. Not the stupid Pomodoro breaks where you take five to ten minutes of break time before getting back to studying. 

He wonders when was the last time you had taken care of yourself? 

Miguel turns his attention to you when he hears you close one of your heavy books. You let out a sigh, “I can’t even relax without being so much on edge. Fuck.” 

He thinks you’re right as he sees the way your body tenses in stress and anxiety. Miguel’s expression stays unfazed though he does feel sympathy seeing you in such a state. “Hey, you should get some rest. Go to bed early or something.” 

“I will after I attempt to get this lesson done. Then, I’ll go to bed.” 

Miguel gives you a solemn look. Your determination is one of the things he admires about you. Your willingness to do whatever it takes to get your points across. It made you endearing in his eyes. But at the moment, it’s making you look stubborn and somewhat prideful. The last thing you need is a bad experience of burnout before your exam, and he knows that you know this as well deep down.

“Let me help you to relax,” 

“Huh?” You shoot him a confused look. As if he’s said something unusual to you. “Help me… relax? How do you plan on doing that?” 

Miguel nods, “You are tensed up and you’re not getting anything remembered in your head. Your mind can’t focus.”  

You raise a brow at him, unsure where your roommate is coming from. Miguel is right, you do need to take a proper break since your productivity is rather counterproductive. But his words still puzzle you about how he can help you relax. “And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?” You ask curiously. “What do you do to relax when you’re stressed out?” 

“You know, go to the gym. Take a walk, drive around.” Miguel says it casually. “Sometimes masturbating helps to wire your brain to relax.”

You stare at your roommate before burying your face in your hands with a groan. Not only is the suggestion embarrassing but you have to imagine Miguel playing with himself. How his hands would stroke his cock, hot and pulsing in the palm of his hands. Envisioning the grunted breaths and deep groans he makes. It isn’t as if you haven’t done that to yourself either, pleasuring yourself. You’ve done that on the nights where you could hear the headboard of his bed from his room moving as the girl Miguel brought for the night kept moaning. 

You shake your head, dismissing the thoughts immediately. Or try to. “I’m not in the right mindset to do that.” 

Miguel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you should do it. I’m offering to do it. It’s on the table for you.” 

“What?” You stare at him in shock and confusion. You think you heard him wrong but from the unfazed look on his face, you know that he is serious about this. Serious about giving you an orgasm, or maybe multiple orgasms. Because you know from the women and girls he brings over to fuck, Miguel has them moaning more than three times. 

When you open up your mouth, you can hear yourself stammering your words. The thought of it is disgusting but at the same time, arouses you. “Miguel, I–” 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his red eyes piercing into yours. Captivating you to stop talking. To stop denying the offer of pleasure. You give Miguel a look of uncertainty, unsure how to respond to his offer.

“What’s it gonna be?” Miguel asks. The corner of his mouth curves up to a tiny smirk. “No pressure, chica. I want you to think about it and let me know if you’re up for it or not.” 

Miguel goes back to reading his study notes with a neutral expression as if the conversation didn’t happen. He doesn’t look at you and the silence in the room speaks volumes. Leaving you to think about the offer. You’re not sure why he is even offering himself to give you pleasure. Miguel is your friend, for goodness sake. The guy is out of your league and he has been with other people, you know this. Is he doing this out of pity or could there be more to it? 

The two of you have lived together for three years of schooling, and have known each other for that long. He doesn’t give you attention in a lustful way or lustful like he does with other girls; the kind of interest in starting a sexual relationship with you. It’s a blessing in disguise yet at the same time, you want a connection more than just being his friend. 

You have a crush on Miguel but he doesn’t seem the type of guy who isn’t ready to commit to one person just yet. Especially when you’re both still young and exploring life ahead.  

“Okay,” you closed your book with a thud. You catch his eyes when you fully turn to talk to him. This idea is already as insane as it is, but you’re desperate to stop feeling like a lost cause about your exam. You just want to forget about your test for a few minutes. Maybe a couple of hours at most. “I’ll take up on your offer. What I’ve been doing is not working, and I need some sort of break before I go insane.” 

Miguel grins and then puts his reading materials away. You always think that he looks so handsome when he smiles. “Well then. Move your books and laptop aside and sit on the table for me.” Miguel looks at you when you stare at him. “It will be a lot nicer like that, trust me.” He adds. 

“Okay, I’ll get my stuff out of the way.” You say and begin picking up your books and laptop. Miguel does the same, putting his things away, then turns his attention to look at you. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his next words. The beating of your heart thumping is the only thing you can hear as you watch Miguel. He stands in front of you in between your thighs. Tall, built and handsome. His red eyes look down on you as they shine under the lights in the dining area. 

You feel his hands on the sides of your waistband shorts, his fingers brushing against your clothed skin and hips. “May I?” Miguel asks as he looks at you. 

“Sure,” you say. You’re not one to be nervous around easily but your roommate seems to have that effect on you. When you lift your hips slightly, Miguel curls his fingers on the waistband and pulls down your shorts. Discarding your clothed item you notice that he’s taken off your panties too. “Miguel–” 

His stare made you pause, his red piercing eyes keep you quiet. You’ve always known what Miguel’s eyes are like but in this moment of what you’re letting him do to you, it stirs feelings in you. The gaze in his eyes is fiery in desire; so focused and enraptured. He looks at you in silence – keeping his eyes on you – as he slowly pulls down everything and discards it somewhere in the room. 

“Open your legs a little for me, pretty,” Miguel tells you. “Yes, that’s it.” 

The heat on your cheeks burns you as your heart thumps in your chest at how intimate and vulnerable the situation looks. Never in your dreams you would be in this situation, much less doing it with Miguel O’Hara.

 “It’s not too late to change your mind and tell me no.” He says. Standing between your legs, his calloused fingers on your inner right thigh. “I won’t hate you for it.” 

Your breathing is soft and steady. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you took my panties off?” You chuckled with a small smile. You feel a little more relaxed about what you and he are starting. 

Miguel grins, “I probably should have.” His expression becomes serious. “I’ll start slow.” 

You watch as he puts two fingers in his mouth with a gentle suck. When he pulls them out, his digits are glistened wet under the lights. Lubricated and wet against his tan skin. Miguel catches you dazing at him, his intense expression stays on you, as he brings his fingers between your thighs. They find themselves between your flaps, tracing your inner folds with his fingertips. 

“You’re already wet before I touch you.” Miguel hums in approval. “That’s good.” 

His fingers move slowly like he promised. You feel him gather your sleek arousal with a gentle swipe of his thumb and move up to the hood of your cunt. You moan softly when you feel Miguel play with your clit, circling and putting just the right pressure that has you tingling in sensation. Your hands grip on the edge of the table as you brace yourself. 

“Gosh, that feels nice.” You sigh. Your eyes are closed, indulging in the pleasure, finding your body relaxed and mind in tranquillity. Focusing on feeling his fingers touch and tease your folds and clit. Maybe this is what you truly need for a break from intense studying. 

“I like the look on your face,” Miguel tells you. You can picture the smirk from the tone of his voice. “This is just the beginning of your stress relief.” 

You didn’t get to open your eyes and ask him what he meant when you felt something push inside your cunt. Your walls are wet and warm, feeling one of Miguel’s digits sliding into your pussy with ease. It has you gasping and moaning softly, your back arches and hands gripping tightly onto the table edge. Miguel has his index finger in you and he slips in his middle finger, stretching your pussy open. His thumb is still circling your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you. 

“Stay still, bonita.” His voice deeps, almost growling. “And don’t think. Just focus on the feeling of my fingers. Relax for me.” 

You can’t help but tighten around his fingers from the command. Hoping that he didn’t feel the way your clit throbs from his command. You never heard him speak like that before – maybe not to you – but it sounds hot. All you could focus on is the way his fingers rub and massage your pussy. 

You can tell that Miguel is certainly experienced with the way he can tease your vulva and play with your clit, letting your breathless sighs and moans guide him. It’s completely easy to forget about anything else but being finger fuck by the guy you liked. 

“Oh, oh.” You softly moan, putting the heels of your feet on the edge of the table. Your hands clutch onto his forearms as Miguel fingers you. It has your head spinning with the way he alternates between fingering and rubbing your slick folds. The pace is not fast or slow-- just perfect, as it eases you off and you forget about what you're stressed about in the first place. 

And when he pushes his fingers into your pussy, it has you tilting your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name, as you feel him going deeper.

"So tight around my fingers. You definitely need this." Miguel smirks, his breath warms your neck. “Need a good stretch, don’t you, bonita?” 

You groan as you feel him continuously plunge his digits in and out of you. Miguel doesn’t stick to one way to pleasure you; he would rub your wet folds, flicker your clit up and down and sideways with his thumb, and circle your little pearl. At the corner of your eye, you see the corner of his mouth curve up in a smirk when clutching onto his forearms for dear life. 

“Miguel,” you mewl. The knot in your lower belly tightens when he plunges his whole fingers into your slick pussy, thrusting them in and out. Your body moves in a sudden, forward thrust when Miguel continues to come hither inside your pussy, having his fingers rubbing your G-spot. He doesn’t stop to flicker and circle your throbbing clit and a sultry gasp catches in your throat as your thighs begin to quiver. “Oh, fuck!” 

“That’s it, beautiful. Oh, you really do need this, don’t you?” Miguel asks almost mockingly. You arch your back in his embrace and let out another moan, feeling his two fingers flicking inside your pussy walls. He knows exactly what he’s doing, drawing out more noises from you as your lower body still trembles, and your cum spilling out of your folds and onto his fingers. 

It feels as if Miguel is toying with you and pussy for a long time, even after being overstimulated and sensitive. He slows down his ministrant but still has his fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit and wet folds. You relax in his arm, head on his shoulder as you regain your senses from orgasm. All thoughts cleared up in your head and you couldn’t even remember what you were thinking or doing earlier before being finger-fucked. 

Miguel’s voice sounds a little raspy and distinct, still toying with your cunt, as he whispers:  “Wanna continue this elsewhere?” 

[thosemotivationalquotes]

Understanding Election Results

I wanted to make this guide for people who are following the upcoming U.S. election, but are unsure of how votes are actually counted, since it’s not just a simple majority vote.

The U.S. uses something called the Electoral College, which is different than a majority vote.

There are 2 kinds of votes that matter when determining who the winner of the presidential election is. The popular vote, and the electoral vote. The popular vote is the simple majority - whoever gets the most votes win. However, the U.S. doesn’t actually use the popular vote to determine the winner.

This brings us to the electoral votes. Each state gets assigned electors, the amount of which is decided by the state’s population (for example, AZ has 11 electors). Each state takes whichever candidate received the most votes, and casts its electoral votes for that person.

For example, if Harris has 55% of the AZ votes, she gets 11 electoral votes. Whichever candidate reaches 270 votes (the majority) will be the next president.

This is why ‘swing states’ are so important. The popular vote for the state might be neck and neck, but whoever has the most votes gets all the electoral votes for the state. It’s also possible for someone to win the popular vote, but lose the election (Clinton in 2016).

So what does that mean for this election? Take a look at the below map from 270towin:

As we can see, Harris is currently at a predicted 226 electoral votes, with 191 being considered safe. It will come down to the leans and toss up states to decide if she will get enough votes to win. Any state can flip with enough votes, so it’s important to vote no matter how “safe” your state appears to be.

It’s important to vote even if you live in the safely blue states, but it’s especially important to vote if you live in a lean or toss up state. I live in AZ and got to see our state go from red to blue in 2020, so it possible IF people show up and vote.

You’ll also see states being “called”. This means that there are enough votes to make the conclusion that one of the candidates has won the electoral votes for that state. States like CA usually get called fairly early since there are usually an overwhelming amount of blue votes. But a swing state like AZ might be “too close to call” until a few days after the election, while they count any last minute mail in ballots and provisional ballots. A state being “called” on election night does not mean they stop counting the votes, just that there is enough confidence to state who has won that state.

Also a final note, your mental health is super important. If you have already voted, or if you are unable to vote, watching the election results will not change the outcome. If you are stressed to the point you are having anxiety, not eating, missing work/school, etc., please don’t feel like you have watch the election results. We probably won’t know the winner until at least the next day, maybe even a few days after that. If Trump wins he won’t take office for a couple months. So if you need to, take a step back and just focus on getting through the day.

Some states have same day registration, so if you didn’t register check here to see if there is still a chance.

I have voting resources here for anyone voting today:

[eclipse-ocean]

Starscream will admit, only to himself, that he was having fun fighting bumblebee. The little bot was as silent as ever but Starscream didn’t mind.

Bumblebee was acting odd though, he kept reaching for Starscream’s neck, moves getting more aggressive with every fail, He had a feeling as to why the scout was doing that.

If a mating fight breaks out between two Aerialbots and one of them manages to snap a collar on the other, they become sparkmates for life. So It was quite obvious to Starscream what bumblebee was trying to do, the scout did his research well.

What he wanted to know was…why? Starscream knew he wasn’t the most desirable mate, he was loud and annoying and unlovable and hideous by grounders standards. A traitorous coward despite all he did as a highguard, why would bumblebee ever want someone like him?

Starscream was so distracted he didn’t even notice bumblebee running at him until he was tackled to the ground and a clicking sound was heard, he cursed under his breath for his mistake but didn’t buck the scout off of him, he had been successfully collared after all.

Bumblebee leaned forward, masked face plate coming extremely close to him, before the mask went up and bee’s scarred dermas stretched into a smile, blue optics shining down on him.

Starscream sighed, he waited for his new mate to get up, taking the offered Servo in his own. Looks like he was an Autobot now, Megatron won’t be very happy to lose his second-in-command.

———————————————————————————

Starscream watched all the decepticons retreat, standing beside bumblebee.

Megatron snarled at him from where he was standing, red optics glaring daggers into him. “You useless bastard, what are you doing?!” The autobots looked between the two, stunned when Starscream stepped behind their scout.

“I am sorry Lord Megatron but I am not a decepticon anymore, Aerialbot culture and all” he said and tapped the collar around his neck, watching as realization came over the tyrant. Soundwave and shockwave dragged Megatron away.

An autobot turned to him, he thinks her name is Chromia, eyeing him cautiously. “So, what was that about? Why change sides all of the sudden”

Starscream cocked his hips to the side, crossing his arms. “My culture is very different from grounders, your scout won against me fair and square” that was all he said, his words confused everyone because they’ve all won against him before but he’s never done anything like this.

Bumblebee took Starscream by the arm and led him away from everyone, an air of excitement and joy surrounding him. Starscream wondered how this would turn out, how him being mated with an autobot would change anything in this war, only time will tell honestly.

[room-surprise]

This is just my opinion on it, but I think Kui repeatedly shows us that Dungeon Masters are irrational and delusional, and that the dungeon cannot create "real" copies of existing people, and that any people it does create are just monsters pretending to be people.

I don't think it makes sense for Kui to repeatedly show us this behavior if she didn't want us to think that all dungeon masters, as they lose their minds, struggle to tell humans and monsters apart, and struggle to know if the things around them are real or fake.

Thistle can't tell that the red dragon is different after [spoilers], he keeps acting like it's an animal, and despite the change being extremely obvious he acts like he can't even see it. It's like he said "Did you get a new haircut?" to someone who had their legs and arms cut off.

Marcille doesn't banish or complain about the fake father, she summons and orders him around even though she said she doesn't want him, most likely because the demon is giving her what she wants (or rather, doing the best it can) even if her conscious mind rejects it. The demon also offers to make a new Falin rather than revive the old one, probably because it knows the actual Falin would cause trouble for it's agenda, while a fake Falin would just keep Marcille pacified long enough for the demon to get what it wants.

I think from this it should be pretty clear that the dungeon can't make convincing copies of real people, but that it doesn't matter because the dungeon lord isn't able to tell the difference. There might be times when they "wake up" and go "Wait! This is awful! This isn't what I want!" but then they are pulled back under by the seduction of the demon and they forget again.

And it doesn't matter if the lord is a good or bad person, smart or stupid, young or old, nobody can resist being given the things they truly, deeply want.

Mithrun wants these people to like him, and so the dungeon gives him a version of all those people, created via monsters (since the other times we see the dungeon doing this, that's how it's done), who are perfectly agreeable, who want what Mithrun wants, and who only reflect how he sees those people.

I don't personally think he knew they were monsters when it was happening, and I think if any of them were real, they were in a deluded, mentally compromised state, and then were killed off over time, and were either just gone after that, or replaced by monster doubles without Mithrun knowing...

It's also important to remember that most dungeon lords do NOT seem to stay lord very long! Thistle is very abnormal. Mithrun was only lord for five years, which is like 1 year by elf standards, so a really short amount of time before the demon decided to eat him.

So the lords are delusional, and in a confused state of mind, and then they get eaten before they have time to question it too much or fight against the demon's control.

Anyway, again this is just my opinion, based on how Kui keeps showing us that the dungeon lords aren't in their right minds, and that the demon usually wants to make monster copies of people rather than risk having the real person around (not reviving Falin and wanting to copy her instead).

Personally I agree with you that Mithrun knew his friends were all illusions, and tbh, I think he was very okay with it

About Mithrun vs Marcille on the demon's copies of real-life people: Mithrun's desires were all related to image and self-worth, never the actual people in his dungeon. He didn't necessarily want the real thing - arguably he doesn't even like Sultha since he thought of the real one as "sketchy" - he just wanted the image of her, he wanted the image of being better than his brother, he wanted the image of having friends, etc. I believe that's why he was so okay with the demon making fake copies of his friends. It contrasts Marcille being so against the lion's attempt to make a copy of her dad. She wanted her actual father, so she strongly rejected the copy. But Mithrun didn't necessarily want Sultha, he wanted the image of her and the pride that came with her choosing him over his brother, so he likely didn't care that the demon was just making illusions. I agree with you that he was aware, at least on a subconscious level, that he was just playing pretend.

There's also that quote where it said his desire was to be safe from anyone who could harm him. It's possible that he was a bit afraid/paranoid of the real-life counterparts, and thought the illusion people couldn't possibly hurt him, so he felt safer around the fake people and ended up preferring them. This way he could have his friends and his girlfriend without the constant fear of getting hurt. He could feel wanted and important and loved without being on edge about what they secretly thought of him, or if they secretly wanted to hurt him. That's exactly what he wanted - the illusions fulfilled his desires better than the real counterparts ever could.

I don't really think it's a matter of image, there was nobody there to put on a show for, the show of having friends was before her became a dungeon lord, to me it's more that If you really believe nobody could ever love the real you, fake friends created by the demon is ok

Marcille had a father that truly loved her and friends that she wanted to protect, so it makes sense she was averse to the version made up by the demon at first, from the hints we get Mithrun had nobody he had a real connection with (here exemplified by what he thought of his teamates and the impression Milsiril had of him contrasted with the dungeon)

I don't really understand if other than Sultha the others are real canaries that ended up being driven away just like people were driven away from Thistle, I don't really put it past them to fall for the demon with the promise of a safer life where they don't have to risk their lives only to realize the downwards spiral is inescapable for the dungeon lord.

I don't think it's as important if he "really liked" Sultha or not, I think it's more related to insecurity and fear of rejection, having his brother chosen over him even tho "he's better" (the "perfect youth" image)

Mithrun was thrown away for being a bastard so being faced with the life he could have had probably broke him, I think there's some pride involved too in a twisted way but I read more like something related to "the life I wish I had", envy/jealousy like Milsiril describes. Being able to love and be loved back was never an option especially after joining the canaries

The illusion of this wasn't perfect as we can see, and with the paranoia and everything I doubt he ever really "preferred" the fakes to real life but rather it was all he had?

Idk I'm not good with words hope this made some sense, but even Marcille who said the recreation of her dad was "unnecessary" (quite the underreaction) still kept him around until the others defeated him so I don't really know what it says about Mithrun, maybe if he wasn't imprisoned into the book he could have manipulated Thistle into accepting a fake Delgal too?

[danganronpa96]

Here's something I thought up. What if in dr69, Red was able to save Ashley from her execution, resulting in his own death. Leading to Ashley surviving, but now the trauma and guilt of Red's Death that her fault is now plaguing her mind as the Killing Game goes on.

Fucked up in the club on the Ashley angst

I feel like this could’ve happened if Red did manage to save Ashley. Keeping her alive just to make her fall into a spiral of guilt would definitely entice Monokuma Miku, at least behind the scenes.

Ashley would end up isolating herself for some time, unable to interact with everyone else who surely sees her only as a murderer. And sure, there is some infighting over whether or not they should forgive her or at least accept her back into the group, but essentially I feel like there’s a few people who’d try and convince her to open up.

Firstly, some of the more empathetic lot such as Fluttershy, Parappa and Luigi. I feel like they’d understand what she’s going though, and have moments of relatability of her desire for friendship and validation. However, I also had the idea of Ayano giving her a small push too—since her views on morality are different, she’d be able to provide a new perspective on the issue.

I think The Conductor would take the most time to forgive her, still reflecting back on his regrets concerning Dedede. He wouldn’t stay stubborn forever, and I could see him and Ashley finding middle ground (maybe he’d even take her under his wing oh so punny).

With this sort of situation, I’d assume Ashely could manage to live long into the killing game, and even become a survivor (as long as she escaped becoming a target during her period of vulnerability because that would just hurt otherwise).

[inmaki]

gojo showing off your back scratches to geto

( cont from this fic! req, visual ) .

contains: sex talk, desc of back scratches, crack, sugu is called daddy once (as a joke.. right..)

everything was relatively peaceful in suguru's apartment. key word: relatively.

a forgettable yet appreciated sunday afternoon, not a cloud in sight despite the weather forecast predicting downpours of rain. either way, the raven-haired man insouciantly rested across his white couch, reaching the conclusion that today would be a day for self-care, relaxing, and perhaps some meditation.

there was only one thing ruining his peace.

all morning, suguru has been forced to try and ignore the stain a certain someone has left on his couch — a pair of unecessarily expensive yet dirty shoes being the culprit.

despite these attempts, every once in a while his gaze can't help but wander over at the mark — as if it'd poof out of existence if he glared hard enough.

"fuckin' asshole.." he mutters. it was a wonder his relationship with his best friend managed to stay so promising despite all their differences, yet suguru wouldn't have it any other way, even after situations like this.

right when he grumpily turns back to the tv — which was playing some crappy, low budget rom-com — his apartment door is yanked open and suguru swears he nearly jumps out of his seat.

great, was this it? was he about to get robbed, perhaps evicted? and then probably die? forced into the afterlife knowing gojo's shoe-shit was still on his new couch? no that can't—

"i fucked her!"

suguru whips his head towards the apartment door, announcement being disregarded as he nearly groans in agony. speak of the devil.

big blue eyes peak out from under circular sunglasses, one hand already raised in preparation for a dap up while his stupid, big, dirty shoe pushes the door closed behind him. gojo wears a black compression shirt with grey sweats, marching over to his friend with a ginormous grin across his cheeks.

"take your shoes off, now," suguru snaps, nodding to his friend's feet with a frown.

"yeesh... whatever y'say, daddy," the bastard never loses his smile as his hands raise in surrender, kicking them off by the door smoothly. "what's got your panties in a twist?"

geto pinches his nose bridge. "don't call me that," as he continues the scolding, he points to the living room with his free hand. "you got a mystery stain on my couch, satoru. do you know how many youtube videos i watched trying to get this shit off?"

unphased, gojo takes a look at the strangely colored blob against the armrest's leather material and shrugs. "my bad. did you try febreeze?"

"what— no? dude, febreeze is for.." when suguru looks back up to sourly meet his gaze, he could immediately tell the white-haired man was already drifting back into la-la-land, words going in one ear and out the other. "..nevermind. why're you here?"

at the reminder, satoru seemingly brightens, head shooting back up as if he was just told he'd won the lottery.

"oh god, don't make that stupid face—" he pauses. "the fuck are you doing?" suguru might as well say goodbye to his self-care day, because now gojo was stripping in the middle of his living room, shirt thrown haphazardly onto the still-very-much-stained couch.

"just look!" suguru squints as his friend swivels around to face the wall, pushing his bangs away to get a better view of the— oh shit.

it takes the raven-haired man a second to process what he's seeing before shuffling forward, closely examining the achingly red, bulging scratch marks displayed sexily across the latter's back and shoulders. "no way.."

suguru knows the strongest sorcerer well enough to notice how he purposely didn't use reversed cursed technique on these scratches, just so it'd be obvious to anyone that caught a glimpse of what exactly occured. to his further dismay, he can already picture a smug and sweaty gojo walking around their local gym like this, proud simper on his pretty lips as he easily raises a pair of weights in his veiny hands.

a hiss escapes geto's mouth as he runs his finger down a particularly agitated one, knowing exactly how painful they could be after experiencing many hook-ups of his own. even so, satoru only licks his lips, neck craning to the side so he can pride himself in his friend's gobsmacked expression.

"damn, these are deep. you actually hit it?" suguru confirms, raising a celebratory hand.

turning back around, satoru daps him up, a massive smirk now on both their faces. "hell yeah, it was amazing."

it was impossible to predict what gojo would do next after barging through his front door — especially considering how many times he's done so — but this has to be the last thing suguru ever expected.

not that he was complaining — in fact, all of geto's temper and need for relaxation seemingly flew out the window, the feeling of proudness for his best friend overthrowing anything else.

and even if he hated to admit it, the way gojo was so eager to come over and announce his virginity loss to him was more than a little endearing, and dare he say cute.

"that's great, man. congrats." suguru leads him into the kitchen — still shamelessly shirtless — to grab them both a can of beer in celebration. while the white-haired man usually didn't get involved with any form of alcohol, this occasion was most definitely exception-worthy. "you made y/n cum too, right?"

an offended glare is shot his way. "duh, two times."

"huh. surprised you could last."

as suguru pours their drinks into two fragile cups, gojo exhales, not bothered in the slightest by his jab. "dude, same.." he admits dreamily. "she was so fuckin' tight and warm.. and oh— fuck, her moans? heavenly.. 'can't believe i didn't bust after the first minute.."

geto gulps, trying his best to ignore the mental image his brain was producing from his dirty words. you can't blame him — both of you were smoking hot, and he was a simple man.

even now, he could already imagine what you both looked like; panting and moaning, skin-slapping so loud that it echoed through the whole room, how blissed out you'd look as gojo's cock split you in t—

satoru's playful sigh cuts through the tensing air. "who knows sugs, maybe you'll have another kind of stain to worry about next time we're over~"

he's never snapped out of a daydream so quickly. "don't even joke about that."

over the next hour, the two men sat manspread on the stained couch, taking leisure sips while recalling satoru's final moments as a virgin — suguru giving out his secret tips and tricks along the way.

maybe sometime, suguru could offer some.. hands-on learning instead.

mlist! <- sugu.. how could u think abt ur bestie and his gf like that... tsk tsk tsk (if u enjoyed reblogs/comments r appreciated heheh)

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Shit Fae!Danny Has Said While Living With Waynes

Danny, making a 'got your nose' gesture: Hey Jason, look, I've got your name!

Red Hood, who suddenly can't remember his own name: What the fuck

Bruce, in a tired dad voice: Danny, please, we talked about this, return your brother's name back

Danny: Oh, come on, it's not like he even uses it

Jason, thankfully remembering his name: And I repeat, what the f u c k

Steph, at dinner: I was wondering, what do faeries even eat normally? Like, flowers and stuff?

Danny, his eyes two black voids inside his eyesockets: The souls of the innocent

Steph: So that's a 'no' on the flowers?

Danny, back to normal and shoving a bagel in his mouth: I mean, I can, but would you want to stay on the crumbs-only diet when you are in a 5-star Michelin restaurant?

Tim: It's actually 3-star. Michelin rating system only has three stars, not five.

Dick: Are you saying that people are basically food joints for Fae?

Damian, at Constantine: It would do you well to choose your wording better when speaking to fair folk-

Danny, very much a fair folk, appearing out of thin air in the Cave: Yolo, s'up bitches, guess who's back in town!

Damian: -even when they do not necessarily do so themselves.

Constantine, looking between them: Are you sure you're the human and he is the changeling?

Tim, 46 hours of no sleep: Hey, if you can take a name from someone, does it mean you can take, like, other things that have no real shape or form?

Danny: Names do have shape and form, they even have taste. Yours is like a ping-pong ball made out of really dense cotton candy with banana-caramel flavor.

Tim, losing his touch with reality: Dense banana cotton candy...

Danny: By the way, I know you wanted to ask me if I could take your need to sleep from you, and theoretically, the answer is yes.

Tim, his whisper full of hope: ...will you?..

Danny: No. Either go to sleep or keep suffering. I'm not here to make your life easier.

Danny, after a half-an-hour rant on the Fae customs and traditions: -and Fae never tell the truth, but also never lie. It's a work of art, you know, say what you want but never in a way that makes sense.

Jason: So Fae just like to fuck with people.

Danny, looking him in the eyes, smiling and winking: Sure, humans are very fuckable.

Bruce, trying very hard not to pay attention to this: Can you make an example?

Danny: Sure. I lied.

Bruce: Where?

Danny: :)

Bruce, feeling like he is about to lose his mind: W h e r e ?

Alfred, right after he heard Dick's muffled screaming in the hallway: Young Master Danny, would you mind returning Master Dick his ability to talk in coherent sentences?

Danny, obediently standing up and walking out of the library: ...okay.

Bruce: How come he always listens to you?

Alfred: He knows what I will do if he doesn't.

Danny, returning to the library: He will change all the silverware to iron-ware. As well as the doorknobs and hairbrushes and lightswitches and everything else.

Alfred: Did you fix Master Dick's shoes?

Danny: I did. But I still think that making all of his shoes left ones was funny.

Alfred: Indeed, it was.

| <-prev | next-> |

There's also a fic now.

[vaamins]

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who just couldn’t stop turning his eyes towards you during class. watching your furrowed bros in thought of something Yaga said. he couldn’t care less though. he thinks you look beautiful deep in thought.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who constantly yaps about you to suguru and shoko who tell him to shut up whenever ( he never listens though ) but he continues to go on a rant about how your the most perfect person he’s ever seen, he’s ever known.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is somehow stuttering mess whenever you speak to him. finding himself tripping over his words like a lovesick Highschool girl. his mind races in thought of trying to impress you with witty jokes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who later regrets ever saying anything when he revisits your conversations. groaning into his pillow as a light blush dusts his cheeks at the image of you laughing at his joke.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who personally helps you in mastering your CT. who can’t bare to watch suguru try help you. ever since he found you training with suguru, he finds himself annoyed at the very thought of someone else touching you. his fists clenching as he sees suguru swiftly save you from falling, a dashing smile on his face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who subtly tries to show you his feelings through heartfelt gifts. an expensive bouquet of pink roses ( your favourite, though you never told him, he found out through shoko but insisted he just guessed correctly to further impress you ) or even small treats after a mission.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who loves seeing you happy after beating him in a game at the arcade you and your friends usually go to after school ( even though your horrible bad at the game, he doesn’t ever want to see you sad over losing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who only ever realises he likes you when Yaga brings it up. his teacher commenting that he bets you’ve taken up satoru’s mind from the amount of times he’s caught him staring at you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who rushes out the class at his newfound discovery, his heart beating aggressively against the cage of bones in his chest.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who promises to tell you the next day. planning a great confession. he has what he says noted down on pen and paper, perfecting it so he won’t mess up ( but he has a slight inking he will. you’ve only ever been the one person to make satoru stumble over his words and forget them mid sentence )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who stays up that night. unable to find respite in sleep, he stares at the ceiling mulling over thoughts of what may happen tomorrow after he does what he plans.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who prays that you feel the same for him all throughout the night and through the morning classes. so much so that suguru is cackling in laughter after satoru tells him what he’s been doing for the last few hours.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for you after your mission at the steps to the school his feet aimlessly kicking at stray rocks on the ground, his white hair flying in the breeze.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in when he sees you emerge from the many steps, your feet light on the ground so much so that if anyone were not blessed with the six eyes like him, they wouldn’t have even heard you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is silent for s long time, studying the face he’s come to adore and love so much. you stare up at him, confused and waiting, a stray hair lies on your cheek and he thinks he’s never seen you more beautiful looking than now.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who blurts out his feelings in one go, blushing red by the end of it, his eyes burning behind his black sunglasses.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for what you say, only to be taken aback when he finds you laughing at him. endless amount of giggles escaping your pretty lips, hes beyond confused ( he didn’t expect you to start laughing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who turns away, slightly saddened that you didn’t return his feelings before you pull him into you, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the lips. your soft lips slightly grazing his cheek as you pulls away, he sees the blush rising from your neck to your face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is shocked when you admit to liking him back before you run away, further into the school and to the dorms he presumes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s feet are stuck to ground. he is in shock, he thinks. beyond bewildered and oh so so ecstatic.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s fingers lightly graze his keeps, wishing he could stand in this moment forever. to forever ingrain the feeling of the almost bursting of his heart and the rush through his veins.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally realises how lovesick he is for you.

© VAAMINS 24  .ᐟ  do not copy, repost or plagiarise my works.

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Crybaby yandere boyfriend when he thinks you’re cheating

He is running errands around town when he sees what he thinks is you out and about with another man. Weren’t you at work today? Why were you at the cafe? Who is he? Are you seeing someone else? 

Don’t you know nobody else can love you like he does? Why are you doing this to him when he loves you so much? 

The thought has him sick to his stomach and he nearly loses his lunch as a result. 

When you return home later that evening, he tackles you as soon as you close the door shut. His eyes are red from crying, and you immediately express your concern over him.

“Do you love me still? Am I doing something wrong? What can he do what I can’t?”

You ask him what he’s talking about but he just shakes his head in frustration. 

With a sniffle, he hugs you tightly, too tight to the point you can’t move or escape his grasp even if you wanted to. 

“No, no. I know you love me. You HAVE to. I love you too. More than I can say. We belong together!” He mumbles into the crook of your neck, “Maybe you just need some more convincing.”

With a squeal from you, he’s lifting you off your feet and into his arms, bridal style. He carries you into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed and locking the door. After, he climbs onto the bed and on top of you, eyes watering again. 

“I just got to show you, right? What I can give you. What you’d be missing.”

His lips immediately hit yours, body weight leaning all the way into you so you feel crushed underneath him. The two of you share a heated kiss, with him growling your name under his breath. When he takes his hoodie off and throws it on the floor, you know he’s serious.

He nibbles on your neck and holds your hands in a way you can’t let go.

”I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think of anything else but me.”

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

[astonmartinii]

cutie patooties | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem leclerc!reader

just them terrorising the world with their cuteness (and collecting the younger drivers)

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SMALL BUSINESS

yourusername

liked by arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,209,455 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: he loves redline more than me 🙄

view all comments

user1: obsessed with how she's like "oh you wanna ship max with my brother" and then takes lestappen out back and shoots them

user2: as she should, she's the cutest leclerc by far

yourusername: true 😙

maxverstappen1: double true 😘

charles_leclerc: die.

yourusername: erm consider your ass REPORTED THIS IS HARASSMENT

maxverstappen1: did you just threaten my girlfriend ????

charles_leclerc: and what?

maxverstappen1: pull up, i'm outside

charles_leclerc: ???? leave ????

maxverstappen1: no i'm deadass don't disrespect my gf 😤😤😤

charles_leclerc: it's my SISTER

yourusername: when he's protective 😛😛😛

user3: screaming, crying, throwing up over the keychain

user4: i need someone *cough, cough* them to recreate it 🥸

landonorris: YOU WENT TO THE LEGO STORE WITHOUT ME? YOUR FAVOURITE CHILD?

yourusername: watch your tone

maxverstappen1: god forbid i want to spend time with my GIRLFRIEND on a DATE

landonorris: that's not a valid excuse

yourusername: also bold of you to assume you're our favourite child when oscar, yuki and logan are right there

oscarpiastri: snooze you lose lando

yukitsunoda0511: suck on that lando

logansargent: i'm just happy to be included

landonorris: damn...

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 1,203,513 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & yourusername

maxverstappen1: spent the weekend bothering my girlfriend's brother, what about you?

view all comments

user9: the way charles put his ferrari cap on y/n only for max to throw it into the crowd and put his own on her head instead

user10: those who know max's attachment to his caps, this is big.

yourusername: winning looks so sexy oh my

maxverstappen1: blushing like a motherfucker

yourusername: skip the debrief? they won't notice?

maxverstappen1: i think they might notice the driver of the race they're analysing not being there

yourusername: show them the pic i just sent you, they can't say no to my puppy dog eyes

maxverstappen1: helmut said fuck off 💔

yourusername: tell him i have a present for him (it's a pack of salt and vinegar crisps and a pamphlet for caskets)

user11: @yourusername winning IS sexy, tell your bf to tell charles win

yourusername: if charles wins it's suddenly decidedly unsexy, this isn't game of thrones babe

charles_leclerc: you ARE annoying that's right

maxverstappen1: annoyingly sexy

charles_leclerc: no comment, we're going to be family at some point soon

maxverstappen1: DAMN RIGHT WE ARE

yourusername: if you think we're annoying now, oh boy.

user12: i need max and y/n to be engaged right this fucking moment

user13: i think it would actually make my year

user14: after the championship win queen @maxverstappen1 ?

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 1,562,044 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: @ the person who asked how much max weighs... god will deal with you

view all comments

user15: i'm obsessed with how obsessed they are with each other

user16: is max's wardrobe all red bull merch and t-shirts dedicated to y/n?

maxverstappen1: yes 😌

danielricciardo: i saw the clip... the time stamp was 3am - we RACE TODAY?

yourusername: i am happy to support my man's hobby

danielricciardo: yes but you also don't have to race with that man on three hours of sleep

yourusername: be real daniel, the only time you'll be close to max is when he laps you xxx

danielricciardo: EXCUSE ME??? MAX YOU GONNA LET YOUR GIRLFRIEND TALK TO YOUR FIRST LOVE LIKE THAT?

maxverstappen1: bold of you to assume you were my first love

danielricciardo: did on the couch mean nothing to you?

maxverstappen1: soz buddy this is a childhood friends to lovers narrative right now (and we were already together by the time i was at red bull)

charles_leclerc: WHAT?

yourusername: spare me the dramatics, you guys were deep in the ANGST and then austria happened so really it's your own fault that it took as long as it did

user17: one comment section where the girls aren't fighting? impossible.

oscarpiastri: omg the shirts look so good y/n !!

yourusername: we're ✨graphic designers✨

maxverstappen1: does having a dashingly handsome model help

yourusername: of course !!!!!

oscarpiastri: i'm not going to answer that question

maxverstappen1: :(

oscarpiastri: on another thought - yes!

yourusername: @landonorris this is why he's one of the favourites

landonorris: i'm not talking to yall

maxverstappen1

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, yourusername and 1,309,556 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: weekend off racing means shenanigans and late night streaming

view all comments

user20: i know whatever poor soul went for dinner with them hated every second

yukitsunoda0511: working on being the favourite of the favourite children 🫡 and they paid for my meal at a really cool italian restaurant

oscarpiastri: game on

yourusername: so who is the lady and who is the tramp?

danielricciardo: THAT'S A TRICK QUESTION MAX DON'T ANSWER IT

maxverstappen1: you're not a lady... you're a queen 😘

yourusername: did you just fail the test, successfully?

danielricciardo: you smooth motherfucker

yourusername: stole your red bull drive and your nickname @carlossainz55

carlossainz55: why am i catching strays?

yourusername: bored ❤️

user21: y/n really be like "oh the season's boring cause my bf wins everything? let me make it interesting by shading every driver on the grid"

maxverstappen1: do NOT give her a challenge

charles_leclerc: can you PLEASE stop taking such lovey dovey gross ass photos maman keeps getting them printed and I AM GETTING MOVED OFF OF THE MANTEL PIECE I AM ON THE BOOKSHELF, THIS FACE IS A MANTEL PIECE FACE NOT A BOOKSHELF FACE

yourusername: not reading all of that, i'm happy for you or sad that happened x

charles_leclerc: MAX DO SOMETHNG

maxverstappen1: step your pussy up bro

yourusername: when he catches your lingo >>

charles_leclerc: i am a VICTIM

yourusername

liked by arthurleclerc, landonorris and 1,450,387 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & charles_leclerc

yourusername: invented babygirlism actually

view all comments

user22: y/n is so real for choosing a cute recent photo for herself and then just violating the guys

user23: she's funny as fuck for that

charles_leclerc: finally some fucking credit

yourusername: not everything can be about you all of the time 🤨

charles_leclerc: don't make me an ankle-biter again you're PUSHING ME

sebastianvettel: knew you were an ankle biter

yourusername: LOL

charles_leclerc: no seb no! i didn't bite ankles, just y/n's and that doesn't count

user24: what the fuck is going on here

maxverstappen1: you are the most babygirl to ever babygirl

danielricciardo: i think i had a stroke reading that

yourusername: awwwww you're so cute maxy

maxverstappen1: knew you were the one for me when we first met karting, you taught me the babygirl ways

yourusername: and you're delivering

oscarpiastri: you guys can't see but he's blushing so bad right now

landonorris: are you just attached to them

yourusername: yes he is, a babygirl in training

user25: how do i get adopted by y/n and max?

maxverstappen1: no but for real i love you, even if we are lumbered with your brother

yourusername: i love you too xxx

charles_leclerc: *brothers

maxverstappen1: nope arthur and lorenzo are sound

charles_leclerc: fUCK OFF :(((((((

FIN.

note: heyyyyyy you guysssss! we all know i have a soft spot for these two (plus oscar and alex) so i wanted to put out a little thing to celebrate 5k! thank you so much for following and reading my work, hope you enjoyed xx

[queenpiranhadon]

Can I request bkg and reader getting in a fight so they still share the bed but sleep while facing away from each other. But then reader gets nightmare about him dying and clutches to him. How do you think he would react??

A/N: Sobbing because the manga has me in shambles TY ANON FOR THE REQUESTTT <33 Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Mild cursing, you and Katsuki get into a fight, he's a little hot headed but he means well, you both love each other so much, you both are dating, mentions of an anxiety attack, nightmares, angst to comfort, mentions of blood and death, slight spoilers, reader is called princess and baby, f!reader.

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

"Katsuki you can't keep doing this to yourself!"

"Jesus baby, ya know that this is my job, I don't have a choice! I can't just stop savin' people 'cause my girlfriend wants me to."

It went on like that for a while, back and forth, between "You can't just keep coming home like this, it's not healthy!" and "It's my fuckin' job - what the fuck do ya want me to do about it?!" as well as every single variation of the two.

It was exhausting.

You were understandably worried sick about your pro hero boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, you always had been. You loved him to death, you always would, but your heart simply couldn't take the sight of him coming home bruised and bloodied and on the brink of death.

You believed in him, you really did, but the little voice in the back of your head never seemed to stop asking the one question you wish never had to be asked in the first place.

What if it finally became too much? What if one day, he didn't come home back to you?

The scenarios that voice would create were almost as bad as having to experience it in real life, and Katsuki's blatant disregard for your feelings only made it worse.

To him, you didn't believe in him. Your worries made him feel weak - your worries made it seem like his skills were incompetent, as if he wasn't enough. After all, when you see a hero like All Might on the screen, no one is simply worried for his wellbeing, because they know he'll win.

Why don't you think he can win?

The two of you don't speak to each other for the rest of the night, still sleeping in the same bed but turned away from each other.

And it was hard, trying to fall asleep without the other, so accustomed to falling asleep in each other's arms, but you finally managed to do so.

However, without Katsuki's presence to soothe you in the night, the voice in your head decided to take the reins on your dreams.

Except it was much more worse than that.

You were on a battle field, there was so much happening except there was nothing happening at the same time.

You can't see your hands, or the rest of your body, eerily making you a spectator to the chilling scene around you.

The ground was slate grey, and then it wasn't, crimson blood staining the ground until all you could see was red.

You try to scream, but you can't because you have no body, and consequently, no mouth.

Still you persist, opening an invisible mouth to let out soundless screams in the hope that someone, anyone, can get you out of this soulless empty hellhole.

And then you see him.

It's Katsuki.

He looks fine, unharmed except for the hollow look in his eyes.

Your heart aches and you reach out an invisible hand to do something, to apologize for losing your temper, anything to have him back.

But the moment you blink, Katsuki isn't fine, or unharmed anymore.

Now, there was a gaping hole in his chest, and half of his face was stained the same crimson that was splattered across the ground.

You could only watch in horror as Katsuki's life was sucked out of him, seeping out through the blood that dripped out of his body, staining the ground even further, pooling at his feet.

You scream even more, but nothing comes out. You can't do anything, and the love of your life is bleeding out and you're just standing there.

Shit!

You didn't realize you were crying until you feel two strong hands gently shaking you awake, finding yourself buried in Katsuki's chest, clutching onto his shirt like it was your lifeline. Or in this case, his.

"Princess? I'm here, baby I'm here...everything's okay..." he murmurs, his gruff voice soothing you as he strokes your hair, allowing you to soak his shirt with your tears, not minding it at all.

You look at him, and his heart breaks at the broken look in your eyes.

"Katsuki...?" you whisper, and he looks at your with those piercing vermillion eyes, ridden with guilt.

"Baby, m'so sorry I talked to ya like that.... I'm so stupid, damnit." he whispers angrily, not to you, but to himself.

How had he not realized how bad your anxiety was?

He sighs - he wasn't the focus right now, you were.

He brings a large and gentle hand around, cupping the back of your head and tenderly pressing it against his chest.

"Feel that princess? That my heart, beating for ya. And only for ya, ya hear me?"

You giggle softly, feeling your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep together like that, and the little voice in your head finally gives you a few words of assurance.

Katsuki's okay.