#because at least i know it's this thing i carry with me so deeply and so permanently

[iamthemaestro]

had a character development moment today where I realized maybe I simply do not have a healthy relationship to classical music anymore

[rafesangelita]

omg imagine s1 rafe bringing sweetheart!pogue!reader to his partay and she is like watching him do coke n stuff. idk theyre so different

warnings: drug use, suggestive ending

a/n: i’m imagining mean!s1!rafe who just loves to have pogue!sweetheart!reader around because they’re polar opposites and he needs the balance lol. this prompt is to die for, thank you anon <3

to say you felt out of place would be an understatement. you didn’t go to parties, you didn’t drink, and you certainly didn’t do any kind of drugs, yet you found yourself in the lap of the one person who did all three. “why are you so quiet, baby? you shy?” rafe ran a palm up and down your thigh, the feeling of his breath fanning against your skin bringing butterflies to your tummy. you smiled softly, shaking your head. “no.. s’just not really my scene.” you whispered.

rafe tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, kissing you deeply before he pulled away. “ i know, i know. we’ll ditch this shit and go up to my room in a few minutes, how does that sound?” his bloodshot eyes met your sober ones. you smiled softly, nodding. “yo’, rafe!” you looked up at topper, the boy flashing you a smile before dropping a small baggy in rafe’s hand. “you gotta get in on this shit, man. kelce said it tastes like candy.” you swallowed thickly, watching as rafe grabbed the rolling tray from the coffee table in front of him.

“are you okay if i do this?” he turned, noticing the way your eyebrow creased in worry. you weren’t fond of the fact that rafe used, but he was a good person with a good heart. at least you thought so. the last thing you wanted to do was point out his mistakes and lecture him as if he wasn’t a grown man who could make his own decisions, so you settled for a quiet; ‘yeah, it’s okay.’ before resting your head on his shoulder. he pressed a kiss to your knuckles before emptying the bag, using a credit card to formulate a perfect white line.

the gold ring on rafe’s finger glinted under the soft light of his home, the sight catching your eyes before you watched him snort up the blow. you couldn’t deny the ‘off’ feeling you got witnessing the way his eyes glazed over when the whole room erupted in cheers, a couple of girls glaring at you from a distance. rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, taking a swig of whatever alcohol he had in his cup. “alright, her turn.” topper came to you with another baggy, rafe immediately pushing his friend away.

“she doesn’t do this shit. leave her alone.” sensing the energy shift, everyone quieted down, now dispersing from the table as rafe rubbed circles into your skin. “wanna get out of here?” he stroked your cheek, finding the liquor on his breath weirdly comforting. “please?” that one word was all you had to say before rafe carried you upstairs bridal style. “you look like a doll in this dress, you know that? all pretty for me..” you giggled at his words, biting your lip once you heard the lock to his bedroom door click.

[tsukimefuku]

voice kink ♪ nanami kento

I ended up watching a YouTube short of Kenjiro Tsuda and it made me deeply unwell, hence this 30 minute drabble. Have my horny. Part 2 here

Nanami was a dedicated — you could even say devoted — lover. Truly, after so much time together, you doubted there was anything vanilla-related this man wouldn’t do in bed if you asked him to. The sheer lengths he’d go to have you finishing at least twice every time you had sex were surprising.

However, there was this one thing that still nagged you. You thought about it, mulled it over, and considered talking to him after he got home. However, your eagerness to talk about it got the better of you.

“Kento, why don’t you talk dirty to me when we’re having sex?” you asked him, still laying on the bed with your pajamas on.

He turned to you surprised, already dressed in his classic blue buttoned shirt, beige formal pants, and yellow tie with a splatter pattern hanging around his neck as he got ready to leave for work.

“For no reason in particular. I think I just tend to focus on how it feels rather than talking about it,” he answered, “why? Would you rather have me talking more?”

“Perhaps. I mean… I find your voice very sexy,” you admitted, blushing a little, “and one of my favorite parts of sex is when I get to hear it.”

He lifted an eyebrow, a soft hint of amusement taking over his impassiveness.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

He seemed to ponder on something for a moment, and then, began walking towards the bed as he opened the top button of his shirt.

You were confused for a moment as he climbed with his work clothes from the end of the mattress. However, in an instant, he took both your hands, entangling your fingers while he pressed them to the sides of your head, and sunk his hips in between your thighs, his belt softly catching on the edge of your pants.

Having you caged underneath him, Nanami brushed his lips against your cheek, and slid them slowly down.

His warm breath caressed your skin, and Nanami grazed his teeth on your earlobe before whispering only inches away from your ear, “what would you like to hear me say?”

“A-anything, really,” you stuttered out, thoughts becoming nothing but jumbled bits in your brain.

He hummed, “then, let me tell you what my favorite part is.”

Each syllable had you melting like honey under him, his deep tone caressing your hearing in all the right ways.

“My favorite part is when you are about to finish for the second time with me inside you, and you always dig your nails on my shoulders. I really like when I look in the mirror and see those tiny marks you leave me with, because every time I notice that they’re gone, I know it’s time to get some new ones.”

You let out a moan, sinking your head back on the pillow and arching your back. He pressed himself a little harder, and proceeded.

“I also find your taste to be exquisite, but I’m still unsure if it feels better when I have my tongue deep inside as you tremble all around it or when I’m thrusting it in your mouth right after I’m finished eating you out.”

Another moan tumbled out of your lips as you felt your heartbeat throbbing in between your legs, and at that moment, you were absolutely sure that if he kept going, you’d cum completely untouched underneath him.

“K-Kento...”

“Also, feeling you all warm and wet and tight around my cock when you ask me to have you completely raw is one of the most delicious sensations I’ve had in my entire life, topped only by when I cum inside you and fill you whole, all thick and warm.”

Holy. Fuck.

Your body was quivering underneath him, your breath completely broken in hitches, and you squirmed your hips desperate for some friction over your pooling wetness.

“I hope I gave you enough for you to think about me while I’m gone at work, darling,” Nanami concluded, planting a kiss on your cheek before lifting himself up, carrying his warmth along with him.

You realized that moment you definitely should’ve waited until that night to tell him that.

[vaguely-concerned]

My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content. 

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* —  up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug. 

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were. 

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro 

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

[sunderwight]

Shang Qinghua strikes me as the type who would only pursue a particular cultivation skill if it had some utility to making his everyday life easier or some specific task more doable, not even register that he'd achieved anything impressive with his cultivation in the process, and then carry on firm in the belief that this is a normal skill that every other cultivator has probably already acquired. Because if it's useful, why wouldn't they?

Like he thinks cultivation is cool and all, but (as can be evidenced by some of his writing choices) he's not really interested in it for its own sake. So everything he chooses to pursue has a reason. Usually that reason is "letting him be done with this tedious task so that he can possibly scrape together some free time, or at least more time to do other tasks."

This is why, despite sword arts being very cool and dashing and all, Shang Qinghua doesn't really bother learning a lot of swordsmanship or fighting skills. There are pretty few situations where wielding a sword is useful, most of those situations are ones which Shang Qinghua doesn't want to be involved in, and nearly all of his martial siblings are better at and more interested in fighting anyway.

He knows that martial prowess is popular and attractive, but it's boring. Sword drills? Dull as hell. There's a reason he came up with a super cursed sword that let his protagonist immediately win almost any fight, with consequences that just led to more interesting drama or conflicts to write about. His fight scenes were at least as boring and repetitive as his sex scenes, let's be real.

The end result is that Shang Qinghua's cultivation is probably deeply weird.

Like he's done muscle-reinforcement but not for combat, it's so that if he needs to he can literally pick up a recalcitrant ox and move it. He mastered inedia because remembering to eat and finding a moment to do it during An Ding's inventory week was harder. He introduced flying carpets to the setting after he transmigrated because figuring out how to transport items on some compatible spiritual device that was bigger than a sword blade, and could thus hold like a chest of goods or baskets of supplies, was way too convenient to pass up. He has selective knowledge of various skills, like alchemy, medicine, smithing, etc, things that are usually only brought up at the master level (thanks to his author knowledge cheat) but he doesn't know most of the basics of those skills, and he only deploys his knowledge for like, hyper specific tasks largely unrelated to the field.

He probably drives Mu Qingfang and Wei Qingwei crazy because he'll drop expert niche knowledge that they know is expert niche knowledge into a random discussion out of the blue, but then can't actually sustain a conversation about it because he doesn't know all the usual accompanying information. Mu Qingfang counting slowly backwards from ten because somehow Shang Qinghua knows that a super rare tonic made from a believed-to-be-extinct plant can bestow temporarily telekinesis to those who imbibe it, but doesn't know anything else about the medicinal uses of the plant, the history of the tonic, or other tonics that can achieve similar results with varying side-effects. But he knows what this one hyper-specific thing will do and he knows, very very vaguely, how to make it. Somehow.

Which would be less weird if it was just one thing, because people do pick up odd bits of knowledge or skills from unexpected places now and again. But it happens all the time. Seemingly at complete random! He also, as said, doesn't just do it with knowledge but with skills. No idea of basic leveling up, Shang Qinghua singles out what he wants from a process and then just does enough to get it and skips everything else that usually goes with it.

I bet he's like thirty before it comes to light that he has no idea how to actually do basic meditation, or something, and Yue Qingyuan does that thing where he smiles placidly while dying inside because how? Shang-shidi is a peak lord! How does a peak lord not know how to meditate properly?!

(In Shang Qinghua's defense, meditating involves spending a lot of time just focusing on one's self and not doing anything else, and he is a busy man! And he actually has mastered a form of meditation, but it's a kind Cang Qiong doesn't usually teach and that you do while also performing repetitive tasks. Usually those repetitive tasks are things like "repeatedly punching the exact same spot on a tree until the tree topples" but Shang Qinghua's are more like "reviewing a thousand nearly identical requisition forms and eating melon seeds at a steady rate" type stuff. When other people expect him to meditate he just sits quietly for a minute until they leave.)

[calisources]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different works of fiction and depict sensual, sexual tension between two people in different scenarios. There are some that are suggestive while others are more detail so this meme is nsft and usft, please tag accordingly. Mentions of jealousy, possessiveness, sex, fantasies are all here. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit.

I knew the first moment I saw him that it was going to be raw, it was going to be ugly, and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

You're still looking.

You make it hard to look away.

I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, that’s not fair.

If you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me.

How long are you going to make me wait?

How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you.

You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.

You said not to fall for you. Did you change your mind?

We both needed to blow off some steam, and we did, right?

They say the colour of a lady’s lips is an exact match to another region on the body?

You're too soft.

Can we go back to making out now?

You sound jealous.

Then tell me this is what you truly want. Swear you want this more than anything else and I'll never mention it again.

If you want me to play the bawd, at least give me the benefit of your advice.

Tell me how it's done. Do you think she'd like it if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply in to her eyes?

And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?

You're wet, aren't you?

You drove me mad.

She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,I would have been gentle with you, though.

I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre.

I'm all yours to look at, you know.

You need to let me go, darling, before we start something I intend to finish.

Feel free to touch, darling. It's all yours.

. . .I hate you.

Say it again.

Grind it. Nice and fine.

I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.

Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.

Am I supposed to deny, that I find you attractive?

Is that a challenge, Feyre?

Do you think it's fair that you have seen every inch of me, and I have seen none of you?

Move with me now.

Touch me anywhere you please.

I want you to make love to me.

Do you know what that truly means?

You do know? You know that I will be inside you and that I will move inside you, until we are both mad from pleasure?

I want you inside me.

You have three minutes to get ready now.

I did dream about you. I didn’t want to, but I did.

What was I doing in your dreams?

Someone is watching us through the window.

All the more reason to put on a good show.

You're not in a position to make demands.

The best things are found in the most secret places.

And you are a beautiful, sexy temptress who is about to be fucked by a man who wants her so desperately he's willing to do anything to have her.

When I'm with a woman, it's not me doing the begging.

You're rubbing yourself all over me. What did you think was going to happen?

I thought you were all about self-control.

I remember how powerful those thighs are.

You are more beautiful than I imagined.

And your skin... Christ, it shimmers like gold.

I'm naked underneath.

Tell me----did it get you off knowing I was watching?

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Please, don’t stop.

Oh, so I shouldn’t? That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?

I am the cruelest man you will ever meet, but, I will make you feel so good, you will not care.

I’ve never been with a man before.

You do bad things to me, Carrie. Very bad things.

And you, Miss, are no lady.

[bangtanintotheroom]

On the Nose (M)

I'ma put this pussy on your face

Open up boy, come and get a taste

🔊 just wanna - iggy azalea (spotify | soundcloud) 🔊

• Pairing: Dokyeom x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Humor, Smut, Friends to Lovers

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 2.5k

• Summary: Seokmin thinks his nose might be too big. You’re quick to give him reasons as to why he’s wrong.

• Warnings/themes: insecurity, reassurance, OC with the compliments 🥹, Seokmin getting carried away, face-sitting, oral (f. receiving), groping, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

• Notes: Look, all I'm going to say is that my thing for noses flares up whenever I look at DK and that was the inspo for this drabble. So sit and enjoy AJ's unhinged mind 🤪✨ thanks again to @wooahaeproductions for being an awesome beta! 💖

Reminder that I have a permanent taglist if you’re interested in all future fics I post!

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Is my nose too big?”

Your friend’s out of nowhere question made you pause your mobile game and look up in bewilderment. You found him standing in front of his dresser, head leaned in close to the mirror.

“What? No, it’s not.”

Seokmin hummed, the tone unconvinced.

“Are you sure? You can be honest with me, y’know.”

Frowning deeply, you set your phone down and rose from the bed to walk over and stand next to him.

“Seokmin, why would I lie? Your nose is fine. Did someone say something about it?”

“No…”

His trailing off did not deter you from digging deeper.

“Seokmin.”

Your biting tone and hard stare made him flinch, not wanting to feel your wrath.

“No one said anything, per se, but they were looking. Really hard.”

“Who?”

Seokmin’s reflection shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Multiple people. We’d be having a conversation and I’d just notice their eyes going to my nose at some point.”

His explanation gave you some clarity now, but were they really thinking negative thoughts about it? You couldn’t understand why the poor guy was so concerned about his nose all of a sudden. To you, it was one of his best features.

Yes, he had a blinding smile. Yes, you would kill to have his cheekbones. Yes, he was just a handsome guy in general.

But having a dignified and regal nose increased his looks by at least fifty percent (if you were being modest).

It just suited him so well that you couldn’t picture him with anything more basic or minuscule. Anything less pointy and upright would not fit Lee Seokmin.

“Seokmin, maybe they were looking because they like it.”

Your friend turned away from the mirror to study you with interest.

“You think so?”

You gazed up at him confidently.

“I know so.”

“But don’t people usually prefer smaller noses?”

A scoff left before you explained, “Fuck what beauty standards say, I think big noses are one of the best things anyone could have. Think about it. When people get plastic surgery, they can only go smaller, not bigger, right?”

”Right…”

“So it’s something that’s natural and only special people are blessed with! Like yourself!”

Your reassurance was paired with a tap to said special feature, pulling a bright grin from Seokmin.

“Y/N, you know just how to cheer me up, don’t you?”

“Of course, dummy. That’s what friends are for!”

The both of you giggled, the atmosphere lighter than before due to your affirmations. It felt good to ease his worries, but as you laughed, one last fact came to your brain.

It wasn’t as innocent as the previous ones, but it was a truth for you. One you had personal experience with on more than one occasion.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?”

“You know what else big noses are really good for?”

Seokmin’s dark brown eyes watched you with curiosity and a hint of eagerness.

“What?”

You looked up at him, face blank like a sheet of paper.

“Sitting on.”

He became a cartoon character immediately, eyes bugging and mouth flying open to let out a yelp while his hands covered his ears.

“Y/N! What?!”

“Hey—” You reached up to rip his palms down so he could hear properly. “—it’s true!”

“Is it, you…you…pervert? Or are you just making things up to make me feel better?!”

A scowl came across your face as you lightly punched his arm.

“I’m serious, idiot! Have you never heard of a girl using someone’s nose to get off?”

“No! Well, I mean, maybe, but I wasn’t paying attention if anyone did say that.”

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms and readied yourself to continue convincing him.

“It’s true, okay?”

Seokmin blinked before squinting his eyes.

“And who’s your source?”

You met him with nothing but passiveness.

“Me, myself and I.”

All he could do was gape at you like a fish, stunned that you were revealing such an intimate secret about yourself.

Now, you were used to Seokmin’s dramatic reactions to mundane or extreme situations, but he usually did it out of fun. Yet something about the way his eyes darted all over your face told you that it was genuine astonishment he gave.

Which led to you challenging, “What, you’ve never had anyone sit on your face before?”

“No!”

Huh. Shocker.

“Really?”

His frantic nod only made your brows raise in wonder. It was a shame that this man had never been privy to the act. God strategically placed his nose at such an angle to reach crevices deep within women and it was being wasted for everything else but that.

An idea began brewing in you, wanting to convince him that he was missing out on something fun.

Licking your lips, you cocked your head to the side and let your suggestion out.

“Wanna try?”

Seokmin became too stunned to speak. All he could do was sputter at your offer.

“I— Y/N, you—!”

“Seokmin, I’m serious. It’s an experience.”

The way you grinned slyly was akin to suggesting your friend cut class with you, not let you use his face as a grinding pad.

“How am I going to convince you if you won’t let me sit on your face?”

Seokmin’s ajar mouth finally shut, jaw clenched as he looked you over from head to toe, gauging the seriousness of your offer. He saw little deceit and seemed to relax a bit.

“Y/N…would you really do that?”

You nodded.

“If it’ll make you feel better about your nose, absolutely. You’re welcome to say no if you don’t want to, though.”

The other pulled in his lower lip as he mulled over his answer. You were middle of the road right now. If he said no, you would take no offense and carry on like nothing happened. But if he said yes…

“Then…let’s try it.”

Oh. Neat!

Smiling in triumph, you held your arm out towards the bed.

“Go get comfortable.”

Seokmin’s lips quirked lightly at your instructions, walking over to lie on his back in the middle of the mattress. His head lifted to peer at you with query.

“Is this a good position?”

“Perfect. You’re a beginner, so it’s best if you stay completely flat.”

Humming at your reasoning, his eyes widened when your hands reached for your bottoms, undoing them as if you were undressing at the end of a long day. You saw him visibly swallow when your pants pooled around your ankles. But then he clutched the sheets when your fingers crept under the elastic of your panties, sliding them down your legs.

Seokmin tried his best to look less petrified as you looked up after stepping out of your clothes and walked over. Climbing onto the bed, you kneeled next to his torso, raising a brow down at him.

“Ready for me?”

An audible gulp came from your friend before he nodded quickly. With a sigh, you eased, “I’m not gonna suffocate you. Relax.”

The reminder seemed to lessen his nerves as he laid back again, giving you a jerk of his chin. The invitation prompted you to straddle his chest and keep an eye on his facial expression, only to catch him staring between your legs.

“What?”

Seokmin’s cheeks reddened before he shook his head quickly. “N-Nothing. So how does this go?”

“Literally just eat me out like you would with any other girl. But throw your nose into the mix.”

“Like, nudge you with it?”

“Mhm. Just follow your instincts, there’s not much wrong you can do with it.”

The man underneath you nodded before taking in a deep breath. As soon as he motioned you to scoot up with his eyes, you moved forward to hover over his lips. Trusting your core to keep you balanced, you let out your own held breath.

“Ready whenever you are.”

Seokmin gave a thumbs up, waiting until you lowered down so your folds were a whisper away from his mouth. He leaned up to brush his lips against them, the light touch making your spine straighten. It felt as if he was testing the waters, wanting to see just how sensitive you were. But he didn’t wait long to up the pressure, pulling the quietest of gasps out.

“Better?”

You would’ve giggled at the way his voice came out somewhat muffled if it wasn’t for the warmth starting to build in your gut.

“Yeah. Just do what you usually do, ‘Min.”

“Let me know if I have to switch it up.”

He returned to work, bringing his tongue into the mix to trace up and down. A louder noise came from your mouth at the thorough sensation, eyes fluttering. The question of whether Lee Seokmin was good at oral never crossed your mind, but now the answer was going to remain cemented in there.

Especially when the appendage sunk in between to run up and down your entrance.

“Oh shit—”

You were too distracted to see Seokmin’s eyes crinkle at your low moan, continuing the action to be rewarded with more. But after a while of this, you remembered the main reason why this was even happening in the first place. Swallowing a sound, you croaked out, “Seokmin.”

“Mm?”

“Your nose—”

The reminder had him make what you imagined was a noise of realization. And just like you wanted, the end of something soft yet sharp nudged your swollen clit.

“Ah— There you go.”

You gave encouragement, hoping it would push your friend to use his God-given gift to the fullest. It took some time, but Seokmin nuzzled the bud harder while simultaneously working his tongue below. Your warmth expanded into a tingling heat that traveled up and down your spine and into your fingers and toes, soft pants beginning to fall from your agape mouth.

You weren’t sure how long he had been at it, but you began to feel the telltale signs of a climax approaching. Not wanting to throw him off his game, you bit your tongue and allowed yourself to continue enjoying this experience of Seokmin learning the benefits of having a perfectly sculpted nose.

As the throes of ecstasy began to wash over your body, you hoped that he would carry this lesson through the rest of his life to treat any lucky girl.

Panting softly as you came down, the attention between your legs paused for a bit. But just as you were about to climb off and congratulate your friend for a job well done, the motions started up again, forcing you to gasp in sensitivity.

“’Min, what are you—”

A harsh bump to your still throbbing clit interrupted your query and a poke to your twitching cunt silenced you completely. All you could do was sit above Seokmin in utter shock as he continued to please you with his mouth.

Your complete surprise melted the further he went, brain shutting down to simply enjoy what he was giving you. At one point, you felt vibrations and started to hear something akin to mumbling from between your legs.

“Huh?”

The vibrations went on, but you still couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Seokmin, I can’t hear you, stop for a second.”

What might have been a groan sounded against your slick folds before Seokmin pulled back to husk out, “Sit on my tongue.”

Your mouth dropped, stunned at the request and the way he stuck out said muscle between his slick-coated lips.

But your hips went on autopilot and moved forward to grant him his wish. As soon as you sat down, the desire to use his tongue as a grinding pad came over. It seemed to be a wise choice as you could feel the strongest vibration so far against your pussy.

Seokmin surprised you again when one of his hands moved from the bed to rest on your waist before sliding over and up your torso. It seemed to be on autopilot as it aimed to touch your covered breast, only stopping short just as his fingertips were about to brush the bottom curve. Clicking your tongue at his unwanted hesitation, you covered his palm with your own and brought it to its intended destination.

“Don’t hold back.”

As soon as you let go, Seokmin took your command and ran to the bank with it. Long fingers groped and massaged at the mound, making your back arch in enjoyment. Enjoyment that pushed you higher and higher to another precipice, faster than before. While you trembled above your friend, you couldn’t believe that he kept this up. You figured that once would be enough to prove your point, but he just would not stop.

He continued even after you came for the second time, giving everything he had. You could feel yourself hurtling towards a third orgasm as Seokmin wouldn’t let you be. But when the tip of his nose felt too pointy and the flat of his tongue too rough for your sensitive folds, you decided to put an end to the experience.

“S-Stop—“

Pointless. He just kept going.

Stifling a whimper of discomfort, you were forced to reach down and pull at his dark brown locks.

“Christ, Seokmin, stop!”

Finally, your prayers were heard. Seokmin winced at your tug and removed his mouth from you to gape incredulously.

“Yah, why’d you stop me?”

You ignored the unusually titillating rasp of his voice to scowl down.

“I think you proved my point…too many times!”

Your emphasis was supported with a flick to his wet nose.

“You trying to kill me?!”

“No! I just got caught up in the moment! I’m sorry.”

The genuine remorse in his explanation made you relax a bit, soothing his scalp with a gentle ruffle of his hair.

“It’s alright, ‘Min. You did good…too good.”

As expected, Seokmin’s smile outshone the sun itself, thanks to your praise.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Returning the grin, you realized that you should give your friend some breathing room and climbed off to lay next to him, a tingle still present in your toes.

“So what have we learned today?”

Seokmin puckered his lips as he looked up in thought.

“I learned that my nose is big, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Um…that I can use it when I’m eating someone out.”

Your lips tilted.

“Go on.”

A melodic hum came as he continued to rack his brain.

“Mm…oh! How could I forget the most important one?”

You watched as his head turned to fixate you with a sweet grin.

“If I’m ever feeling insecure about anything, I can come to you for help.”

His answer made you smile wide, heart warming at how at ease he seemed to be now. Granted, you never expected to sit on his face, but if it made him feel better, you’d do it a hundred times over.

“Anything for you, ‘Min.”

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Crossposted to AO3. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

[lazerswordweilder]

There’s a prompt I’ve heard from at least two seperate people, Danny gets adopted by the Waynes as a meta and the power suppression cuff hurts.

Okay, I need to sleep so let’s do this fast. No matter what anyone at Wayne Manor did, all Danny would do for the first day would be trying to get the cuff off, no one understood why, by the second day they got worried, a civilian shouldn’t go this long without food.

By the third day Danny realises he’s going to have a serious problem if he doesn’t act soon, he gets Bruces attention (this is the first ‘sane’ thing he’s done since he arrived so Bruce agrees to talk happily). Bruce doesn’t expect Danny to make him swear that nothing is recording this, that no one will hear what Danny says here, Bruce is concerned but not normal enough to see too much of an issue in this, so he agrees. Danny says this ‘I’m not human. I’m pretending to be a meta because the genocide of my entire species is legal and I’m too weak to fight the hunters right now.’ that alone was enough for Bruce to freak out, Danny really didn’t have to keep talking ‘My powers don’t work anywhere near the way a metas would, I don’t know why the cuff is working but you need to get it off. The powers are a part of me, they’re connected to my core, and the cuffs are hurting my core. I’ll die for good if you keep this on, it’s luck I’ve survived this long with the cuff on.’ Bruce decided to just unlock the cuff at this point, and immediately realised Danny was right.

For the first time that feral panic in his eyes was gone, he floated into the air, legs morphing into a tail, and immediately looks so much more comfortable than he had- again since Bruce had met him. He looked healthier and he seemed to- no, he was glowing. He took a deep breath in and the air he breathed out was icy and cold, Bruce had been told Dannt seemed to have some ice powers. The powers were obviously part of him.

‘First things first, legal genocide of your entire species? Was that a lie to get me to take the cuff off?’ Bruce asked hopefully, Danny actually laughed, revealing fangs

‘I wish- I’d love that to be true.’ Danny said

For just a slip second something else flashed across Dannys face, pain and sadness, like a king carrying his kingdom, like a soldier carrying his fallen armies legacy.

‘Could you stop it?’ Danny asked, Bruce nodded quickly

‘I will stop it.’ Bruce promised, Danny relaxed, he sighed and he looked just a little lighter

‘They’re safe.’ he whispered, happiness and relief obvious on his face ‘My friad, my haunt, my kingdom.’ Danny muttered

‘Fraid? Haunt? Kingdom?’ Bruce asked

‘Oh, just our species terminology, the closest translations would be family and territory.’ Danny said

‘What about kingdom?’ Bruce asked

‘What? No I meant the normal definition for that, I became king after the whole Pariah incident last year.’ Danny said it casually, in a tone Bruce knew well, the classic: this is not normal and I’m deeply traumatised about it, let’s pretend it’s no big deal.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper Howard has a breeding kink because he loves being a dad. He and Barb married and started trying for kids later in life than most folks around them, so much of the sex they had, especially early on, was focused on getting Barb pregnant. If he'd had his way, they would have had a whole litter of children, but hey, sometimes life doesn't work out the way you want. Still, there's the fun of trying, and there was a lot of trying. After the divorce, he's shocked when he meets someone else, and even more shocked when he feels those same urges with you. He's been trained to try and knock one in basically every time, he jokes.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

He's also incredibly possessive, and it drives him wild to think about getting to see you all swollen and filled out with his child. Particularly with you being younger that him; the ugly part of his brain is barking at him to stake a more permanent claim on you every time a guy your age so much as looks your way. Personally, he thinks he's too old to have more kids, but between his secret urges, your forgetfulness when it comes to your pill, and your twin high sex drives, well...sometimes accidents happen.

He'd be over the moon, once he knew you were happy as well (he would also worry about the news potentially being hurtful to Barb, but that'd be an issue for tomorrow). Showing you off in public, knowing that other people see how gorgeous you are and know you fully belong to him, it really gets him going, and you certainly take notice of how amorous he is when you're out together (combined with how vigorously he fucks you when you get home). Thinks you're insanely sexy pregnant and likes to watch you ride him with a big belly. You'd both better be a lot more careful about your contraception after the first baby if you don't want another, because getting to see you that way only makes his kink worse.

The Ghoul has a breeding kink because he's incredibly possessive. It's been literal centuries since he's come across anything in this world that he cares for enough to want to claim it, and you're officially claimed. He wants everyone, including you, to know that you belong to him and only him. Other ghouls can smell him on you much more strongly if he cums inside you, and he enjoys the way filling you full scratches his most primal itch. It's just an added benefit that he's almost positive he can't actually get you pregnant, but...there are records of ghouls reproducing with other ghouls. Haven't stranger things happened?

The little thrill he gets at the idea is just nature trying to take over.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

You'd be hard-up to get him to admit it, but he wants you to need him. He wants an excuse to baby you and pamper you and force you to let him do things for you without the vulnerability of admitting that he wants to do those things for you anyway because he's deeply in love with you.

You complain that your feet hurt during your journey for the day? He'll carry you everywhere you want to go from now until the end of time, if that's what you want. Stomach and appetite troubles? Name whatever you want, he'll find it for you, no matter how many caps he has to pay. Tired? "Of course you're tired, sweetheart. Let's stop for today. Here, sit down. Do you need some water? Eat this, you need some calories. Let me rub your legs and feet for you." It is endless and sort of surreal for you to adjust to.

Speaking of journeys, I think he also secretly wants to settle down a bit. He does already after he meets and falls for you, seeing how much the constant trekking back and forth across the irradiated desert takes out of you, and he definitely would want to do so expeditiously if you were pregnant. It's not like secure places don't exist in this world. He can keep you, and anyone else who may come along, safe just fine.

He'd be afraid to fuck you if you were pregnant, worried that he'll hurt you or make you sick or make something bad happen with the pregnancy. But if you reassure him, maybe beg a little, he'll do his best to make sure your urges are satisfied. Sit on his face and let him slide his tongue through your insanely sensitive folds, lie back and let him fuck you with those agile fingers while he jerks himself off. You'll miss being properly penetrated, badly, but you won't go without.

He wants an excuse to be even more protective of you than usual. Give him a reason to literally pluck men's eyes out for daring to so much as look at you, a reason to never let you out of his sight ever again. If you thought he was ready to commit violence to keep you safe before, you haven't seen anything yet.

I can't imagine it would be easy to have a big family in the Wasteland, but reminding him how much he loves being a dad would certainly have the thought on his mind.

[luveline]

hiii jade, hope you're having a lovely day/night <3

can i request sirius comforting r after a hard day of studies? maybe with some good ol' domestic fluff?

it's exam season at my school and my world is getting absolutely rocked

thank you for your request <3

“You look tired.” 

“That’s not very nice, is it?” you ask, no maliciousness in your tone nor sarcasm. You sound as sapped for energy as you look, shoulders aching profoundly in a line down your entire back, your eyes sluggish from a day spent reading, and testing yourself, and then reading again. 

Sirius leans against the doorway. He’d been waiting for you when you got here at the time you’d promised, and here he remains looking at you like he might want to eat you or, at least, give you a kiss. He puts his arms behind his back and a slip of his stomach flashes under the cropped length of his t-shirt, exposing pale skin and a threading of dark hair. 

“Too tired for manners,” he says, clocking your ogling. 

“You flashed me. You’re a flasher.” 

You’re too tired to stand there flirting, letting the bag that hangs on your shoulder slip to your elbow, and knowing already that Sirius will take it from you. He proves your anticipation correct, closing the small gap between you to grab the strap. 

It’s his kiss you aren’t expecting. Sirius takes your shoulder in his opposite hand to keep you still, his chin ever so slightly raised as he presses his lips to your forehead. You indulge the both of you and let yourself tilt forward. 

“Did you take lots of breaks?” he asks. 

Not really. “Yeah. I’m tired.” 

“I know,” he says sympathetically. “No more tonight. Let me take you inside.” 

Sirius begins a half-dragging of sorts, ferrying you into his flat and on to his bed. Sirius is a loving guy, even if he’s hard to understand sometimes; you can’t work out how he’s feeling right now, but you can sense the tenderness in his hands as he unties your shoelaces and pulls your shoes from your feet. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t question you anymore about your day, and many might label him uncaring but he’s too busy trying to get you feeling comfortable to ask.

He pulls your hoodie carefully over your head so as not to jostle your chin, unfastens your belt and unbuttons your jeans. Then he pushes his arms under yours and carries you to the top of the bed (not carry, really, but manhandle seems too rough a word). “Okay?” he asks.

He looks you in the face. He really, truly cares. It would be startling if you didn’t know him well already. 

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Can I have a glass of water?” 

He nods softly. “You can take your jeans off without me? I’ll get you something with less buttons to change into. And some biscuits.” He’s halfway down the hallway when he adds, “Or I can forget the thing with less buttons.” 

You burrow into his white sheets and breathe in deeply. They smell like his shampoo, a consequence of his tendency to sleep with wet hair, but they’re perfectly dry under your cheek, and terribly smooth. You rub your nose into his pillow as you relax for the first time all day. For a few seconds the cacophony of lecture slides and textbooks melts away, because you’re here in his bed with your boyfriend so eager to take care of you. 

His hand where it lands on your back only cements this. “Don’t fall asleep, please. I just need ten minutes to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I’m okay.” You pull your face up. “Did you bring me a biscuit?” 

“Brought you everything I promised,” he says, leaning down to kiss your jaw chastely. “I know it’s hard right now, but it’s not forever. You’re doing well. In a month we’ll be spending our Saturdays entirely in bed. You won’t have jeans on for a minute.” 

You sigh happily. “Will you take them off for me? Too tired.” 

He takes them off, and he pulls the blanket over you murmuring about the cold before he lays next to you with his arm over your back to ask in whispers about your day. Your answers come in dribs and drabs, so tired you forget the water you’d wanted or his promised biscuits. 

You fall asleep under his touch. He kisses your squished nose.

[koenigami]

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART.

wriothesley x fem!reader summary : spending your night far away from everything and everyone with your lover in a cabin on a cold night, you finally uttered your deepest wish to him. wc : 3k tags : +18, smut, fluff, established relationship, talks about children, marking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, wrio about to unleash his breeding kink

The fire casted shadows along the walls as it danced in the fireplace, the warmth and crackling of burning wood creating a cosy ambience that could have made you fall asleep right then and there on the floor. Cold winters in Fontaine weren’t unusual yet you could not remember the last time you had seen thick layers of snow like the ones that currently covered the meadows and mountains of your homeland like large fluffy clouds. 

A cold breeze rushed inside the little wooden cabin and made you shiver when Wriothesley slipped inside, nudging the door shut with his foot while carrying piled up pieces of wood in his arms. You smiled at the sight of his reddened nose and cheeks, flakes of snow sprinkled all over his hair and slowly melting away, leaving back a trace of slightly damp curls. 

“Hope this will be enough for the night.” He sighed, neatly stacking the wood in the little basket beside the fireplace before he joined you on the woven carpet. “Good thing you stayed inside. It’s so damn cold.” 

“‘Course, otherwise I would have turned into an icicle.” You smirked, remembering how Wriothesley earlier had threatened to tie you to the bed because you had begged him to let you accompany him outside to get the wood. Apparently, wanting to watch your handsome boyfriend use his astonishing strength to chop wood had been too much to ask for. However, the shriek that you let out when his bare hands touched your neck was proof enough that staying inside had not been such a bad idea. 

“Shared sorrow is half the sorrow.” You grabbed his wrists, liberating yourself from the frosty feeling on your skin, and instead tried to gently envelop his hands in your smaller and especially warmer ones. Wriothesley studied you with curious eyes as your thumbs traced tender circles along the back of his hands while warming them up with your warm breath. 

“You don’t need to do that.” Your movements halted, and you looked up at him befuddled. He went out by himself in that freezing cold, the least you could do was make sure that he was warm and- “Share my sorrows.”

Bearing others burdens on his own shoulders was a piece of cake for Wriothesley, because somehow he always managed to take care of them very easily. Yet the melancholic smile that he would shoot you every time you stated the desire to help him was a clear sign of a deeply rooted self-destructive habit. And despite knowing that it was only a way to keep you away from any further unnecessary trouble, in some situations it felt more like a brick wall that he cemented between the both of you. 

“You’re right.” You stated matter-of-factly, leaning over to ruffle his hair and ridding him of the residue snowflakes. “But I want to. And the next time you threaten to tie me to a piece of furniture, I’ll simply handcuff you to the bed.” 

“Threatening me with a good time, huh? Sweetheart, you should really work on your bargaining strategies.” His smug smirk turned into a lighthearted chuckle when he saw you scoff and turn your head away from him in annoyance. Though your body did not resist even an ounce when one of his arms encircled your waist and pulled you closer against him into a tight embrace. You instinctively snuggled into his side, the knitted pullover that he was wearing making him look tamer and more cuddlesome than his usual dress shirt and tie.  

Coming here was a good idea. Far away from Wriothesley’s duties as well as your own work, no court cases or due dates for your reports; you were grateful for some uninterrupted shared time with him even if only for a few days. It’s what you both were in need of. Especially since there were matters that had somehow been lingering on your mind and soul for a while now-

Soft tender touches were shared as the snowfall outside the window slowly started to get heavier. His hands along your hips and waist, sliding underneath your pullover to caress and feel the heat of your skin, your lips on his jaw and cheeks, feeling the light stubble on his face. Slow and teasing movements that made your skin tingle and heart do somersaults, the awareness of how happy this man’s presence was making you, bringing a genuine smile to your lips. 

“Want me to make some tea?” You eventually asked when you detached yourselves from each other for a moment. Tilting your head slightly, you looked at him. The fire casted an orangish light over the side of his face, the flame reflecting and swirling in the deep blue of his eyes and risking hypnotising you if you wouldn’t stop staring right into them.

“Nah, maybe later.” 

“Did you just deny an offer of tea? Are you sick?” You giggled and watched his own lips form into a wolfish grin. In the blink of an eye, you were tackled and pinned to the carpet while Wriothesley’s body now loomed over yours and caged you between his arms. “I see so now it’s sex over tea?”

With nothing but the fire illuminating the cosy bedroom, you looked so ethereal. Your hair was sprawled around your head like a halo, and your skin felt so soft and warm as he glided his fingertips along your cheek and further down to your neck where he started littering light fleeting kisses. “Of course not, my love. It’s you over tea.” He spoke between each kiss. “You over everything.” 

A gasp escaped you when the sweet kisses turned into teasing bites, heat already pooling between your legs at the way he sucked on your skin, finishing his markings with light traces of his tongue. Your legs instinctively spread, letting him slot himself between them as he kept assaulting your neck, tasting you, inhaling you in such a fervent way that he made it seem like you have been separated from each other for months. And in some kind of way, it truly felt so. One tiring day after another had led to the both of you being so exhausted and depleted of energy that your shared bed had solely served as a way to recharge your batteries before the next same draining day would arrive with the same taxing work and tasks to be completed. 

His breath hitched when your hands slid into his hair, and with the tight grip you had on his strands, you noticed him lower his body, his hips grinding against yours and letting you feel the prominent growing bulge in his pants. 

“Mr. Wriothesley.” You suppressed a wince once you noticed that your attempted comment did not sound as teasing as you had hoped it would when you were so out of breath and desperate for him. “Don’t tell me we’re about to have sex on the floor when there’s a king size bed right next to us.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Blindly reaching to his side, Wriothesley tore the soft blanket off the bed, the both of you spreading it properly before you hurriedly settled on top of it. “There, better now?”

Though in all honesty, you could not care less about whether the ground beneath you was cushioned or not, whether you did it on the floor or in a thousands of mora expensive bed, as long as it was him that your hands got to touch, as long as it was him that got under your skin and never let go of you. His patience was slowly crumbling to the ground and disappearing into nothingness as much as yours was. His touches became more eager, with rough hands groping your chest, and lips nearly devouring you, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue- It was so easy for him to make a mess out of you. 

The fabric of your jumper was soon bunched up, and your bra pulled further down to let the fat of your tits spill out of it. The warmth of his lips wrapped around your nipples as he started sucking on one while his thumb and forefinger played with the other, the corners of his mouth turning upwards when he noticed you arching your back. “Fuck, missed these tits so much.” He rasped, drunk on your body and the way it felt beneath his hands. His tongue slid around your areolas, sucking and biting at the plump flesh of your breasts until they glistened with his saliva. 

Once you two finally pulled back to completely rid yourselves of the clothes and fabrics that created a barrier between you, you were almost astonished at the light shake in your hands and breath, adrenaline and hormones having riled you up like a desperate teenager. Breathless chuckles and giggles echoed through the dimly lit room while you hopelessly struggled to undo buttons here, unclasp a bra there, and unzip and tear off legs of pants. Wriothesley hissed in pain when you harshly tugged the thick woollen pullover over his head, his helix getting caught in the fabric before you yanked it off him a little too harshly.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing over the apex of his ears to soothe the sting, and settled back between your legs which you deliberately wrapped around his waist. Digging your heels into his lower back, you pulled him almost impossibly closer as if any space left between your bodies would physically hurt you. With a hushed sorry, you trailed your mouth along the shell of his pierced ear, hearing and feeling his laboured exhales brush across your face when the pads of his fingers finally stroked along your already soaked folds. He played with you. Smearing your arousal over your clit, the circles he drew on the erected little bud made you let out the sweetest noises, his cock twitching in anticipation while he could barely wait any longer to hear you moan once he was inside you. 

Wriothesley carefully drove his thick middle finger inside you, so painfully slow that you keened needily, tightly gripping the blanket underneath you in your clenched fists, knuckles white. Though his exterior seemed far more composed than you were, the hard cock that you caught a glimpse of as it hung heavily between his legs with the irritated and glistening tip, the weight of it brushing against your thigh; your pussy unconsciously clenched around nothing, the empty and aching feeling inside you only getting stronger.

“Oh my god-” You nodded mindlessly with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, pouty lips slightly open in a silent moan when he finally added a second finger, filling you further up. Though you were far away from satisfied, and at the way your fluttering and pulsing walls gripped his fingers he too could tell that you needed more. The indecent squelching sound of his palm slapping against your wet pussy with each thrust was so loud, he couldn’t help but groan knowing that you were in such a desperate need for him, that you needed him to fill you up to the brim and satisfy you over and over again. 

“Let me see that pretty tongue.” You felt something in your stomach flutter at the sight of his satisfied smile once you obediently stretched your tongue out, letting him brush his soaked fingers on the pink muscle before dipping them into your mouth. With swirling movements, you made sure to lick them clean, the light suction of your lips making his breath hitch undeniably as he relished the sight in front of him, your pretty doe eyes glistening with moisture as the flame of the fire flickered inside them. “My gorgeous girl, always so good for me.” 

“Wriothesley.” You croaked when he retracted his hand, a dribble of saliva running down the side of your mouth while the taste of your own arousal still lingered on your tongue. As you reached down between your bodies to take his cock in your palm, brushing it along your folds to cover him in your juices, you involuntarily sunk your teeth into your lip, gnawing at the raw kissed flesh. No matter how many times you took him, he always made sure you were nice and ready for him, wanting to make this as pleasurable for you as possible. Yet something about the brief burn when your walls stretched around him, the way it sent shivers down your spine and made your toes curl until your body accommodated to his size; you could never get enough of it. “Just fuck me already.” 

“Alright, alright. Don’t hurt yourself.” His chest vibrated with a deep airy chuckle when he witnessed your eagerness, his big hand taking a hold of yours to place it beside your head, fingers weaving through yours and giving it a tight squeeze when his free hand guided his leaking tip to your entrance. “Going to fuck my darling real’ good, yeah?” 

“Yeah, oh-” The warm mushroom tip entered you, as Wriothesley slowly started fucking himself deeper into you. Inch after inch, he sank deeper, stretching you further before pulling back out, and leaving you a whimpering mess. The hand he had placed on top of your stomach to keep you in place, involuntarily grounded you and you wondered whether he could feel himself in your guts. Because with each thrust that he sank deeper into your dripping wet hole, you swore you could feel him in your throat. “Baby-” 

“I know, I know.” He breathed heavily against your ear when he eventually buried himself to the hilt, his balls flush against your skin, and tight walls gripping him like a vice, constantly clenching and unclenching. “Taking me so well. Always so… fuck-” 

Wriothesley’s voice died down when he felt you fuck yourself against him as if you were in heat, moaning and gasping every time you lifted your hips off the floor. Your legs were shaking by the time he moved his hand to your sex, thumb quickly brushing back and forth over your clit and making you topper over the edge. Your entire body turned rigid when you came, the intensity of your orgasm would have scared you if it weren’t for Wriothesley’s roaming hands, caressing and reassuring you. You had not even realised the tears running down your temples until he kissed them away, letting you taste the salty liquid when he slotted his lips against yours. “That’s it, I’ve got you, love. Ha, squeezing me so fucking tight.” He mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t think I’ll last much longer like this.” 

“Then don’t.” Regaining some control over your body, you were finally able to speak up though with a hoarse voice, and weak legs which you desperately tried to wrap back around his waist. Clasping his neck with your arms and holding onto him as if he was your life line, you moved your hips against his with a frail push, wanting to spur him on. “Wanna see you cum too. Want you to fill me up.”

“W-what?” His own thrusts stuttered when he caught your last sentence, letting your words sink in like honey on a burning wound. 

“Want you to cum inside me.” By the expression on his face and slowed movements, you could clearly tell that Wriothesley probably thought that your words were stemming from a spur-of-the-moment decision. Brain fried by pleasure and oxytocin, all words that left your mouth should be taken by a grain of salt, though right now in this moment, there was not a single thing that you were more sure of than the thought and wish that had been occupying your mind for weeks. A small being incorporating the love that you and Wriothesley held for each other. Crawling and toddling around your house, filling it with sweet laughter and cries, while looking just like him. His eyes, his nose, his kind heart.. “Y/n, we can’t just-”

“Been meaning to tell you this for a while now.” The pads of your fingers brushed against his flushed cheeks as you cupped his face in the softness of your palms. His deep blue eyes had taken on a darker shade, staring right into your soul, and you swore that if there was a way to drown into that ocean of blue, you would do it instantly. “Wriothesley, I love you so much. I-I can’t imagine a life without you.” 

Another stream of tears followed that made his eyebrows furrow before he gently wiped them away. Of course he had already had similar thoughts. How could he not when you were everything he had ever wanted in his life. Images of a little girl with the same sweet smile as yours, same hair, same attitude-

“Wanna give you a baby.” 

“Are you sure about that?” His gaze zeroed in on you, looking for something, just anything that could tell him that you were not being serious, that all of this was nothing but an awful joke, some terrible dirty talk. Though all he could find while gazing into your eyes was nothing but pure love and warmth as you nodded at him. Warmth that seeped into the deepest parts of his body, spreading and filling his heart to the brim with affection for a woman he would always be ready to do anything for. “Sweetheart, you’re-” 

You choked with wide blown eyes when his hips all of a sudden snapped against yours, his cock diving into your deepest parts and about to make you fall apart again. “You’re going to be the death of me, ya know that?” His voice quivered the slightest bit as he buried his face in your neck, and with his chest flush against yours, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart as it pounded only for you. 

The fire had dimmed by now, the dark red flame covered by ash and residue parts of scorched wood fighting for its last ounce of oxygen, while the heavy snowfall outside had calmed. However, when you let your nails scrape down Wriothesley’s back, leaving red marks beside the already residing scars along his skin, while his body eventually tensed up, fingers digging into the fat of your hips and cock pulsing, coating the walls of your insides in white- You knew that your night had barely even started yet. 

“Shit- Can’t wait to see you all round and swollen with my kid inside you, darling.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Two - The Blackwood Bitch | Series Masterlist

Summary: In the midst of growing unrest amongst the Realm and his Council, Aemond finally meets his betrothed | Word Count: 6k~ | Warnings: mention of war, canon-divergent, post-Dance Aemond, trauma, arranged marriage

They did not have the confidence to place the crown atop his head, and yet expected him to sit here, in the stuffy Small Council Chambers, and listen to their endless streams of complaints and judgements.

He was only allowed to grace the seat where Aegon had once been because he'd at least agreed to marry the Blackwood girl.

It did not seem fair, to Aemond, as he sat pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to stay off the migraine. The voice of Tyland Lannister barely bleeding through the haze of utter boredom and contempt.

“And what of Corlys Velaryon?” Tyland pressed, his tone clipped yet cautious.

Aemond’s eye flicked open. “What of him?” he drawled.

“His imprisonment in the dungeons has not gone unnoticed,” Tyland continued, carefully. “There are murmurs among his supporters that holding the Lord of the Tides in chains is a…questionable decision. His family’s influence, though diminished, is still considerable. Perhaps the situation warrants—”

“Release?” Aemond interjected, his tone icy.  “Do you imagine me a fool, Lannister? The Sea Snake is not a man to be trusted. He knelt to Rhaenyra, swore his allegiance to her black banner. And when she fell, his silence was a weapon he wielded deftly, even as her cause crumbled to dust. No. Corlys Velaryon shall remain exactly where he is, for now.”

“And Lady Baela and Rhaena? Surely we can use them as leverage, to barter more alliances?”

“They shall remain as they are on Dragonstone, under heavy guard. I will not allow them into my court to scheme with their grandfather. Their existence in the future may prove useful, but I have no patience for deciding now and will not be pressured so.”

Tyland opened his mouth as if to argue but faltered under Aemond’s penetrating gaze. Instead, he offered a curt nod. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Aemond exhaled, as if one touch could spiral him once more to madness. “The North. Is there much news?”

“Cregan Stark is no fool. He remembers where Winterfell first pledged its loyalty, and he knows how to inspire those loyal to Rhaenyra, even after her death. Rumours suggest he may rally support again if provoked, especially given the state of the realm.”

Aemond hummed, but understood deeply the severity of what this could mean for his rule. It was not so long ago that the North had first taken its stand for the Blacks. He’d once held some measure of respect for Stark, if only for the man’s stubborn resolve. 

But respect did not soften threats, and Aemond would not allow another rebellion to fester, especially one from the cold, unyielding expanse of the North, where his control was not as fierce.

“And what of Stark’s movements?”

Tyland hesitated. “There has been little activity, yet enough to suggest he is watching and waiting. But the recent unrest, especially with the harvests diminished from war, has left the North in a precarious state. Winter is settling in sooner than expected, so it may keep them in place for now…though we must tread carefully.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded Tyland with a calculating gaze. But Tyland’s hesitation had not gone unnoticed, and the faint unease it carried twisted like a knife in Aemond’s gut.

“Stark is waiting,” Aemond repeated softly, his tone laced with disdain. “And watching, you say. That means he is weighing his options, biding his time. A dangerous thing to leave unchecked.” 

He glanced at the map to his side, his eye tracing the lines of the Neck and the expanse beyond. “The North’s strength lies in its distance and loyalty to its own. A rebellion from Winterfell could inspire others if we do not act swiftly to secure the Riverlands and the Vale.”

Tyland inclined his head. “Precisely why the matter of your marriage must be addressed with utmost care. A match with House Blackwood has the potential to stabilise our hold on the Riverlands, drawing the house firmly to our cause. Their influence and history may serve as a counterweight to any…discontent from the North.”

Aemond’s lips thinned at the mention of his impending marriage. The arrangement had been presented as a political necessity, a means to cement his rule over the fractured realm. He understood its purpose, of course, the Blackwoods were an ancient house with deep ties to the Riverlands, and their animosity toward the Brackens ensured their loyalty could be leveraged. But the prospect of wedding a stranger, no matter her lineage, still perturbed him.

“Lady Rosaleen,” Aemond said, testing the name as though it might reveal something of its bearer. He turned his gaze to Tyland. “What do we know of her specifically? Beyond her house and the council’s assurances of her suitability.”

“She is young, but not without wit or will. A daughter of Raventree Hall, with blood of the First Men and an unbroken line stretching back to the Age of Heroes. Her mother, a Piper, ensured she carries a touch of Riverlander diplomacy, though it is said Lady Rosaleen herself is more pragmatic than demure.” He hesitated. “She is…untested, but there are no whispers of scandal or unsuitability.”

Aemond hummed again, his mind already piecing together the shape of the woman he would soon wed. Untested, perhaps, but pragmatic could mean cunning, something he might find more tolerable than blind obedience. 

“She is to arrive today, Your Grace. Queen Alicent and Lord Wylde will welcome her personally, and arrangements have been made for you to meet in the gardens this afternoon.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his discomfort masked beneath a calm exterior. So soon. He had expected more time to prepare himself for this charade.

Larys, who had remained silent until now, shifted in his seat. “A marriage such as this will not go unnoticed by the realm. The great houses will watch closely to see how this union strengthens your hold. And should it falter–”

“It will not falter,” Aemond insisted, his tone clear that he’d had enough of what little Lord Larys had said.

A tense silence followed. No man daring to fire back. As if testing him.

When would these men tire of poking the dragon.

Aemond rose from his seat, the scrape of his chair echoing in the nearly empty chamber. “Dismissed,” he said curtly, his gaze sweeping over the two remaining men. They would conspire in whispers the moment he left, as they always did, but Aemond had no patience for it today.

The doors clamped shut behind him, the Kingsguard flanking his sides as he strolled with unknown purpose through the Keep’s winding halls. 

Would his intended be pragmatic as Tyland had claimed? Would she understand the weight of the crown he bore, the cost of the realm they had shattered and now sought to piece together? 

Would she see only the scarred dragon who had laid waste to the Riverlands, her homeland, and the monster the realm whispered of in secret?

Or would she have foreseen how much of a farce this union was before it had even been done?

One could mistake Aemond for a cat, the way he stopped in his tracks and widened his stance when his eye clocked upon a retinue he did not recognise. If he had been one, his ears would have been pricked back, fur stood high. 

His brow lowered at the black banners decorated with red, not unlike his own native sigil, but this one adorned with the sigil of House Blackwood. A pair of guards lingered near the great doors leading to the guest chambers, their armour bearing the same emblem.

She has arrived.

Rosaleen’s retinue, no doubt. He felt a flicker of something he could not name, curiosity, perhaps, or irritation at being caught unprepared. But there was no sign of her, no glimpse of the woman who would soon bear his name.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burst of feminine laughter echoing down a nearby corridor. Aemond’s steps stilled, his sharp hearing picking up the unmistakable lilt of idle gossip.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the taller figure could be Rosaleen. She bore the Blackwood colours, her hair as dark as the raven of their sigil, her bearing sharp enough to suggest wit even from a distance. But something about the way she carried herself, unguarded and unapologetic, gave him pause.

The clink of metal broke his thoughts as Ser Willis stepped to his side, his voice low and measured. “Lady Alysanne Blackwood, Your Grace,” he murmured, as if sensing his prince’s unspoken question.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. So, not Rosaleen. But her cousin, a Blackwood nonetheless, and one who seemed to embody every tale he’d ever heard of their infamous fire and sharp tongues.

“And your betrothed’s cousin, Arianne Piper.”

He gave one nod in appreciation to Ser Willis as the man stepped back, one hand laid on his sword at his hip, always.

Alysanne’s voice carried as she spoke, her tone biting and laced with amusement. “Well, he is certainly not wasting any time. Do you think he has the gall to actually meet her without sneering?”

Arianne’s gentler voice followed, tinged with unease. “You oughtn’t speak so boldly, Aly. He is a prince, your future cousin by marriage.”

“And that entitles him to what? My silence? My admiration?” Alysanne scoffed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’ll grant him none of it. Not after what’s happened to our home.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he listened. He stepped forward into their line of sight, his tall figure casting a shadow down the corridor.

Both women froze, Alysanne’s expression shifting to one of defiance while Arianne’s cheeks flushed in alarm. Aemond’s eye fixed on them, cold.

“Lady Alysanne,” he said smoothly, his voice low and controlled. “Your honesty is refreshing, though perhaps misplaced.”

Alysanne did not flinch, though her chin lifted ever so slightly. “Honesty is all I have to offer, Your Grace. I assumed your court would value that over flattery.”

Arianne stepped forward hastily, her voice trembling slightly as she dipped into a curtsy. “Forgive us, Your Grace. We meant no offence.”

We.

He wondered how often this flame-haired beauty felt the need to apologise for her fierce cousin’s behaviour.

Aemond’s sharp gaze flicked between the two women. Alysanne’s defiance was palpable, but it was Arianne who sought to smooth the air, her curtsy deep, her clear eyes cast downward in a show of humility. Yet it was neither of them that truly occupied his thoughts.

Rosaleen. 

She was the reason these women were here, the reason he would soon be tied to the Riverlands by bonds thicker than blood or steel. The woman he had not yet met but who would soon bear his name, his burdens, and perhaps one day, his heirs.

“Offence is not so easily forgiven,” Aemond said coolly, tilting his head toward Alysanne. “Though I suspect you care little for forgiveness, Lady Alysanne. Do you presume to speak for your cousin as well?”

“Rosaleen speaks for herself, Your Grace, when she deems it necessary. You’ll find her no less honest, though perhaps less direct than I.”

Ser Willis cleared his throat, the sound deliberate and firm, cutting through the lingering tension. It was not quite an order, but it carried the weight of one, the subtle assertion of a man who knew when a conversation had run its course.

“Lady Alysanne, Lady Arianne, it was...enlightening to make your acquaintance.”

Alicent could think of few moments in the Keep as of late that she was truly, truly at rest. Even her baths were monitored closely by maidservants. That is until she flicked her wrist, and ordered that they leave her be, which they would begrudgingly.

Even in the confines of her chambers, she never truly felt calm. Hadn't, since the day Helaena flung herself from Maegor’s Holdfast. The same day she assumed her second son had also perished.

It was one of the darkest days of her young life. Thinking she had outlived all her children.

The Dowager Queen had barely seen Lady Rosaleen off at her chambers before a knock came at hers. Three knocks, the first two close together, to let her know without words who it was.

She sighed internally, hearing it click open, pulled by some imaginary thread towards pouring herself a cup of wine.

“Not now, Lord Larys. I am weary after greeting our guest.”

The door clung shut behind him, and she heard the familiar step and drag of his two mismatched feet. “I would not disturb you without cause, Your Grace. Yet there are matters that cannot wait.”

Alicent turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, the wine momentarily forgotten. “Matters of the council, I presume.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. The realm demands much of us still. The prince remains...steadfast in his temper.”

"Steadfast, is it? A polite way of saying unruly, no doubt.”

He was neither stupid nor brave enough to respond. Offering an opinion such as that would no doubt place a target on his back, as if there were not already one.

“Rosaleen Blackwood,” he started, “her retinue are...spirited. Particularly her cousin, Lady Alysanne. The young lady has a tongue as sharp as a blade and little hesitation in wielding it.”

Alicent closed her eyes briefly, rubbing at her temple. “Yes, I noticed that myself. And the other cousin? Lady Arianne?”

“Pleasant. Unassuming. Hardly a threat,” Larys replied with a dismissive nod. “But Lady Alysanne, she may prove disruptive, particularly to Prince Aemond’s already volatile disposition. Forgive my saying so, but a prince who scorched their homeland does not yet need the bite of those who hang such crimes over his head.”

Alicent exhaled slowly. “How best do we keep an eye on them? I doubt Alysanne will respond to subtlety.”

“No, Your Grace,” Larys agreed, his tone almost amused. “But the Lady Rosaleen...she is practical, I have heard so. Influencing her may, in turn, temper her cousin’s brazenness. The girl has loyalty to her kin, yes, but she is not blind to the realities of the court.”

 “I will not have her or her kin stoking his fire.. Keep watch over them, all of them.”

His crooked form bowed slightly. Alicent had not forgotten the loyalties of a man who kept Aegon and Jaehaera safe, if only for a short time. And men such as this, expected to be praised and repaid for such acts of simple kindness.

Lord Larys nodded. “You may leave such matters to me.”

The Red Keep was as much a maze simply following a person as she imagined it would be by herself. In future, she would have to explore it with companions, she thought with distaste. If there was anything Rosaleen Blackwood hated more, it was feeling out of place, stuck seemingly perpetually in a state of not having her bearings. 

She did not know how to feel when the Dowager Queen told her that she would be occupying the former Queen Helaena’s chambers. Though the Keep in general was cold, it felt much more so in those rooms than it did anywhere else, she half expected her sweet, ghostly whisper at any second. How would she be able to sleep? The thought had just occurred to her. 

Everything in that space had smelled faintly of cloves, as if someone had been there trying to mask the stench of distress. To erase the tragedy of what had happened. 

But she as well as anyone in the realm could not escape the tragedy that had somehow squeezed itself into a mere quick war. It felt so intense and unending at the time. But now, when she casts her mind back to those moments, she realises that a mere half year felt like a lifetime, and was faster for others than some.

She wonders. Did it feel hasty to Prince Aemond? Or did he feel as if it were over in a heartbeat?

Such questions were not suitable for someone who was merely betrothed to him. She would save such conversations once she assumed the title of his wife. 

If she would ever reach those heights.

It was not lost on her how quickly Alysanne had voiced her apparent displeasure. Arianne had been quick to tell Rosaleen of their cousin’s quick tongue in the very presence of Aemond himself. She found herself rolling her eyes and wanting to cast it aside, but knew, realistically, that there was a conversation to be had with her fearsome Blackwood cousin, and how quickly her wit would have to cut ties with her mouth, especially in the presence of the future Prince Regent no less.

Such thoughts did not plague her mind yet. As she stared at the back of Lord Jasper Wylde’s head, following him aimlessly to meet her betrothed, she could not find it in herself to think of anything else but the Targaryen prince she would come to meet.

Of course, Arianne, Alysanne and a distant Piper cousin, Sarra, who was very much known even to Arianne herself, followed behind. Heads bowed, as if they felt they had already done a disservice to their future Queen Consort.

Titles, titles, titles. Rosaleen grimaced at the mere thought.

Just as she overheard Alysanne giggle when Arianne asked her in a luckily hushed manner why Jasper Wylde was nicknamed ‘ironrod’, the much rumoured Lord turned and inclined his head. 

“Prince Aemond awaits, my Lady.”

She inhaled deeply, measured. As if to fill herself with courage. Rosaleen straightened, her hands smoothing the dark fabric of her gown. She had never been one for nerves, but there was something about the idea of facing him, finally, that set her pulse quickening, despite herself.

As she stepped forward, she almost questioned herself. Lord Wylde had not referred to him as ‘prince regent’. Several times now. The deep, mysterious mist that shrouded Aemond began to become clear, if not entirely by how one member of his council had referred to him.

Beyond the threshold, where stone became grass and flowers, Aemond stood near the edge of a small courtyard, the gardens stretching behind him in a cascade of greens and blooms that stood in stark contrast to his dark, brooding presence.

So the stories were true, she thought with intrigue. Moonlight hair, tall, hands tucked behind his back as if keeping some great secret in his stance. 

The air seemed to thicken with each step she took toward him, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her chest.

Aemond turned at her approach, his violet eye fixating on her with an intensity that made her heart skip. His face was a map of old battles, his gaze unyielding but not unkind. Perhaps merely distant. She schooled her mannerisms well, trying to not flicker between his seeing eye and the leather eyepatch. Attempting to appear as if it was quite normal, and that she was not at all fascinated.

His features were chiselled, sharp as a blade, and though his expression remained unreadable, there was something in the set of his jaw that told her he was measuring her, much like she was doing to him.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, inclining her head just slightly in a respectful, if not overly formal, manner.

“Lady Rosaleen,” Aemond replied, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of authority. The way he said her name sent an odd shiver down her spine, though it wasn’t unpleasant. She couldn’t quite place why, but there was something both unsettling and strangely comforting about him. Perhaps it was the contrast of the man, so feared, so full of war, with the gentleness that lingered in his voice.

She couldn’t imagine him riding a dragon, barking out orders, with a voice like that.

His eye did one sweep of her body, before returning to her dark eyes once more.

“Shall we,” he uttered plainly, glancing at Lord Wylde, who promptly took the hint, bowed his head and turned on his heel.

His tone made it clear it was not a suggestion, so Rosaleen turned to her ladies and nodded, watching as Arianne gave her a nervous look, pulling Alysanne and Sarra back with her without words. Following twenty paces behind as the Blackwood Lady settled into step beside her betrothed.

“I thank you for welcoming me into your home, Your Grace. My greeting has been much appreciated,” she uttered, hands clasped, crimson skirts brushing the grass she glided across the blades. She could not read his expression at all, and very rarely did she see his gaze ever meet hers.

“Of course,” Aemond replied, his tone formal but distant. “It is only fitting that we should meet in person before…” 

“It is,” she agreed simply, offering no more than was required. Silence stretched between them for a moment before he, perhaps foolishly, broke it.

“And your journey?” he asked, his voice low, but the question felt oddly out of place. She saw the faint flicker of realisation in his eye as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

Rosaleen allowed herself a small, wry smile, though her tone remained courteous. “Uneventful, Your Grace,” she responded, “my ladies–my cousins, Alysanne and Arianne are good companions.”

Aemond’s expression did not change, though a flicker of memory stirred in his mind. Aegon had once dubbed the Blackwood daughters ‘the Blackwood bitches,’ a crude remark he’d made with a sneer while recounting the Blackwoods’ initial allegiance to Rhaenyra. Aegon’s words, though meant to be dismissive, had a venom that lingered, a reflection of his disdain for those who had dared oppose him. Aemond had said nothing at the time, but now, the memory returned with a faint, bitter taste.

“Good companions are a blessing on such a journey,” he added. “Though I imagine the roads you travelled were less than welcoming.”

Rosaleen nodded slightly, her smile never faltering. “The scars of war are hard to miss, even from a carriage window, Your Grace. But they remind us of what has been endured, and what must be rebuilt.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened slightly at her response, though whether it was irritation, guilt, or something else entirely, she could not say. He did not speak for a moment, as if weighing her words, or perhaps his own. 

Finally, he replied, “Rebuilding is no easy task. Nor one without cost.”

“No,” Rosaleen agreed. “But it is necessary all the same.”

Their conversation lingered in a strange, tense balance, both polite and edged with something unspoken. Whatever judgments they had drawn of one another, neither was willing to reveal just yet. For now, they walked on, their words measured, each step drawing them closer to a union neither had chosen but both were forced to navigate.

“It is a kindness to meet the man I am to wed, rather than relying solely on tales spun by courtiers and whisperers.”

“And what tales have you heard?” Aemond asked, his voice dipping lower, almost testing.

Rosaleen met his gaze at last, her own expression unreadable. “Stories travel, Your Grace. They tend to grow in the telling. Some speak of a swordsman without equal, a man with fire in his veins and the blood of dragons.” Her tone remained even, but her words carried a weight that suggested she had heard much more than she was willing to say.

“And others?” Aemond prompted.

“Others speak of a man who has faced more trials than most could endure. A man shaped by loss, fire, and war.”

There was a pause, her words lingering in the air between them, before she added, “but I prefer to form my own opinions, Your Grace.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, and for the first time, she thought she caught a glimpse of something behind the mask he wore, a flicker of intrigue, perhaps even approval.

“Wise,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It is better not to trust tales.”

“Or first impressions,” Rosaleen countered lightly, though not without its undercurrent.

They came to a halt before the towering Weirwood, its red leaves rustling faintly in the breeze like a thousand whispering voices. Its face was solemn and ageless, its crimson sap trailing like ancient tears. Rosaleen’s gaze lingered on the carved eyes, so stark and knowing, and for a moment, she felt herself drawn back to Raventree Hall, to the looming Weirwood there that had stood sentinel over her family for generations.

She remembered her home, the mossy stones of its walls, the echo of crows in the twilight. She felt the roots of who she was, who she had always been, stir within her. A lady of her bloodline was meant to endure, to hold fast, as her ancestors had, and that realisation warmed her.

Her blood seemed to hotten, the faint flush of color rising to her cheeks. She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting slightly as she turned her attention back to Aemond. He stood a step apart from her, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable. 

Did he see it as she did, she wondered, or did he view it as merely another relic of the past, its significance swallowed by his Targaryen pride?

“Let us speak plainly,” she replied, tilting her chin slightly in challenge. “We are to be married, and while I may not have chosen this alliance, I intend to make the best of it. Let us not dance around the subject like nervous suitors.”

Aemond turned his head sharply at her words, his violet eye narrowing as if weighing her challenge. The breeze stirred the skin, and the soft rustle of the Weirwood leaves seemed to echo the tension between them. For a moment, he did not speak, his gaze steady and piercing as it settled fully on her.

“Plain speech,” he said at last, his tone even but edged with something unreadable. “A rarity in court, and yet, it seems, a virtue among the Blackwoods.”

Rosaleen’s lips tightened into a faint, controlled line at his response, the shift in her demeanor subtle but unmistakable. It was not anger, not entirely, but a flicker of discontent that she made no effort to conceal. 

“And Your Grace would rather I lie?”

“I do not require appreciation for honesty, Lady Rosaleen. I value its utility.”

A brush of wind came against her skirts, the crimson fabric shifting like rippling blood. “Utility. Yes, that does seem the way, does it not?” she said, “might you tell me what utility the Riverlands offered?”

Aemond’s eye darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his face. “The Riverlands held loyalty to my enemies. War is not fought with pen and parchment, words are wind. And such war demands sacrifice.”

“You dare school me on sacrifice, Your Grace,” she countered, “I have walked through the ruin. Have smelled the burning flesh and seen the sky darken with ash and death.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he did not interrupt, his eye locked on hers with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air taut between them.

“I am to be your wife,” she continued, her voice unyielding. “To stand beside you and call myself your queen in waiting, your partner and your ally in securing my homeland to your cause. To your realm. I have seen sacrifice as clearly as I see you now and I wish never to see it at that measure again.”

Aemond’s gaze did not falter, his expression unreadable. His hands clasped behind his back once more, his posture as rigid as stone.

“You are bold, Lady Rosaleen,” he said at last, his voice cold as the chill of a winter wind. “Bold enough to speak to me thus. Bold enough to be my wife. Perhaps that is why you were chosen. Other’s tongues cut too freely, and the court may find that less tolerable. But you tread carefully, even when you push.”

“I tread carefully,” she replied, her voice steady, “because I must. Not all of us are born with dragons, Your Grace. I merely have my words.”

“He said WHAT?!”

Rosaleen rolled her eyes as the maidservant assigned to her pulled at the fastenings of her dress. The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, and only the dim flicker of candlelight lit the room. Alysanne sat laid back on the chaise, one cup of red wine cradled between her fingers.

Arianne was already abed in her chambers, having not slept the entire journey earlier that morning.

It seemed a lifetime ago now. Meeting Aemond Targaryen seemed to have the effect of several days worth of effort.

“He said that I was bold,” she admitted dryly. “And that perhaps I was bold enough to be his wife.”

Alysanne nearly spat her wine. “Bold?” she repeated, incredulous. “Bold enough to marry him? What does that even mean?”

She waved her hand dismissively when the maidservant attempted to plait her hair, wanting to do it herself. “Perhaps I was supposed to take it as a compliment.”

Alysanne giggled, sitting up, a bit weary and slurred from the wine, “Bold enough to be my wife,” she mimicked, her voice pitched low in a mocking imitation of Aemond. “It is typical. He burns half the realm to ash and still thinks he’s the one doing you a favour.”

Rosaleen snorted, “out, Aly. I must undress.”

With a dramatic sigh and flailing hand movements dragged to her feet, “very well, cousin. Good day.”

Rosaleen watched as Alysanne stumbled from her chamber, carrying the oak door with it with a thud. She glances over at the maidservant, who prepares the bed, noting the mortified expression on her face before she quickly lowered her eyes.

“Do not mind my cousin,” Rosaleen says softly, “she might have been a drunken widowed lord in another life.”

The maidservant’s lips twitched, though she quickly suppressed the smile, her hands smoothing over the freshly turned sheets. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured, keeping her gaze respectfully averted as she finished her task.

Rosaleen sat upon the chaise her cousin had just vacated. It was nice to have family in such a strange place like this, yes. But she observed this girl in the Keep’s employ, barely eight and ten by her eyes. So young.

“What is your name?”

The maidservant hesitated, her hands pausing mid-motion as if uncertain whether the question was truly directed at her. “It’s Lyla, my lady,” she answered softly, her gaze flickering upward before quickly returning to her work.

“Lyla,” Rosaleen repeated, testing the name on her tongue. “How long have you served here at the Red Keep?”

“Since I was twelve, my lady,” Lyla replied, folding the edge of a blanket with careful precision.

“Twelve?” Rosaleen echoed, a note of disbelief in her voice. “So young.”

Lyla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “The Keep doesn’t care much for age, my lady. Only that the work is done.”

Rosaleen studied the girl for a moment, noting the faint weariness in her eyes that seemed far beyond her years. It was not so different from the look she had seen in her own reflection of late. “Do you have family still within the Keep?”

“My younger brother works with the stable hands,” Lyla said, her voice softening slightly, as though the mention of him offered her some small comfort. “But the rest of my family remains in the Reach.”

Rosaleen nodded, leaning back slightly against the chaise. “It must be difficult, being so far from them.”

“It is, my lady,” Lyla admitted, her hands stilling briefly. “But the Red Keep has its own…rhythm. You learn to live with it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken understanding. Rosaleen could not help but wonder if she, too, would learn to live with the rhythm of this place. Would it shape her as it had shaped this young girl, or would she remain an outsider, always at odds with the walls that enclosed her?

Rosaleen’s gaze drifted toward the flickering candlelight, her thoughts spinning with the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Her voice, when it came, was casual, light enough to mask her true curiosity. “Tell me, Lyla… what do you know of Prince Aemond?”

Lyla hesitated, her hands brushing over the edge of the fabric she had just smoothed. “Not much, my lady,” she replied carefully, as though wary of overstepping. “I am not among his attendants, nor do I often see him.”

Rosaleen was silent, but her dark eyes spoke everything she was thinking. That she wanted to know more, even if it came as gossip. It was more than she felt she knew about the man anyway.

The maidservant hesitated again, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “Before the war, he was rarely within the Keep at all,” she admitted finally, her voice low as though sharing a secret. “He would come and go as needed, but he was…absent, for the most part.”

“Absent?” Rosaleen repeated, her brows drawing together. “And where would he go, if not here?”

“I couldn’t say for certain, my lady,” she murmured, though her tone was evasive.

Rosaleen leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze pinning Lyla in place. “You have heard rumors, then.”

Lyla shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing faintly. “It isn’t my place to speak on such intimate matters, my lady,” she said quickly, but the words only served to confirm Rosaleen’s suspicions.

Her lips thinned, though she maintained a neutral expression. “I see,” she said evenly, though the insinuation hung heavy in the air between them.

Brothels. It was not so uncommon a practice for men of his station, and yet the thought of Aemond Targaryen, this cold, distant prince, indulging in such pleasures was oddly jarring. It painted a picture of a man more complex, more contradictory, than she had anticipated.

She was strangely unsurprised. 

Her own father had visited such pleasure houses when her mother passed, and made no secret of it. As many lords, princes and kings would do so for the rest of time.

“Thank you, Lyla,” Rosaleen said after a moment, her tone quieter now. “You may go.”

The maidservant dipped into another curtsy, clearly relieved to be dismissed. There was something about Lyla that at this time Rosaleen could not pinpoint. Perhaps it was the way she spoke. The way she stood, visibly anxious.

Rosaleen’s dark eyes lingered on the closed door, her thoughts turning over the maidservant’s carefully chosen words. What would this mean for their marriage? She doubted she would ever truly know.

Aemond’s facade was like a suit of armor, meticulously crafted and nearly impenetrable. He wore it with ease, a shield against prying eyes and unwanted intimacy. Yet beneath it, she sensed something more, a volatile edge, sharp enough to draw blood if she dared to press too hard.

Their earlier conversation lingered in her mind, the weight of his words and the tension that had crackled between them. He had made it clear, if she bared her claws, he would not hesitate to strike back.

And yet…she couldn’t help but wonder, her thoughts skimming a dangerous edge. What would it feel like, that bite? The sharp sting of his retort, the fire behind his gaze, the unspoken challenge in every measured word.

Indeed, how sharp were his claws? How violent the bite? Would he let go once he had the prey in his mouth, until he felt the blood coat his teeth and their hearts fluttering to a stop like the spasming wings of a dying butterfly?

She smiled to herself, drawing her resolve from all the Blackwood women who came before her.

She was no butterfly. She was a raven. Watchful. Patient. And she would meet his bite with her own.

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[mistriavalley]

Hayden has a crush on you

Gender neutral

TW: none

Masterlist

I feel like he's the type of person who doesn't realize that he has a crush. For the longest time he simply thinks that he's really and deeply respecting you for your hard work

I mean who wouldn't? You're volunteering to rebuild a town you've never been to with people you've never met. You take on these difficult tasks as if they're nothing while taking care of your crops and animals. Oh and how wonderful you treat those chickens and cows. Hayden can't seem to shut up about it

He'd be sitting at the bar basically swooning over how kind and brave you are while Hemlock is trying his best to explain the obvious to him

"Of course I don't have feelings for the new farmer! I just wanted to suggest to them that we could have our animals spend time together while we watch them and drink tea."

"So like a date?"

"..."

"Hayden?"

"This does sound like a date."

And that's when he realizes that he desperately wants it to be a date too

Every single day afterwards Hayden seems to pay you a visit at the farm and offering his help with various things

"No, let me carry that for you!"

"Oh, I can help you deliver your crops to Holt!"

"Would it be alright for me to feed your chickens with you?"

And he never leaves his house without a present for you. Sometimes it's his own fresh produce and other times it's a hot cup of tea that he wants to share with you

Finally seeing and accepting his feelings for you flipped a switch inside this man. Now he has this strong urge to be with you at all times and make your responsibilities as easy for you as he possibly can

And this wonderful, tall snack of a man isn't one to hide his crush. He wants you to know almost immediately and isn't scared of rejection as long as you two can still stay good friends afterwards

So what he does is pay Celine a visit for advice. He wants to arrange a custom made bouquet with flowers handpicked by him, because HE IS JUST THAT AMAZING OKAY?! HE WANTS IT TO HAVE A SPECIAL MEANING

Hayden plans to hand it to you early in the morning, because he simply can't wait any longer, but he doesn't leave the farm without getting a peptalk from Henrietta

And there he stands at your door. A wide grin on his handsome face and a light blush around his cheeks

It takes everything in him not to shout his confession at you. That's how excited he is

If you reject him then he will take it cool. Obviously he will be very disappointed, but won't make a fuss about it. At least he tried!

But if you say yes...man oh man. The whole town will know by noon and he'd be so filled with excitement that he could run several laps around his farm

[hinatiny]

crazy ੈ✩‧₊˚ akaashi keiji

in which akaashi is so crazy for you, he barely knows how to cope with it. getting you flustered is one way though.

w.c: 0.6k

akaashi loves you. so much, so dearly, that he’s convinced he’ll die if you ever slip away from his fingers. he’s convinced heaven and all that is holy is wherever you are, and that he’ll be denied access if he ever does something atrocious enough for you to leave him.

akaashi loves you. so much, so deeply, that it hurts, as if loving you equals diving into a vast ocean of emotions where every wave carries the sweetest currents of affection.

akaashi loves you. so much, so intensely, that he feels like he could cry.

of course, he doesn’t. at least not while you’re sitting in a study room - doing anything and everything but studying. he knows that if he were to suddenly tear up and sniffle and sob out of nowhere, it would only worry you, and what is he supposed to say when you question it? “i just love you so much and it sometimes scares me that i’m able to love someone to this extent, i genuinely can’t see a future where you’re not part of it and if there is one like that i don’t want it because maybe we’re just some goofy college students right now but i can’t wait to move in with you in our new apartment next month because there’s nothing i want more than to spend the rest of my life with you and all of this is so overwhelming but i wouldn’t change that for the world.” is that how he feels? most definitely. will he express that? nah, not really.

akaashi doesn’t say much, for now content with listening to you ramble on about your day, your yesterday, your tomorrow, your new plastic plants you’d bought for your apartment, your storage of gossip newly stocked from some of your classmates, and everything between heaven and earth as you munch on pocky every now and then. he doesn’t say much, but you can tell he’s still attentive to every word you say by the way he nods, hums, occasionally comments something or asks for further details. more than anything though, you know he’s listening by the fondness in his eyes and the small but true smile that lingers on his lips.

“so i’m not crazy for wanting to clock her that day, am i? i mean, obviously i didn’t do it or i would probably get expelled but with her attitude i clearly wasn’t in the wrong for at least considering it, right?”

now, akaashi doesn’t condone violence, and he would stop you had you ever decided to act on that option, but he nods in the palm of his hand, puffs an airy chuckle before expressing that you weren’t in the wrong. if that’s enough to make you laugh at him for even agreeing, he’ll make such exceptions any day of the week.

“you know, normal people wouldn’t agree like that,” you grin.

“you know, normal people wouldn’t consider clocking a classmate for something like that.” akaashi raises a playfully judgemental eyebrow at you.

“well, guess i must be crazy then.” you giggle at the sigh he lets out, following up with how you have to stop saying such things so proudly, although his smile widens the slightest bit. you tuck a chocolate-coated stick between your lips, speaking past it, “but you still love me.”

he blinks at you, once, twice but soon gets up his feet, hardly rushed but fast enough for you to not properly process how his palm shortly after goes from his chin to fall flat on the table; the one of his other hand finds your jaw, holding your cheeks so gently, just barely squeezing them between his fingertips. 

akaashi does love you, so so so much, he doesn’t doubt for a second that he might be the luckiest man on earth. he doesn’t express that either though, and instead hides his overflowing emotions behind a sly smirk as he tucks the other end of the stick between his own lips. “guess i’m even crazier then.”

[zaczenemiji]

Tabito Karasu Headcannons

where reader is a hyper-independent eldest daughter of an Asian household who also happens to be the student council president

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

These HCs are based on my 5-chapter-long Tabito Karasu x Reader on AO3. I highly recommend reading that too as it contains all the emotions, details, and the full story.

MASTERLIST

✧ "What can I say? I've got a talent for winning,” he says whenever someone asks how he scored the student council president.

✧ After training, he’d go back to school to fetch you whenever you stay behind to finish your student council duties.

✧ Always insists on helping you—he doesn’t stop at the polite offer or the half-hearted “Let me know if you need anything.”

✧ He simply did things for you, without question, without hesitation, and without making you feel like you owed him anything in return.

✧ Brings you food at the student council room whenever you’re so caught up in work that you didn’t notice it was well past lunch.

✧ Then he would sit across from you as if it were the most natural thing in the world to keep you company.

✧ The list goes on: Karasu helps you review for exams, reminding you to take breaks when you were clearly overworking yourself, or simply showing up when you least expected it.

✧ He would take on tasks you stubbornly refused to delegate, even if it meant showing up early or staying late himself.

✧ But he doesn’t try to take over or do things for you that you could handle yourself. He simply… supported you.

✧ Hates seeing you put everyone else’s needs above your own. And he hates how no one seemed to notice—how no one insisted you take care of yourself.

✧ Wants to be the one you relied on—the one you turned to when the world felt heavy.

✧ He cares for you in ways no one else ever had—quietly steps in when you needed it most, without taking away the independence you valued so deeply.

✧ Karasu always finds excuses to stay with you a little longer together.

✧ NEVER lets you walk home alone. He listens to you talk about your day as carries your bag without asking.

✧ 24/7 tells you you’re beautiful—all the time, followed by a kiss—on your forehead, cheeks, lips, anywhere his lips could touch you.

✧ Whenever he hugs you, he’d hold you tight as if to make the moment last forever.

✧ To say that your family loves him is an understatement. He quickly became a part of it in ways that surprised even you.

✧ He’d play soccer with your younger brother and would lift your little sister onto his shoulders and swing her around until she was giggling uncontrollably.

✧ Sometimes when your schedule gets hectic, he’d offer to be the one to fetch your younger siblings on your behalf and they would end up picking you up instead.

✧ Always brags about you in front of his family. So when you first came over to his house, you were referred to as the girl he can’t stop talking about.

✧ He’s definitely a girlfriend’s boy—“Sorry, I’ve got plans with my girlfriend,” he’d say, unapologetic to his friends, choosing to spend his free time with you.

✧ His possessiveness came out in subtle ways—a hand on your back, an arm slung over your shoulder, or fingers intertwined with yours. He wanted everyone to know you were his.

✧ “Let them stare,” he’d say, smirking.

✧ Loves you so much—you are everything to him.

✧ So if he loses at soccer, if he doesn’t become the greatest striker in the world—it’s fine. Because he has you.

✧ That was his real goal. You were his greatest win.

@mianbaobaoo @thetwinkims @arlecchinoftl @karasuglazer @axjisai @egoistlino

[akirathedramaqueen]

There's one piece of concept art that made me see the entire Apology Tour disaster in a different light.

So, we've been talking with @warblogs17282 about Stolitz and how their break-up ended up playing out in the 'Apology Tour' episode.

Why ended up? Well, there's a collection of concept art which, to my limited understanding of this craft, is one of the first steps in the production process of animation. This post by @birdy-babe includes a great chunk of it, shared by artists after the episodes aired (like storyboards, but much more stylised, showing how different some original ideas were). Long story short, one of the concept arts from the 'Apology Tour' episode suggests their quarrel was originally meant to be much harsher.

A short summary of the concept art to see what we are dealing with

In the background, you see a lot of apology postcards and silly cutesy stationery, suggesting Blitzø is in the middle of his Apology Tour.

The contact name isn't 'Stols' but 'Bird Dick,' implying their relationship is at an earlier stage, with less respect—at least on Blitzø's part.

There's a photo partially cut by the edge of the messages screen. From the signature gloves and boots, cowboy hat covering Blitzø's private parts, and visible nipples, it appears to be a nude image—replaced in later stages of development with stupid gay affirmation memes (as hard as it is to believe, I couldn't imagine there could be anything worse than the Striker horse gay jokes... well, it could, my dudes, it fucking COULD).

There are three messages, one of which is unsent:

"Stolas, cum awwwwwwn, u no u want it :)"—likely attached to the nude;

"Dude just talk to me"—desperation crawls in; he finally realises the shit has hit the fan;

"Im sowwy :("—an apology, but the text remains unsent, perhaps because it seems pointless, given that the 'Not Delivered' notifications and warning signs indicate Stolas has blocked his number.

Why do I find this fascinating, and why does it fill me with immense hope?

Because they still fucking care so much, and neither has completely closed the door on the other. By comparing the concept art to the final product, you can see how many intentional choices were made in dialogue, visuals, and behaviour to make it clear that these two idiots still want things to continue. Stolitz is meant to fucking live.

Now, if you want to see some comparisons—evidence, really—let's dive into each other's changes, focusing on what we can gather from the concept art.

Blitzø's side

Change 1—thank gods, no nudes. The gay memes are sillier and a bit lighter. Of course, they still showcase utter disrespect, a horrible prejudice against sexuality, and a poor understanding of how deeply Stolas was hurt, but I find them... less bad.

Change 2—no more 'Bird Dick.' Blitzø has actually come up with a real nickname for Stolas! Feelings are boring for you, huh, Blitzø? I can almost hear the song’s lines: "O-oh, hooked, addicted you might say, conflicted in a way…"

Change 3—Blitzø's attempts to apologize now show much more contemplation. Since Stolas hasn’t blocked him, Blitzø knows his words aren’t just being thrown into the void. Although the 'unsent' detail remains, it now carries real weight and impact.

All three changes are seen in these two GIFs.

He knows he did wrong. He knows he wants to salvage it. He might not yet know how to do it healthily, but he tries—he tries so fucking hard!

Look at the range of raw, cutting emotions as he speaks to Stolas and finally delivers his apology—probably the only one he genuinely meant. Well, maybe except for Verosika, a bit later.

It's not that it's hard for Blitzø to say 'sorry'—we've seen him do it a lot lately. He's actually quick to apologise and take responsibility, so Stolas's remark about him not feeling any remorse couldn’t be further from the truth. But the fact that he isn't running away this time—chasing after Stolas and trying his best to mend things—is drastically different from how he treated Verosika back then.

Stolas's side

Here’s the moment that struck me deep. It’s the only change, since the concept art shows Blitzø’s POV, but it’s such a significant one.

Do you think Stolas has moved on? Do you think he’s done with Blitzø? Not convinced, even when he’s literally singing about still wanting Blitzø?

Well, here’s your proof—he didn’t block Blitzø. They scrapped that.

More than that, the entire interaction emphasizes that Stolas isn’t pushing Blitzø away for good.

How do I know this? Stolas is very insistent on using phrases like 'for now,' 'right now,' and 'now' throughout his attempts to tell Blitzø off.

Here are some citations:

"I was hoping my lack of 'ha-ha's' in response to the photos you sent me would be an indicator I didn't want to talk right now."

"Seeing you right now is hard!"

"I'm tired of this! I'm uncomfortable with how you're speaking to me now!"

Why is this so important? Because he isn’t asking Blitzø to leave him forever. All he’s asking for is time.

Even while hurt, Stolas gives Blitzø plenty of chances to explain himself civilly. Look at the hopeful glances each time Blitzø shows any glimpse of genuineness.

Stolas fucking hopes Blitzø will take back all the cruel things said and brash actions done.

You know, Stolas... I've spent the entirety of this morning listening to love ballads, and that was...

For what?! You want me to be like, "Oh sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me and I've let my self-hatred stop me from apologising to anyone I could ever care about!"

You see the furrowed brows and the sad look? Stolas hopes for the best... but gets the worst because Blitzø isn’t there yet.

I’d even go so far as to say Stolas is acutely aware that Blitzø uses his brashness as a shield to protect himself. He literally sang about it in 'Just Look My Way.'

Unless it's me? And no matter what in this world I could give, it's not enough to get through these walls you've conjured up to live.

So, what gives?

Is this the behaviour of people who want to give up on a relationship they still clearly hold dear?

No. Even when they’re angry, aggressive, hurt, or drunk, they still seek understanding and forgiveness. They continue to listen and try.

They might lack the skills and may choose the wrong time, place, or words to express what truly matters...

One person, scared of being rejected so much that he unconsciously conveys this message by saying, "You don’t have to stay here with me," and carrying it throughout the whole conversation...

The other, coming to terms with his feelings, admits them, and his fears, a bit too late—when his romantic interest is too drunk to comprehend anything…

And in both cases—self-loathing, self-hatred, doubts, scars, trauma… and a lack of hope.

But there is hope. No, this is reassurance, my folks.

You know when it's hardest to stay in a relationship? When it’s hardest to come and say, "I am sorry," when it’s hardest to still love the person?

When you’re hurt. When they’ve hurt you.

And, despite that, you still come to them and still want to talk to them.

If this isn’t ironclad evidence that this is more than just a fling or a couple of fun sex dates, I don’t know what is.

And the 'Apology Tour' fucking proves it, rather than ruins it. It only strengthens the point. It’s easy to live in happiness, but it’s so hard to go through it while you’re in pain. When you see them doing that, you realise it means everything to them.

Stolitz is to live.