#his brothers poke fun at him all the time

[wttcsms]

sorry but im just thinking about best friend's older brother!character and you. you and your bestie got totally screwed over by your college apartments bc they found black mold in the complex & it's basically uninhabitable. however, this is the second week of the semester + every other viable housing option is taken. luckily enough, her older brother is successful and rich — his luxury apartment is way too big for just himself. he has spare rooms. so now you're living with your best friend's older brother, and you always knew he was cute growing up, but he's older than the two of you; you knew your crush on him was unrealistic. it's like crushing on a celebrity, really. except... people don't normally end up sleeping in the room down the hall from their celeb crush, do they?

he's fun to be around, but when your best friend is gone for periods of time (she'd rather spend her nights at her boyfriend's place), and it's just the two of you alone... things feel tense. like every otherwise innocent action is suddenly charged with some weird electricity. you're messing with the coffee maker and he comes up behind you to open up the cabinet overhead, effectively sandwiching you between the hard counter top and his muscular build (since when did he have the time to get so jacked?) he sleeps shirtless, and when it's nighttime, he'll walk around in just his gray sweats or plaid pj pants, abs on full display, making casual conversation with you like he doesn't look like a greek god coming down to earth. but as much as he's unknowingly taunting you, you're unknowingly taunting him.

since when did his little sister's best friend grow up? why are you walking around in cropped cami tops that are thin enough to wear he can see the buds of your nipples poking through the fabric? why does the scent of your body lotion drive him insane? why does the fact that you're facetiming his sister and interrupting her alone time w her boyfriend just so you can ask for advice on what to wear to a date bother him so much? when you hang up, he conveniently passes by your bedroom door to see what's going on.

you're wearing a tight, black mini dress and you're spraying on perfume — the perfume he gifted you a few chrismas'es ago. he thinks it's cute that you still use it; he finds it less cute when he realizes you'll waste the sweet scent on someone who isn't him.

"you could've asked me for help on deciding what to wear. my sister acts like she knows it all, but she doesn't know how men think."

you're caught off guard, embarrassed that he overheard your conversation. "i- i wouldn't bother you with something stupid like this. i asked her because i don't have any guy friends and-"

he's fully in your room now, a look on his face you've only ever seen in your wet dreams. "i'm a man. do you really not see me that way?"

right now, he's all you can see.

[planetpedri]

Hi!! Can i request for a pedri fic. About a fluffy argument. The reader is a skincare enthusiast and is very serious about sunscreen and often told Pedri to put it on. But Pedri keep on forgetting and care less about it and got a bit of sunburn and reader is angry at him and ignoring him.

Tuesday waltz — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend never seems to listen to you, but it was time he finally paid the price.

Word count: 355+

Disclaimer/s: banter , fluff

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML PEDRO GONZÁLEZ LÓPEZ🫦💕 this was lowk so half assed sorry

The heat of the sun beat down on your shoulders, which you’d just freshly lathered sunscreen onto. Spending a weekend in Tenerife with Pedri’s family was always fun, except for when your boyfriend didn’t listen to your advice.

“Ouch! Don’t—Fernando!” Pedri snapped, swatting his brother’s hand off his shoulder. “That hurt!”

Rolling your eyes, you snap the top of your sunscreen bottle closed. “Well, if you would’ve just listened to me..”

Pedri scowls in your direction, “I forgot!”

“You mean to tell me, you don’t listen to your girlfriend?” Fernando quirks an eyebrow, adding fuel to the fire. “A shame, truly. I’m so sorry.” He nods his head in your direction.

Your lip curls, “thank you!”

Pedri gawks at the interaction. “What the hell is going on? I forget once!”

“You forget all the time.” You huff, reaching for your book and Airpods. Pedri’s complaint’s and pleads drown out with the music that blasts into your ears.

Sighing contently, you ignore the man and open your book. Peace and quiet only lasts a few moments before Pedri is shaking your arm, whining for you to look at him.

With an annoyed look, you take out one Airpod. “What!?”

“Sunscreen? Please..?” He gives you a shameful smile, which you roll your eyes at.

“It’s not going to do much now. Go inside and ask your mom for some Aloe Vera. It’ll soothe the ache and cool your skin. Don’t go in the sun till it’s dry—“

“Okay! Okay!” Pedri interjects, hopping off his lounge chair, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head. “Sorry.” He murmurs, dragging out the ‘Y’.

Waving him away, you mumble a, “yeah, yeah.” Before opening your book again. “Next time listen to your girlfriend, then you wouldn’t have these problems.”

Pedri’s tongue pokes his cheek, but he lets out an amused laugh. “I know! You’re always right and I am always wrong. Thank you for your expert advice.”

“Go inside, loser.” You grin up at him, pointing with your thumb to the house.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future Pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie @joaoflms @hrts4havertz

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Atychiphobia

Summary:

Atychiphobia is an intense fear of failure. Fear of failure is self-limiting and causes severe stress and anxiety. It can impair your present relationships, goals to succeed, and productivity.

Ford Pines gets paid a visit one night from a certain dream demon.

Author's Note: I’ll have you all know I started with the intent of like, a 6k one shot. It’s now eight chapters and 28,000 words with an inspiration playlist and it took me two months to finish. It is done already though, so I'm gonna post one chapter every Saturday morning until it's all out. I hope you enjoy it!

...

It’s during a dream that Ford first meets Bill.

It starts off as a really good dream, too.  He and Stan have finished fixing the Stan-O-War and are casting off to the open sea.  Ford can see scientific anomalies and monsters in the distance for him, and treasure and cute girls for Stan.  Stan’s talking excitedly about all of the adventures they’re about to have, and Ford has mapped it out so they’ll still be home in time for dinner.

But just as they’re about to sail out of sight of Glass Shard Beach, Ford hears a cackle of laughter from beside him, and not like Stan’s normal-sounding laughter.

“Stanley?” Ford asks, turning in confusion.

Stan turns to face him too, but his smile is way too wide, and his eyes are yellow with slitted pupils.

Ford yelps and leaps backwards, only for definitely-not-Stanley to reach out and grab him by the shirt.

“Careful there, Sixer,” says a voice that also doesn’t belong to Stanley.  “You might fall!”

Ford looks behind him and finds that the edge of the boat is a lot closer than he remembers it being.

Not-Stanley yanks him forward, and Ford yelps again, landing on his hands and knees on the deck.  He looks up and sees Stan grinning unnaturally down at him.

“Stan?” he asks weakly.  Not-Stan laughs.

“Nope!” he calls, and then from Stan’s eye emerges a top hat, and then a bright yellow shape, and then Stan vanishes completely.  In his place is a floating yellow triangle with a top hat and bow tie.

“Wow, have I been waiting to meet you, Sixer!” the triangle says.  Ford stands up.  He wants to take a step back, even though that didn’t work out so well last time.

“Only Stanley gets to call me that,” Ford says.

The triangle laughs, like that’s funny.

“Who are you?” Ford demands, clenching his hands into fists and trying to be brave.  “Give Stanley back!”

The triangle laughs again.  “Wow, you’re the first Sixer I’ve met who’s ever said that,” he says.

“What?”

The triangle looks at him, and despite the fact that he doesn’t have a mouth, Ford gets the distinct impression that he’s smiling.

“Aww, you’re just a little shrimp, aren’t ya?” he says.  “No wonder you want your other half around.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Ford says weakly.

“Oh, my bad,” the triangle says.  He holds out a hand.  “I’m Bill!  I don’t think we’ve met in this dimension yet!”

“In this what?” Ford asks, ignoring the hand.  He’s still trying to figure out how the triangle is talking without a mouth.

“This dimension, Sixer!  This is a fun one!  You’re a tad young, but no way that can stop you for long!”

“I— huh?”

“I’ve met you in too many dimensions, you never let anything stop you!” Bill continues, as if Ford’s confusion doesn’t exist.  “You’re too smart for that!”

Ford blinks.  “Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me, I’m just pointing out facts!  You’ve got a lot of potential, kid!  I’ll be keeping an eye on you!  Wouldn’t want to let it go to waste!”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that, but it doesn’t end up mattering, because that’s about the time he hears “Hey, Sixer,” and feels a poke on his cheek.

Ford groans and rolls over in bed, burying his head back in his pillow.

“Sixer,” says the much more familiar voice of his brother.  “Wake up, Grauntie Mabel’s making pancakes, we’ve gotta get down there and stop her from adding glitter.”

And well, that is a real concern, so Ford manages to pull his head up with another groan and a grumble, and rubs at his eyes.

“I’ll hold her off as long as I can,” Stan says, from his spot right next to Ford’s bed.  “Just get downstairs quick!”

He runs out before Ford can say anything else.

Ford yawns, stretches, and forces himself into a sitting position.

“What a weird dream,” he mumbles to himself as he slips his feet out of bed.

…

He doesn’t put together that the triangle demon Fiddleford and Stan say they saw talking to Bud Gleeful is Bill until they’re inside Grauntie Mabel’s head.  But strangely enough, Bill doesn’t act like he knows him at all, and things are a little too urgent at the time for him to think much about it.

And after they’re done stopping Bill, well, things hardly get less urgent.  Ford doesn’t have any time to think about the fact that he had a weird dream about Bill being nice to him until after they’ve stopped Bud and have headed back home to the craft store to relax.  Grauntie Mabel promises to make a breakfast for dinner of pancakes with edible glitter, which Ford and Stan consent to as a fair compromise, and they all end up in the kitchen, laughing and reminiscing on all the crazy things that have happened the past couple of days.

But it’s only after Grauntie Mabel has gone to feed Waddles dinner that Stan says, “Man, I should have known the evil demon trying to take over Grauntie Mabel’s head was a distraction.  Classic bait-and-switch.”

And Ford’s eyes widen as he realizes he’d completely forgotten about Bill in the events of the last couple days.

“Uh, hey,” he says, turning to face Stanley.  “Stan—”

“Alright, share those, I’m not making any more tonight,” comes Grauntie Mabel’s voice, and she yanks away the last two pancakes that Stan had been about to reach for.  “You each get one, and head up to bed, it’s way too late as it is.”

“But Grauntie Mabel,” Stan whines.  “We defeated an evil fake psychic today!  Can’t we stay up a little later as a reward?”

“You can stay up later at the karaoke party we’re having on Saturday to celebrate,” Grauntie Mabel says, waving her hand towards the steps.  “Come on, we’ve all had a very long couple days.  I’m an old lady, I need my beauty rest.  And so does Waddles.”  She reaches down and rubs the pig on the head, who gives a satisfied oink as if to confirm.

“Does it have to be a karaoke party?” Stan mutters, but he shovels another couple bites of pancake in his mouth and then pushes his chair back.

“Goodnight Grauntie Mabel,” Ford calls quickly, pushing his chair back to follow Stan.  “Uh, hey,” he calls to Stan as they start up the steps.  “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?” Stan asks, glancing over at him.

“Had you ever, like, seen Bill before?  Like, before you and Fiddleford found him talking to Bud?”

“No, why?” Stan asks.  “You see him in the journal or somethin’?”

Well, that too.  And the author’s paranoid scribblings about never trusting or summoning Bill at any costs just made Ford more confused about the dream he’d had before.  But if Stan doesn’t know anything about him, then he must not have gotten a similar dream.  Which is weird.  Bill mentioned Stan in the dream, so he clearly knows about him.  Why would he only talk to Ford?  Did it have something to do with Bill calling him smart and talking about his potential?  Did he not view Stan the same way?  But then, the Bill from his dream had acted very different from the Bill who invaded Grauntie Mabel’s head.  Then again, if he’d been working for Bud, maybe he was just doing what Bud told him to?  Stan said they’d made a deal of some kind.  But if the author clearly thinks he’s not trustworthy, that’s probably not something Ford should just write off.

“Ford?”

Ford blinks, and Stan’s staring curiously at him.

“You good?” he asks.  “You just kinda… stopped talking, there.”

“I’m good,” Ford says, mostly on instinct.  “Just… thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

Ford bites his lip.  “Nothing,” he decides on.  He doesn’t know what he thinks about anything yet, and Grauntie Mabel’s right, it’s been a long couple days.  He doesn’t want to bother Stan with questions about Bill right at the tail end of their victory.  “I’ll tell you in the morning, okay?”

Stan looks at him for another moment, and then shrugs.  “Okay,” he says, and then starts back up the stairs again towards the attic.  Ford follows him, trying to put Bill out of his mind for the night.  Besides, they’ll have plenty of time to figure things out now that Grauntie Mabel’s not sending them home.

Ford’s planning on heading straight to bed as soon as they get there, but as they walk into the attic, Stan says, “Hey,” and when Ford turns around he sees him holding up a hand.

“You were awesome today, Sixer,” Stan says with a bright smile.  “I’m never gonna forget the look on Bud’s stupid face.  High six?”

Ford grins at him, and slaps Stan’s hand with his own.  “High six,” he says.

Stan grins wider as he starts back over to his bed, and as he climbs under his covers, adds, “See?  You don’t need the journal to be awesome.  You can do amazing things all on your own.”

Ford looks away as he climbs into bed to hide his smile at that one.  “You were pretty awesome too, you know,” he says after a second, turning to face Stan again.  “With that grappling hook.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stan says, in a falsely cocky voice, putting his hands on his hips.  But the smile on his face as they start over to their beds shows that he appreciates it.

Ford laughs a little.  “Goodnight, knucklehead,” he says, laying down and pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Night, dumb-dumb!” Stan calls back cheerfully.

Both of them fall asleep smiling.

…

Ford’s not sure how much time has passed when he opens his eyes again, but it’s still dark in the attic.  Ford glances up towards the window for any sign of a coming morning, but oddly enough, he can’t even see the stars that are usually visible through the window.

Ford pushes the covers back and sits up, turning to face the window.  Is this more Gravity Falls weirdness?

He walks quietly over to the window and peeks out, but nothing’s outside of it, just a long black expanse.

“Um,” he says, starting to get a little nervous.  He turns to the bed on the other side of the room and whispers, “Stanley.”

A grumble comes from the bed.  Ford walks over and pokes Stan in the shoulder.  “Stanley, wake up—”

Stan spins over in bed, sudden and visceral, his bones cracking audibly.  Ford screams and leaps back a step, before Stan’s eyes snap open to reveal bright yellow irises.

“Heya again, Sixer!” yells a now-familiar voice.  Stanley’s body peels back in a way that’s not much better than the bones cracking, and Ford looks away, feeling nauseous.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bill float up from what was Stanley a second ago.

Bill turns around and laughs, poking the mush left on the bed.  “Man, he’d look good as a corpse!”

“Stop it!” Ford screams, turning around completely and shoving his hands over his ears.

“Aw, come on, Sixer, I’m just having a little fun!  Tons of other versions of you thought that was funny!”

Ford just shoves his hands over his ears tighter, though it doesn’t seem to do anything to block Bill’s voice.

“Not your style yet, huh Sixer?”

“Stop calling me that!” Ford says, turning around and keeping his gaze firmly away from the other bed.  “Only Stanley gets to call me that!”

Bill laughs again.  “Man, I always forget how tight you two are at first.  Just weird to see, lemme tell ya.”

“What are you talking about?” Ford asks, clenching his hands into fists.  “And why did you invade Grauntie Mabel’s head?  And why did you act like we’d never talked before when we found you?”

“Woah, slow down, Sixer, one question at a time,” Bill says, amusement bleeding into his eye.  “Look, Shooting Star was nothing personal.  Just the terms of the deal, you know?  Besides, you and your useless brother beat me in the end.  No harm no foul.”

Ford grits his teeth.  “Okay, I’ve decided, I don’t like you,” he says.  “Leave me alone.”

“Oh, calm down, Sixer,” Bill says.  “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t like your version of help,” Ford says coolly.  “You almost hurt my Grauntie, and you’re mean to my brother.”

“Hey, sorry bud,” Bill says, holding up his hands.  “Old habits die hard.  I learned it from you, you know.”

“Why do you keep saying stuff like that?  Stanley’s not useless, you’re just being mean!”

Bill laughs again, sounding harsher and meaner than before.  “I always forget how little you humans know about the multiverse.  Come here, I’ll show you!”

“What do you—” Ford starts.  But before he can finish, Bill grabs him by the arm and yanks him upwards, through the air and towards the attic window.

Ford yelps and tries to shield his face from the glass, but they pass right through, and when he opens his eyes he sees a car driving away from their house.  He doesn’t recognize the car, but Bill points at it like it means something.

“I’d imagine you’ve got about six years left before that brother of yours realizes what you really are and kicks you to the curb,” Bill says.  “That’s him in the car, getting far away from you.  Can’t blame him, really.”

Ford scowls and yanks his arm away.  “You’re a liar,” he says.  “Stanley wouldn’t do that.”

“I’ve got a couple dozen dimensions that prove you wrong, Sixer,” Bill says, grabbing his arm again.  “You want to take a tour?”

Ford tries to yank his arm away, but Bill just tightens his grip, and the world around them shifts again.  The type of car changes, but it’s still driving away from their house, and when Bill yanks them down next to the car, the person inside really does look a lot like an older version of Stan.  He looks angry, and he’s glaring out the window ahead of him, not seeming too interested in what’s back at the house.

“That doesn’t mean he’s leaving,” Ford snaps, glaring at Bill, since he can’t seem to pull his arm out of his grasp.  “That’s what Stan does when he’s upset, he needs space.”

Bill laughs again.  “Sure seems like a lot of space, then,” he says.  He snaps his fingers, and time seems to rewind around them, until the car stops with the older-looking-Stan outside of it.  Ford watches as he shouts up at the house: “I can make it on my own!  I don’t need you!  I don’t need anyone!”

Then, without another word, he climbs in the car and drives away.

“Stop it!” Ford snaps at Bill, trying to ignore the squirming nervous feeling that’s taken root in his stomach.  “You’re a liar, Stanley wouldn’t just leave me!”

“Oh, he wouldn’t now?” Bill asks, and he pulls them both away from the scene again, quickly through a bunch of other ones— other dimensions, Ford supposes?  They’re moving too quickly for Ford to really look at what’s happening, but he gets a couple of clear images— Stanley punching him in the face, shoving him away from him, shoving him towards some kind of futuristic looking glowing triangle, yelling something in his face and then storming off and not coming back, and not coming back, and not coming back, and—

“Stop it!” Ford screams, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Stop it, stop it, I don’t wanna see!”

“Well, that’s not a good attitude to have, kid!” Bill says, still sounding incredibly amused by everything.  “I’m just trying to prepare you!  It’s gonna happen eventually, you should be ready for it!”

“It’s not, it’s not!” Ford protests, trying to pull his arm away from Bill’s again.  “Stanley’s not going to leave me, you’re a liar!”

Bill laughs again, but there’s something darker about it, and that something almost forces Ford to open his eyes.  Bill’s eye is glowing bright red now, and Ford doesn’t like the manic energy in it.  He tries harder to pull his arm away, but his wrist starts to strain in a way he doesn’t like.

“‘Course he is, Sixer!” Bill calls brightly.  “And you know why?”

He lets go of Ford’s hand, and Ford screams as he starts to fall into the air, but before he can get very far, Bill grows ten times larger and catches Ford in his left hand.  Ford tries to run and leap off the edge of the hand, but Bill just casually dumps him into his other one, and then back into his first, until Ford lands in his right hand dizzy and stumbling.  Bill shifts his grip until he’s grasping Ford tightly, and then brings him right up to his bright red eye.

“It’s because your brother realizes what you really are,” Bill says, his voice suddenly deeper and angrier.  “A washed up miserable failure who squanders all your potential.  A lonely freak whose most unique trait is something he didn’t even earn.”  Bill shifts his grip and pushes Ford’s arm up into the air, presenting his six fingers on full display.  It’s probably Ford’s imagination, but he can swear for a second he hears Stanley’s laughter.

“You’re nothing special, kid,” Bill says, leaning his enormous eye right into Ford’s face.  “And sooner or later, your brother’s going to realize it too.  I’m just making sure you’re ready for when everyone finally knows what a failure you are.”

“I—” Ford manages, trying to lean away.  “I’m not!  You’re wrong!”

Bill cackles.  “I got a couple dozen dimensions that prove me right, Sixer,” he says.  “But don’t worry, we can continue our tour another time.  Besides, you’ve got stuff to do.”

And with that, he tilts his head back, turns his one eye into a large, gaping mouth, and then tosses Ford up towards it.  The mouth snaps shut around him, and Ford screams.

…

He wakes up gasping and panicking, grasping for anything around him, some kind of way to pry Bill’s mouth open.  But his hands only meet empty air.  It takes him a second to realize he’s not being eaten by a dream demon, and is instead back in the attic.

He leans forward and drops his head into his knees, his breathing still way too short and shallow and panicked.

“St-Stanley?” he calls, trying to make it loud enough to get his brother’s attention.  There isn’t any response, and that increases Ford’s panic enough that he yanks his head up.

The sun is shining in through the window, and the attic is empty.

Ford scrambles from the bed and towards the steps, making his way down them as quickly as he can with how badly his legs are shaking.

He hears Stanley’s voice as he reaches the bottom of the steps, sounding like it’s coming from the kitchen.

“I’m just saying, reheated they’re never as good,” he says.  “Just how it is.”

“Oh, I see,” comes Grauntie Mabel’s rather amused voice.  “Well, if you want to make fresh pancakes every time you want to eat them, you go for it, but in the meantime, you’re asking an awful lot of me, buddy.”

“Excuse me, I’m the child?  That’s my job.”

Grauntie Mabel snorts with laughter.  Ford doesn’t want to interrupt them, and instead he leans back against the wall at the bottom step, trying to take a deep breath in.

“Just a nightmare,” he whispers to himself.  “Calm down, it’s just Bill trying to mess with you.  You’re okay.”

He stays there for a little longer, until his legs stop feeling quite so shaky, and then he pushes himself up.  He takes one more deep breath, and starts slowly towards the kitchen.

Stan is sitting with his back to him when he walks into the entryway, but Grauntie Mabel smiles at him from the place across from the door.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she calls.  “You’re up later than usual.  Want some pancakes?”

“Don’t bother, they’re reheated,” Stan calls, while shoveling another bite in his mouth, which makes for a bit of a confusing message.

Ford just nods in response to Grauntie Mabel, and when she climbs up to get a new plate and get the pancakes from the fridge, he walks forward and sits down in the open chair next to Stan.

“Hey, Sixer, great news!” Stan calls, grinning up at him.  “Now that we have an actual house back, Fiddleford’s dad is letting him come over and play again!  He called a little bit ago, he says he’ll be here after lunch!”

Ford gives the best smile he can manage.  “That’s awesome,” he says, hoping Stan can’t see right through him.

Stan has always been able to see right through him.

His smile dips into a concerned frown.  “Hey, you good?”

“Just a bad dream,” Ford admits.  “I… can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Stan says, turning to face him a little more directly as he gives him his attention.

“Would you… I mean, if I…” he trails off, the same desperate panic from his nightmare starting to crawl its way up his throat again.

“Would I, if you…” Stan prompts.

Ford looks up at him, takes in Stan’s earnest concerned face, and realizes he can’t get the words out.

“Would you mind if we skip the monster hunting today?” he asks.  “I think I’m a little beat after all the stuff with Bud.”

Stan looks at him a moment longer.  “Sure, no problem,” he says after a second.  “But are you sure that’s what you wanted to ask?”

Ford clenches his hands into fists under the table.  “I’m sure.”

“Fresh reheated pancakes, at your service,” comes Grauntie Mabel’s voice, and Ford takes the distraction, turning with a smile and taking the plate from her.

“Thanks, Grauntie Mabel,” he says, and cuts up and shovels a bite in his mouth as quickly as he can.

Stan doesn’t say anything else, which is fine, because he doesn’t need to.  Ford can manage this all by himself, because Bill’s wrong.  He’s not a failure.

He’s gonna prove it, too.

[bmpmp3]

FREAK ASS

[sproutsaviorthethird]

I love this. I love this so much-

Phil fawning over birds at the zoo >>

Wilbur getting uppity over proper guitar care at the music shop >>>

Tommy getting all the comics under the sun whenever he can >>>>

Techno getting talkative in the museum about Greek mythology >>>>>

The boys have a movie night-

I'm getting carried away but family dynamic please I must have it-

clawing at the walls thinking about sbi as a family and they like go on roadtrips and visit places and nerd out about those places

[deus-ex-mona]

when the realisation ✨finally✨ dawns on you but it’s wayyyy too late

[daydreamerdrew]

Captain Marvel Adventures (1941) #45

[demonslayerunhinged]

It's crazy to think that in this moment Tanjiro didn't just save Genya, he saved Sanemi too.

Imagine the fallout that would have happened if Sanemi had succeeded in blinding Genya.

He would lose the respect of all the slayers including Obanai because ignoring your brother is one thing but blinding him? Nah.

He might get banned from the corps and Kagaya would express his upmost disappointment in him which for Sanemi is like a death sentence.

His relationship with Gyomei would be destroyed. Genya might be his brother but remember he's still under the guidance of the strongest hashira.

I think Gyomei's reaction would be especially disasterous because he knows the kinds of assumptions people make about him because of his blindness, and to find out that Sanemi deliberately blinded his brother. Like dude.

Sanemi would never forgive himself. Like I said ignoring your brother is one thing but intentionally maiming your loved one crosses a line that he wouldn't be able to come back from.

So all this would happen because of some stupid, impulsive decision he made due to fear.

And I think he realizes it too. The fact that he left Genya alone after the incident, if he really thought his actions were sane and justified he would keep trying to poke his eyes out but he didn't. he seems ashamed to face him.

Just look at his face, he's like 'wtf??? I can't believe I almost blinded my baby bro!', 'what the fuck Sanemi?', 'what the fuck?, what the fuck?!'

This is the face of someone who can't believe and is ashamed of his actions.

In his next encounter with Tanjiro notice how he doesn't go apeshit and give him another beat down. It's only when he feels that our bestest boy is making fun of him that he lashes out. He's probably glad that Tanjiro saved Genya and is looking out for him but his stupid male pride won't allow him to say that.

Also look at the position of the scratch on Genya's face. He's being hurt a second time by the people he loves. My poor babyyyyy!

Sanemi I love you but that's absolutely unhinged behavior even for you. Like do I need to bring out the spray bottle?

Bad Nemi! *spritz *spritz

This kinda adds to my theory that Sanemi has some kind of anxiety disorder in addition to his depression.

Also shout-out to Zenitsu for taking Genya away no questions asked. He's such an underrated character. 🤗

[wonderjanga]

Marvel’s Lives

As you guys know, there have been previous champions. They’ve all lived different lives and such. Some have been men, some women, and are some genders that don’t exist anymore. Point is, no one life is the same.

Let’s say some female heroes are talking about abortion one day and out of nowhere Cap just chimes in:

Marvel: “Oh yeah, pregnancy is tough, man. Giving birth is not for the weak. I’m speaking from experience here. Anyone who doesn’t want that, shouldn’t do it.”

Female JL members: “What…?”

Black Canary: “Marvel, last I checked, you were a man.”

Marvel: “Actually, a few thousand years ago, I used to be a woman!”

Female JL members: “???”

Marvel: “I’ve been a woman, multiple times actually.”*proceeds to walk away like he didn’t drop that on them*

They’re all thinking he’s trans, but no? His words imply he’s fluid? The thing is though is that Marvel’s never really shown that he’s either. The question was later asked by Hawkwoman when he was making oobleck in the kitchen of the Watchtower

Hawkwoman: “Captain.”

Marvel: “Yes, Ms. Hawkwoman?”

Hawkwoman: “Are you a woman?”

Marvel: *looks up from his oobleck to her, looking confused* “No? Why?”

Hawkwoman: “Some of the other girls were talking about how you were a woman at some point.”

Marvel: “Ooooh that. I was a woman. Yeah.”

Hawkwoman: “So you’re not anymore. What did you look like as a woman, if I may ask? Also what is that?” *points to the oobleck*

Marvel: “Oobleck.” *offers bowl off oobleck to her for her to play with* “Also, sure. Just a sec.” *mutters a spell*

Hawkwoman: *pokes the oobleck*

Marvel: *poofs and is now a female champion from like seven thousand years ago. His suit also changed to the previous champion’s own suit* “Tada!”

Hawkwoman: *does a double take when she sees him* “You… Certainly have a darker complexion.”

Marvel: “Yeah. If I remember correctly, I lived in the Middle Eastern area back then. That’s probably why.”

Hawkwoman: “And why are you white now?”

Marvel: “My appearance changes every few a hundred years or so. That includes my skin color, gender, and other features.”

Hawkwoman: “Oooooh. Okay then.”

They proceeded to play together with the oobleck after that.

Like ten minutes after that initial interaction…

WW: “Shayera. There you are. I was wondering if you wish to spar with me.” *notices Marvel* “Who is this? A new hero?”

Marvel: *turns around, hands covered in oobleck*

Hawkwoman: *also turns around, hands covered in oobleck* “What’d you say? I was distracted.”

WW: “I was wondering if you wanted to spar with m…” *trails off when she sees Shazam’s lighting bolt on fem Marvel* “Brother?”

Marvel: “Hi, Ms. Wonder Woman.” *waves an oobleck covered hand*

WW: “Why’re you a woman?”

Marvel: “Ms. Hawkwoman asked.” *shrugs*

The three then proceeded to play with the oobleck together.

Then, there was the time someone asked Marvel about his religion when they heard he believed in the Greek Gods.

Marvel: *shrugs* “I’ve been multiple different flavors of pagan. Fun fact, a couple thousand years ago, I used to be a ritualistic cannibal. It was apart of the offerings and rituals of a shaman. Or at least the types of shamans of that time in that specific empire.”

JL member: “Do you still eat people now?”

Marvel: “That’s not important, the point is, if there’s a religion, I most likely at some point practiced it. Or at least the super old version of it.”

JL member: “Okay? But do you still eat people now??”

Marvel: “I guess I’m saying I’m kinda in between religions?”

JL member: “Can you please stop ignoring the questioning ?”

He continued to ignore the question.

Of course, the ritual cannibal thing isn’t the only one of the outlandish things Billy’s casually admitted to doing. Eventually though, things can get a little bit too much for some members.

Marvel: *telling them about another thing he did in a past life*

GL: “Okay! That’s enough, dude!”

Marvel: *concerned* “What? Did I say something wrong?”

GL: “No, I’m just confused as to why you’ve done all these things, man. Are these like side quests you under go? Or like…? What’s going on, pal?”

Marvel: “Nothing…? These are just things I’ve happened to do.” *shrugs*

GL: “So you’re willingly telling me you tried to trample someone to death with a horse just for funsies?”

Marvel: “Well, when you put it like that-”

Flash: “Wait, what about the time you told me you were a princess before princesses were a thing?”

Marvel: “I uh-”

Superman: “And the time you told me that you used your lightning powers to become a cult leader?”

Marvel: “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop tell you guys about myself.”

MM: “Captain, it’s not that we don’t want you to tell us about yourself. It’s instead that your stories seem to have no cause for them.”

Flash: “Yeah! Like why did you feel the need to become a cult leader? How were you a princess?? Why would you want to trample someone with a horse???”

Marvel: *shrugs*

Flash: “Wha- Don’t just shrug!”

Marvel: “I was a different person back then.”

Superman: “That’s a little too cryptic, bud.”

[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kost�� pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can���t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

[sturniolohouse]

Closer to you -M.S

A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for all the love on my last story. I had a lot of fun writing it. I don't know how consistent I'll be but here's a little something for now

summary: matt just wants to spend time with you after a long day.

warning: cursing? kinda suggestive comments idk grow up

word count: 1.8k

--

"Your beard tickles," I giggle with Matt lying on top of me, his face buried into my neck.

He playfully sinks his teeth into the crook of my shoulder and I squeal at the shocking gesture. He chuckles lowly at my reaction and I lightly swat his shoulder, trying to roll him off of me.

"You're crushing me. You may weigh less than me but you're heavy," I shove him off and he finally rolls off but takes me with him, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me on top of him.

"I'm going to crush you now," I protest trying to get up but he pulls me down once more.

"I think I can handle it." He wraps his arms around me, having no choice but to lay my head on his chest.

"C'mere, I barely saw you today. Just wanna lay here with you like this a little while longer." He mumbles, kissing the top of my head and running his hands up and down my back.

"Didn't you have fun with your brothers today?" I ask, mainly teasing him as we were only apart for less than a day. I had seen him in the morning before they left for their meeting at the warehouse.

"Those goofs are a pain in my fucking ass." he snarls and I poke him in the ribs.

"Be nice." I tell him and he sighs.

"I'm joking. It was nice. I guess," He corrects himself. His hands sneak their way under my sweatshirt then under my tank top.

"Matt..." I warn him and he squeezes my sides.

"Yes..." He mocks and I can hear the grin on face. 

When I lift my head he's got smirk on his face as his hands lower down past the waistband of my pants. He goes for a handful of my ass before I stop his movements and give him a stern look.

"Matthew, your brothers are home." I scold him softly.

"Don't 'Matthew' me, them being home has never stopped us before." His eyes widen playfully as he calls me out.

"Yeah, when they were asleep. But they are both very much awake right now and could god forbid walk in," I defend getting flustered, heat rising up my neck and pooling into my ears.

“You know there’s this thing called a lock? I have one on my door. Use it quite often.”

“Yeah and risk one of them hearing something?” I shudder and he smirks at my flustered appearance.

"So, what I'm hearing is...later?" He raises his eyebrow and I roll my eyes, pulling away from his grasp. 

"Chris mentioned something about wanting to watch a movie tonight when you guys got in before." I change the subject, readjusting myself and sitting up on his lap instead.

"Fuck that, we're not leaving this room." He grips the tops of my thighs, playing with the string of my sweats.

"I had already told him yes..." I hesitate and fidget with my bracelets, waiting for him to blow up.

I peer up and see him with an arm over his eyes as he regulates his breathing. I stifle my laughter and watch him compose himself.

"Of course you did." He says sarcastically, waving his hand out dramatically.

"He sounded really excited," I reason with him and he rolls his eyes once more.

"You know what's gonna happen right? We're going to go into the living room, argue over which movie to watch for an hour and then Chris is gonna go on his phone the entire time, not paying attention to shit. All while you and Nick whisper and giggle and text each other from across the couch while I sit there watching a fucking movie I didn't want to watch in the first place." He rambles with wide eyes.

"C'mon it's just one movie." I rub his chest and he grabs my hands in his, halting their movement. 

"I don't care. I was with those idiots all day. I drove them all over the city, Chris wanted to thrift but then realized he was hungry, so I had to get him food, but then oh no, Nick wants happy ice first so we had to go to happy ice. And all I wanted to do was get a new pair of jeans, film our video and go home to spend time with you. But now because you feel bad for Chris, we have to sit and watch a shitty movie the kid's not even gonna see." He winds himself up and I tilt my head to the side, giving him that look.

"No, do not give me that look. You're not going to make me feel bad this time, sweetheart." He shakes his head, standing his ground. 

I continue to stare at him and pull my hands out of his grip, rubbing my hands up and down his chest again. 

"I'll...make you cookies," I smile softly, and he stares at me blankly. "Snickerdoodle..." Still nothing.

He extremely stubborn so this will take some bribing.

"Alright, I won't make you listen to Taylor Swift in the car, even though I know you secretly like her music." I say and he laughs this time, shaking his head.

"Kid, stop."

"I'll give you a kiss? A proper one. You can even touch my ass or grab my tits. Both even." I try to think of more things and he continues not to budge, though I can see his eyes shimmer with temptation.

"Wow, not even an ass grab will win you over?" I say with deep concern and he chuckles again giving me a little shrug.

"Okay, okay. Fine. I'm just gonna go out there and watch the movie and you can stay in here by yourself since you're too cool." I get off of him and his jaw drops. He sits up on his elbows.

"Hey, woah. You'd seriously leave me to go hang out with them?" His voice cracks as he looks at me in disbelief.

"Yup!"

"This is fucking ridiculous." I hear him mumble under his breath as I put my slippers on and open the door.

"Have fun sulking," I close the door behind me.

I walk out to Nick and Chris serving themselves mac and cheese in the kitchen. I greet them before grabbing some goldfish from the pantry and a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Where's Matt?" Chris asks shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth. Realizing it was too hot, he fans his mouth and blows out air to cool it down.

"He's in the room. What movie are we watching?" I keep it at that, walking over to the living room and taking a seat in the right corner nook of the couch.

"He's such a loser," Nick comments before sitting beside me and grabbing the TV remote.

"Nick, give me the fucking remote." Chris motions him while taking his own seat at the end of the couch.

"No, idiot, eat your food."

I was able to convince them to watch one of my favorite movies, 50 First Dates. Nick was on board right away but I had to win Chris over.

"Bro, no way. I'm not watching a chick-flick." He goes to grab the remote from Nicks hand.

"Chris shut up, you're not even going to watch it," Nick calls him out, putting the remote out of his reach.

"Yes I am," He argues back.

"Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider are in it." I speak up and he sits back.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes into the movie I hear Matt’s door open and then his footsteps down the hall. I turn my attention away from the movie to see him walking over with his black hoodie pulled over his head.

I knew he’d break eventually.

"Look who decided to join-" Chris starts.

"Shut the fuck up."

When he reaches the couch, he leans down pulling my legs up and over his lap as he takes a seat directly next to me. He wraps his arms around my middle, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck.

Although rare, Matt has no problem cuddling or hugging me in front of others. It's usually kissing or gross sweet talk we avoid displaying. We just prefer to keep that private for everyone's peace, including our own.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders pulling him into me, scratching the nape of neck lightly with my fingernails and playing with his overgrown hair.

"Oh I’m gonna puke..." Chris comments from beside us and Matt flips him off without a word.

"Watch the goddamn movie and leave them alone." Nick snaps at him.

Matt melts into me as I continue to scratch his scalp and he draws patterns on my hip with the hand he snuck under my hoodie.

Not even halfway into the movie I look over at Chris and see he’s on his phone. I nudge Matt slightly to bring his attention to it and he shakes his head.

“What did I fucking tell you,” he says lowly and I giggle.

“Chris, you like the movie?” I call out and he snaps his head in my direction.

“What? Oh yeah, it’s great.” He puts his phone down beside him.

He gives me a tight lip smile before looking over at Nick and I could already see the idea pop into his head before he tackles him in a hug.

“Get the fuck off of me. What is wrong with you?” Nick shoves him off, his eyes wide.

“I just love you,” Chris shrugs, going to tickle Nick’s side but he catches his wrist, twisting it slightly causing Chris to cry out in pain.

“You’re an idiot. Let's keep our hands to ourselves,"

“I’m getting ice cream, do you want?” Matt whispers to me and I immediately nod. He kisses my jaw and pats my legs so I lift them off his lap.

He quietly goes into the kitchen and discreetly takes out the pints of ice cream and serving them into bowls for us.

He pads back over, tapping the bowl on my shoulder to get my attention before I grab it.

This catches both Nick and Chris’ attention.

“There’s ice cream?”

“Not for you.”

—

Everyone had gone to their rooms after the movie and Matt couldn’t get us back to his room fast enough.

"It wasn't that bad." I say pulling the comforter back and sliding in next to Matt who’s already shirtless and under the covers.

"Yeah, yeah." He puts an arm under his head and extends his arm for me, wanting me close.

"You're such a grump." I roll my eyes. turning towards him and moving to lay my head on his chest.

"I just want to be able to spend quality time with my girlfriend without our plans being infiltrated by my brothers." He wraps his arm around me, lightly stroking my shoulder with his fingertips.

"Is that such a crime?" He presses softly and I shake my head.

"I suppose not." I sigh, "We could...go away?" I suggest after a beat of silence and he hums.

"I like the sound of that, keep talking..."

"You and me, the cape, being in nature, alone in a cabin for a week, no interruptions..." I trail off, tracing patterns on his stomach.

"Sweetheart, you had me at the fucking cape."

[bahrtofane]

husband Jude headcannons

jude just really really enjoys married life

Word count - 2.3K+

Watch it - i got carried away sorry guys, proposal lore?? insanely sappy, even by my standards

—--

He's not a fan of you being known as his, rather he's your husband. Always correcting people during interviews and giving you the spotlight. Even when you shy away, not knowing where to look or what to say. He's always there, a gentle hand on your knee rubbing circles as he nods for you to continue. 

Every red carpet he wants to match, doesn’t care how big or small the event is. Gotta be a way you two look look a pair 

His fav is when you wear exactly the same thing so there’s no way to confuse anything for what it really is hehe 

Bouncing around while you get ready together, helping you get your shoes on while he tries his best to stand still while you fix his tie 

“Look okay?” he asks, head tilted 

You rub his arm, “you look great.” 

And he smiles wide, giving you pecks all over while you giggle, trying to shoo him away from you and closer to the door. your ride is waiting, but he doesn’t care. pouting for just one more kiss. please ? 

All his socials turn into your personal fan page, a big fat married in every bio, ring and all 

He has more posts about you then his actual job 

His teammates poke fun at it, “when are you gonna post us huh?”

He just rolls his eyes,”when I marry you i’ll think about it”

And that’s that

You're the first he runs to post a match, greeting you with the silly hand shake you perfected years ago. You think you could do it in your sleep at this rate. You came up with it ages ago when you kissed him after practice, playing with his fingers till he came up with the idea, and you with the actual hand shake. 

You're his biggest supporter, and him likewise. In every and anything you do, give him pompoms and he'd be your personal cheerleader at this point.

He just likes to have you at games. Waving obnoxiously while you tell him to pose. And he does, every time, sending hearts your way. He dedicates his goals your way. The kisses he would send the crowd in his youth now only go your way where you catch them like a teenager.

You see complications of it everywhere, he thinks it's endearing. He makes you watch them together on the living room tv while you grimace

“My face looks so weird there, oh my god.”

He flicks your arm, “you look great shush. Ha that was during el clasico, ah good times.” 

You roll your eyes but snuggle up against him anyway.

One of your favorite past times btw, nothing he loves better than a lazy morning in with you in his arms while he hits snooze on every alarm.

He tries to cook, with his stupid kiss the chef apron he got just for you. but he will need help, which you gladly give. You end up eating on the couch, covered in pillows watching cheesy shows. You've watched keeping up with the kardashians too many times to count and he still laughs out loud every time.

Jude is soft and sweet when he's not forced into a picture perfect smile and self 24/7. He's a silly guy, always trying to make you laugh. Teasing is his love language by the way.

But he's still sweet, leaving notes around your house for you to find when he has to leave for away games. Hearts and smiley faces littering every inch of the paper. Some frowny faces when he knows he'll miss you extra. 

He likes bringing you to family events and bragging about how cool you are, but everyone already loves you as is, he just likes to brag. Look at how cool the love of my life is everyone, I am sooo lucky you guys look look. 

Jobe has rolled his eyes far too many times, but he's happy to see his brother so happy. Plus you guys threw a fantastic wedding. A win is a win.

When you can't be there he facetimes you every second he possibly can. Blowing kisses when he has to go. 

“Judes been complaining all day I hope you know,” Aurélien pops his head into the screen. 

You snort, “ hello to you too Aurélien.”

He gives you a wave before ruffling the top of Judes hair as he pouts, fixing it just how he likes again, “they just don't get it,” he sighs dramatically.

You laugh, “sure baby, sure.”

You make sure to keep up with the match the best you can, texting him live reactions, even if you know he won't see them till later. He likes them all the same.

Your name on his phone is a simple "mine" with a bunch of heart emojis, the contact pic is one of the two of you together on vacation, smiling with your faces squished together while laying in the sand

It makes him smile every time. he thinks you’re the cutest

He's a big fan of nicknames, weather its a version of your first name, or just a good ole fashion baby. He rarely uses your actual name. He called you something so insane like pooki bear in public once and you have yet to let him live it down.

"in a restaurant was crazy," you squint at him.

He only giggles, "but it was soo funny baby come on."

Speaking of restaurants, this guy loves a good date night 

Gigdy as he comes down the hall in his pjs, grinning while showing you the new reservations, it’s your fav place ! 

Every anniversary he somehow finds a way to outdo himself, don't ask, because in truth he doesn't even know how he pulls it off, but anything for you. Anything. 

Even if it means hunting down the stuffed animal you had as a kid and couldn't find after you lost it in your couch cushions. He finds it, after months and months of searching, making Jobe help him look, it comes in the mail and he has to get creative to get you out of the house and away from the mail the day it's supposed to come.

It gets neatly wrapped and placed on your shared bed the morning of, surrounded by a collection of other gifts, your favorite flowers, and a cheesy note that you always end up crying at. 

The look on your face makes it all worth it, when you tackle him in a bone crushing hug, tumbling into the covers in a tangle of legs while you laugh in between sniffles, he loves you. Oh how he loves you 

It's been a tradition to end the night with the very place he proposed, his home, now yours. 

He doesnt think he could forget it even if he tried. It was a whirlwind of a day. Picture this: 

He's lost all his black socks, his (and your) favorite body wash just spilled all over the shower, his hair looks awful ( he got a haircut that morning), his cologne isn't where he left it, and the private chef he hired isnt replying. All while you're not even awake yet. 

He calls his mom because what else are you supposed to do when you're set to propose and everything is going wrong. 

She only chuckles softly over the phone, “calm down jude, just breathe. You'll find your things, just take a breather and come back to things with a clear head okay?”

So he does. Sitting on his bed, towel still on, frowning. He chooses to instead pat himself dry, get dressed, and give himself a pep talk in the floor length mirror at the corner of his room. 

Turns out his mom was right, things fix themself for the most part, his socks are stuck at the bottom of the dryer, his hair isn't as bad as he thought, he finds a better cologne in his collection, and a perfect body cream. It's gonna be a good day. 

He finishes the last of the day of prep, getting fancy candles, a lighter, and greeting the decorator. Yes he hired a decorator. 

It's nothing over the top, just little changes to make his home look a little softer, changing out the curtains, placing lace table cloth with details in your favorite color. The main event is his second living room that gets covered in an arch of your favorite flowers, gentle curling to just kiss the top of the new antique chandelier that will be holding the fancy candles too. He hopes you like it. He really really hopes you like it.

He's had this planned for ages, since the moment he first met you he thinks. 

When you greet him with a silly good morning text he only grows oh so fond of you, excited to see you. He told you it was a fancy dinner at his place. A change of pace from the resurates. Both of you prefer a much more intimate night in then cameras shoved into your face while a hundred people all yell a hundred things while you're trying to chew your food. 

So you get ready, dress up and make it for dinner. When you see the familiar face of the chef, Karlos, you give him a wave and get seated. Noticing the new table cloth but you don't say anything. You don't want to be wrong so early into the night. 

Jude comes in, nervous as a school boy as he takes your hand for a quick peek, running around like a maniac back and forth. He looks nice, in a signature all black suit, and smelling amazing per usual. 

Dinner is amazing, full of your favorite courses and Jude is jittery in his seat. 

“You okay?”

He nods, a little too fast, “oh yeah. I am. Don't worry.”

You raise a brow but dont push, thanking Karlos for the amazing meal as he cleans up and heads out for the night. 

Jude gets up, telling you to stay put while he'll be righttt back. Don't worry, remember! 

He comes back, unable to meet your eyes while he gives you his hand. You take it, sliding out of your seat and following him down the hall. There's flower petals on the floor now, you look at him, but he looks anywhere but at you, chewing his cheek.

He leads you to the second living room, where the furniture has been cleared out. Replaced by a walkway of flowers and candles, leading up to where an arch of your favorite flowers hugs the curtain, new ones.

Gently pulled back to reveal the floor to ceiling windows that give way to his yard. And the most gorgeous sunset you have ever seen. A chandelier hangs above you, decorated with more flowers, and the most ornate candles and bulbs you have ever seen.

Your eyes begin to water before he even gets down on one knee, his lip wobbles, holding your hand the whole time as he confesses every little moment and reason for his love.

He loves you, he adores you. You're- youre everything. Truly and fully. You're the sunlight that kisses his skin, the stars he wishes to touch, to know, he yearns for you. Years to know you in your entirety, till he knows nothing else but you. For your name to only fully know his lips, for only he will fully know you. He sees no other, he knows no other. He wants- no needs, to give himself as he is. 

You see him, see him as more than just Jude Belingham. You see what others can not, will not. You see him, you know him. You know him better than he knows himself most days. You've seen all there is to see, all that makes him who he is. You know his stupid sandwich order at the place you hate but keep going to because you know how much he loves it.

You sit in freezing weather for the full game just to make sure you don't miss a second of him. The first to congratulate him, the first to mourn with him, the first to sooth his aches and pains. You're the face he looks for in a crowd, you're the first person he calls when anything happens. 

 And you love him with such ferocity it amazes him. 

You're full crying at this point, fat tears rolling down your cheeks till you can barely see him, and he finally gets down on one knee, fishing out a small velvet box from his inner pocket, opening it with shaky hands.

And he whispers, “will you marry me?”

You fall next to him, sobbing into his shoulder while you repeat yes over and over. He cries with you, till you're both laughing from pure joy. 

Who better to spend the rest of your life with then the man who loves you so?

Telling his family is the best part. You have them over for what was supposed to be a quick lunch, turned dinner, and you break the news at dessert, showing off your ring while they all gasp. 

They pile you into the biggest hug, smiles so wide they hurt and you laugh, you're going to get married! You think they just might be more excited than you are.

Wedding planning comes and goes both so fast and so slow. Youre so excited you can't wait, and yet every step of the way seems like it takes excruciatingly long.

Your wedding planner tries her best, bless her soul, but you want it to be completely and utterly perfect. Down to the types of chairs at the venue.

Jude lets you have your way for the most part, chiming in now and again, he trusts you fully. Knowing you're going to make it the best regardless. 

Leading up to the big day you think you just might pass out from stress and never be seen again, but the almost year of planning pays off, and you're married! 

The honeymoon is spent traveling all over while jude is wide-eyed, unable to believe he's married to you of all people. 

The press catches on soon after, even if your wedding was small and intimate. News comes out one way or another.

Jude only responds with a picture of you two slow dancing among your family and friends, captioned, “all you need to know.” and he pins it to every social media page. 

What a man huh?

[rinnstars]

types of love trope!

type of love tropes of bllk guys <3

featuring: nagi, reo, sae, ness, yuukimiya, rin: short drabbles, fluff & angst, + likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

school romance: nagi seishiro

perhaps it’s equivalent to a string of fate - every year no matter what class, both you and nagi sit right beside each other at the left third row of the class without fail. you think it must be the universe showing signs that you two were soulmates if it wasn’t clear enough - both of you napping behind you textbooks, both of you liking and playing the same games at the same time, both of you chatting in an empty classroom every break time. its love, you think, his eyes dilates the same as you do to him, his face is uncharacterically painted with pink the same yours does when you lean in, and that same butterfly feeling erupts in his stomach the same way yours does. and its the same after school too, a routine unbreakable to the both of you - everyday after school you’d get lunch with him at the nearby school cafe, then you’d spend hours together at a nearby arcade whether it be playing rhythms games with matching gloves or even playing claw machine getting each others favourite sanrio characters matching your phone case, then you’d spend the remaining of your time at his place lazing around until your curfew to run back home with his voice chatting about anything and everything in your ears through your headphones decorated with stickers and parts bought by him. he thinks you might be the only thing waking up for - youre his morning alarm whenever you call him as youre waiting at the bus stop, youre his sunlight that he usually dreads to see but nowadays he runs down the stairs to catch a glimpse of you, youre the fire that inspires and ignites him to try new things or at least try a little more in life. and you think he’s the reason you haven’t ripped your hair out in the school - he’s your coffee to waking you up sweetly in class, poking your face as he stares at you with his big eyes, he’s your pillow that you sleep on and feel comfortable being your real self in a cutthroat academy, he’s your medicine that you kiss whenever you feel too overwhelmed behind the books that hides you from the teachers. and you hope, with all your heart, that he’ll stay forever even after the two of you graduate.

heartbreak: itoshi rin

a cycle of hurt you think - travelling from his older brother that shattered his heart that has led rin to break apart your heart with his bare hands reminiscent of the days where he broke apart pieces of lego in your room as a kid. you think its unfair how you’ve faced heartbreak this young - you’ve heard about it, talked about by relatives, seniors and parents, but never at fourteen. fourteen - you should be out having fun with all your friends playing games from the arcade, chatting about and meeting new people, trying new skills and hobbies and finding your passion. yet youre sitting here all alone eating the lunch you used to with rin, the rice now tasting salty and bitter with tears soaking it, youre here unable to enter any shops because you see rin’s ghost in there where he used to accompany you to every trip you’ve made after school, youre scared to find new people because you know, you just know it’ll be a repeat of you and rin, and youre too drained to even think of trying new things. you want to stay the same, to hope that one day if your rin comes back, he wont feel left out that you know he always feel, you want to be the constant, the earth that he can orbit around anytime as you have promised. but you know, deep down in your wounded heart, that its over. its over, no matter how much you pray to the universe, no matter how hard you sob and cry over rin, no matter how much you lock yourself in the room with his scent barely here anymore - itoshi rin will never come back. and at just fourteen, you learn of grief, you learn of abandonment and you learn of heartbreak because of him.

childhood sweetheart: alexis ness

you think you and him are two peas in one pod - always seen as a little weird for our interests. he’s always been fascinated with spells and magic and you alike, and you hope one day somehow you’ll be able to travel into the magic world inside the countless mangas you’ve read together at the playground. everyone thinks you two are silly, that you guys are just kids, but you were so sure back then that you were gonna be a fairy alongside him with the countless of spells learnt from shows. now you think a little different - maybe growing up meant having to let go of those childish dreams of waking up in a fairy world by closing our door and spraying those scam-like perfume, having to let go those now dusty fairy wands your parents keep in a cardboard box that you remember every spring cleaning season, having to let go of your fantasy to being with him. yet, you can’t bear to throw them away despite your parents insistence in doing so, that it takes too much space in their house. but, that would mean that there will be no longer any physical reminders of ness, your first childhood play buddy. and youre not sure if he ever got to keep those, especially when you see his family’s garage sale selling all his toys including those fairy mangas. you never met ness again, you think the universe is cruel for giving you a mere three years to be with him. yet you know all his quirks, you know how he has the tendency to be clingy, hugging and tugging at you mid roleplay, you know how he has the tendency to cry a little too easily at the slightest slip of his feet, you know how he has the tendency to believe things too naively. and you wonder if his family ever knows him, those tall and grown adults like slender men haunting his house that yells at him. but maybe, you hope, that one day he’ll come back to your house for one

in every lifetime: reo mikage

he’s too used to changing every aspect of himself - being the golden and perfect heir to his fathers empire, being the charming and friendly prince figure in all of his classmates vision, being the best at everything from academics to sports to the arts. there’s no room for him to fail, for him to stop the charades, for him to remove the mask he’s been wearing all his life. but with you, its like his walls are broken down, its like he isn’t just the heir or just the majestic prince - that he’s just reo. you think its silly for him to try so hard, you melt the walls of his heart before you know it to see the real him underneath the chameleon skin that wraps him and restrains his real self. you adore his real smile that is a little crooked, you adore his clumsy skipping that it’s clear he’s never tried, you adore his long talks about his interests in the cafe that is far from his usual taste. and he thinks you’d like him in all the versions of him - whether that be a jester in the court to the princess he’s sure you are, or the bee to you the prettiest flower he’s ever seen, or like barbie and ken he thinks maybe after rewataching the whole series and movies on your bed during the holidays. and you think the same too, that you’ll find him in every lifetime - whether that be a thief in the night accidentally stumbling a rebellious prince, be a cat stumbling into a wolf, be a bee stumbling across the flower that is him too. you think you and him are connected by a red string that stubbornly ties around both of you, leading to you guys to knock against each other each step you take, pulling you guys together from two worlds to collide together, for you guys to love each other despite the uncertainties and thorns that are ahead of your journey. but you know, in every lifetime, you’ll always be reo’s and reo will always be yours.

first love: yuukimiya kenyu

every spring, you get reminded of your first love - reminiscent of flowers that bloomed by the walls on your way to school, reminiscent of the colourful butterfly that landed always on him, reminiscent of the smell of sweet and floral spring that you would wake up to every morning. he was the spring to your winter, always brightening up your day with his bright smile and shining eyes. you think he’s changed you for the better - he’s made you used to waking up early in the morning so you wont ever be late for school missing half the things in your bag, he’s made you much more optimistic seeing everything in colours rather than the colourless world you were used to, he’s made you much more outspoken always encouraging you to speak up in class and every aspect of your life. he was the first epitome of love, sweet and warm embrace of personalisation of love he was. red love that melts right into your skin with each touch that leaves an everlasting print on your body, red love that reflects light that kisses your skin he same way he used to, red love that travels through your body and explodes in your chest, heart pumping full of love for him. he was your first everything - your first kiss, your first sleepover, your first boyfriend. but sometimes you wish he wasn’t just your first love that you wish that he was the love that lasted your whole lifetime - that he didn’t have to leave so soon with a broken heart that can never heal with that same sugary sweet smile that you fell in love with.

the one that got away: itoshi sae

somedays, you look at the polaroids of you and sae and you wonder what could’ve been. you know hes doing well in spain, youve heard about it on social media, from ex-classmates, from your parents. they ask you about him, how he is, how hes doing - but you dont want to admit that youve lost him a long time ago. you smile tightly and nod, laugh along and whatnot, but theres a drowning feeling in your heart that swallows you a little inside in a black hole at each question posed at you. you don’t want to admit that he’s far gone away somewhere else, somewhere else without you, somewhere else better than you - just holed up in your room, studying and studying. you’ve dreamt of staying with him, to receive him from the airport that night and every other times he’s come home, to have him stay in your room just like back then - just him and you lying on your bed with yours and his playlist on the record tape that has long become outdated. you’ve dreamt of just being with him, nothing changing between the two of you - where he still looked in your eyes, where he still visited your house, where he still shopped at that same run-down convenience store you used to go after school before he picked up his little brother. sometimes, you understand rin - both byproducts of sae’s filmsy and broken promises, both never moving on from the one that got away - and perhaps in another life, you hope, you plead, you wish to the universe or even god, that in a parallel universe, that he never left you heartbroken in the rain at the doorsteps of your house, that you selfishly wished he never left for spain in the first place, that he wasn’t the one that got away.

[ethanthealien]

Things That Hurt When You Have Fibromyalgia That Should Not Hurt:

Blood pressure cuffs when doctors take your blood pressure.

A simple poke from someone else, especially on the tender points

Tripping over something - only mildly, not a bad trip. I trip over things and it hurts like a Bitch.

If I accidentally graze my arm or my body against a wall a bit or something, it also hurts like a Bitch. Again, I'm not talking about badly, I'm not being pushed into a wall or something.

Standing. Just for a few seconds. I actually don't know for sure if this is really a part of my fibromyalgia or actually normal for everyone. But it really fucking hurts to stand for even a few seconds.

Walking for even just an hour hurts. And the longer I walk, the worse it hurts.

The simple act of. Cooking. It hurts to hold the pots/pans, especially with one hand. I can't really lift pans/pots because I'm weak, but also it just Hurts. It hurts to mix things in the pots/pans.

(Others can feel free to add on).

Common Descriptions Of Pain When You Have Fibromyalgia:

Feeling like your whole body is bruised, or some parts of your body.

"Feels like I was in a car crash"

Stiffness, throbbing, aching, soreness, tenderness, fatigue. Your body feels exhausted, and not even necessarily that YOU feel tired, but your body feels tired.

"Feels like being stabbed with a knife"

"Like someone has taken a hammer and hammered all over my body"

"Like I'm hungover"

"Like I ran a marathon"

"Like perpetually having the flu", "Like you have a fever constantly"

“It feels like I’ve been carrying two huge buckets of water that I can’t put down.”

"Like I did a full body workout"

(Amongst many other descriptions)

Common Habits I've Developed Throughout My Life As A Result Of Having Fibromyalgia:

Constantly leaning against walls and frequently switching which foot I'm leaning on more.

Asking people if they wanted to sit down, or if they wanted a chair to sit down somewhere, because I thought they were in pain too. Them declining and me thinking "but doesn't it hurt to stand?? You've been standing for like 15 minutes, aren't you in pain??" They are not.

Constantly sitting down, and/or wanting to sit down, wishing I had a place to sit down.

Not really a habit, but I always end up freaking out a bit when I worry that I've hurt someone. I realized that I would constantly apologize to my girlfriend because I thought I hurt her accidentally (very mild things I mean, I'm not saying I fucking punch him or some shit lmfao), only for her to be confused and say that it didn't hurt. It takes conscious effort to remember that what hurts me does not hurt most other people without fibromyalgia or a different chronic pain condition.

I've had fibromyalgia for pretty much my entire life.

I believed that these things were normal for everyone.

I would look at people and watch how they'd do things like simply lifting up a box or the ways people talk about walking for hours just for fun and just not understand why they were doing it because that hurts?

Growing up, when my brother would ""lightly"" punch me, or my dad would poke me, etc., it always hurt really bad, and my brother shamed me (my brother was severely abusive in many ways, yes) and would go "oh my God, please, you're being dramatic, I didn't even punch you/poke you hard at all." I truly don't think he WAS punching me that hard, I just had fibromyalgia so it hurt like twenty times worse (I'm not excusing his behavior, by the way, I'm just explaining that things that would hurt somebody with fibromyalgia wouldn't hurt most other people without it).

I grew up constantly wishing that I could float so that I didn't have to walk or stand.

I was always aware that I had certain spots around my body that felt much more painful than other parts of my body, such as the sides of my arms, my hips, etc. I also just figured this was how it is for everyone.

If you relate to anything this post, I definitely suggest seeing a rheumatologist or a neurologist (I was diagnosed by a rheumatologist) and finding out the cause of your pain.

None of these things are "normal."

[ghostfacd]

I’M A JEALOUS, JEALOUS, JEALOUS, BOY. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. after gaining massive popularity, you star another show where you have to kiss your co star, which tom isn’t exactly happy about

AUTHOR NOTE. Two posts in one day? Who am I??anyway! This was self indulging because I love Steven Conklin and nobody writes for him ��� As always, reblogs and comments make me more motivated to continue this series :)

installment of this au | the reader plays fictional character “ella fisher” in tsitp!

Tom wasn’t a jealous guy, at least, he didn’t think so. He was very secure in your relationship, always making sure he didn’t let his emotions get the best of him.

Like when you told him you had gotten the role of Conrad and Jeremiah Fisher’s sister in The Summer I Turned Pretty, and how you were Steven Conklin’s love interest, he congratulated you with a big hug.

He knew who was playing Steven—Sean Kaufman. There was no doubt that Steven was a very charming guy.

“You’re here!” You say giddily, engulfing your boyfriend in a hug when he approached you. “Daisy was just patching up the last of my concealer. Did you get any food?”

Daisy was your makeup artist—and one of the sweetest girls you’ve ever met in your life. She knew the cast pretty well, so when you first got here, she helped break the ice between you and them.

“You know I did,” Tom says, placing the paper bag down on your table. He opened it up, retrieving an iced matcha latte and a poke bowl. You squealed in delight, excited to eat after filming for so long.

“So how was your day?” You say, cheekily grinning at him as you ate your bowl.

“Tiring? I did a photo shoot, it was fun. Then I went home and took a nap, and then I drove to buy you food.”

“Well thank you babe,” you say. “Today was such an exhausting day, so much retakes cause of all the sand. But God do I love this show to death. It’s so much all at once but in a good way, you know?”

“Well I’m just excited to see my girl on the big screen,” Tom smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“YN! Time to film again!” The voice of your director calls out, making you shove your bowl into Tom’s hands and rushing over to the cameramen.

Tom carefully places your bowl down, walking over quietly behind the cameras to watch your scene up close.

He watches as you talk to Lola, who plays Belly, about your plans after high school, and how you wanted to apply for Princeton just like Steven. She rolls her eyes, saying how she doesn’t get how you and Steven get along so well.

Later in the scene, you and Sean sit close together in front of a campfire. Tom remembers vividly of you telling him there was a scene between your character and Steven where the two of you would get extremely close. Tom feels his breath hitch when he sees Sean make you laugh. He knows that it’s just acting—that your character and Sean’s character are love interests in the show, and that it means nothing in real life.

But he just feels so weird. His stomach is in knots, and it feels like his mouth is dry.

“You know,” Sean begins, leaning in close to your face. “I know Belly doesn’t want me liking any of her friends, and your brothers would totally kill me if they knew; but you’re making it so hard.”

“Really Steven?” You fake giggle, leaning closer to his touch. “Well they don’t have to know.”

Sean laughs at your comment, his head falling against your shoulder, something that Tom had always done with you.

And then he sees the director cue the cameramen to zoom in, and then there it is. — You and Sean kiss, and Tom feels his feet move away from the scene without even realizing.

“And… cut!” The director says, clapping. “Good job Sean and Y/N! You really captured the tension between Steven and Ella. That’s a wrap!”

You hug Sean afterwards, the two of you laughing about how stupid the kiss must’ve looked but you knew the viewers would eat it up once the episodes aired.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” Gavin asks, suddenly showing up behind you and Sean.

“Gavin!” You say, putting your hand to your chest. “Way to scare a girl to death!”

Gavin laughs, poking at your sides teasingly. “Just kidding, I know where he is. Stormed off where Lola and Christopher are standing.”

“Storm off?” You say, confused.

“Seems like lover boy wasn’t too keen on you kissing our Sean over here.”

You quickly make your way towards where Lola and Christopher were standing, and just like Gavin had said, Tom was standing behind them. He didn’t look too happy.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, pulling the boy away for some privacy.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh c’mon,” you scoff. “It can’t be nothing. Gavin said you stormed off earlier.”

Tom sighs, clearly wanting to drop the topic. But one look into your genuine concerned eyes makes him crack.

“I was jealous.” He admits, biting his lip back in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

You bite back a smile, arms linking with his. “Awe babe, it’s okay. Just acting. Just like how you kissed Rachel in the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighs, bringing your body close to his. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have felt that way.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smiling brightly. “Feeling jealous is bound to happen with our job, as long as we communicate about it, everything will be fine.” You hug his side, snuggling your face into his coat. “Plus, you know Sean has a girlfriend, right?”

“What?” Tom seems baffled, but he quickly covers it up. “No, yeah, I knew that.”

“Uh huh,” you tease, “don’t worry Tom, I love you the most.”

He leans down, making eye contact with you. “Well I sure hope so, because I love you the most as well.”

And everything was perfect until Gavin lets out a fake barf, telling the two of you to “get a room”.

“Oh get out of here Gav!” You say, shooing him away.

“Yeah Gavin, let the couple have their moment!”

That makes everyone laugh, and you swore you never felt happier than you did right now.

[xinganhao]

🎱 svt gets jealous ft. producer!reader.

anon → "I always had this idea in my head: seventeen when a fellow female idol under their company is a producer too and is helping to produce their new album, and they start falling for them but get jealous seeing another member and her interacting closely, laughing together etc."

⌗ ┆hyung line ( + a special jihoon chapter! ) ★ ₊ ˚ maknae line.

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: idol/producer!reader, jealousy, svt confesses to reader, svt asks reader out, friends to lovers (implied), [light] angst, fluff -ish, headcanons under the cut. still open to requests!

🎱 headcanons .ᐟ

of course seungcheol is the jealous type. 95z tease him about how visibly pouty he gets when your attention is elsewhere. as petulant as he is, seungcheol has an image to maintain— and, besides, he's always been a bit of a go-getter. he's straightforward enough about his intentions without outwardly exposing his envy. he bides his time, because he's unlikely to initiate anything while you're still producing with the group. but once that passes? you can anticipate a proper invitation to go out on a date.

jeonghan deals with his jealousy by teasing you with the other members, almost even pushing you in their direction. in some way, he's testing you, gauging your reaction. the other half of him really just wants to get a rise out of you. he'll let you know about how he feels in the most casual and cool way, too, like he's just telling you about the weather. afterwards, it's a lot more light teasing— this time, in the form of him poking fun at his own feelings. "yah, you're so lucky to have caught my eye," he'll joke. "what is it with you that has all of us falling over our feet, hm?"

try as he might, joshua can't be chill about the fact that he's feeling something akin to jealousy. he'd be the type to try and evade it, but not in an obvious way. maybe he keeps his distance. maybe he gets a little quiet around you. he's not the pouty type, not the one who will throw a fit; instead, he relegates himself to the sidelines. he'd tell you of his feelings a little later down the line, and only so he can completely get over it.

junhui pins the blame on you. he'll kid around about you cozying up to the other boys in a bid to hide how upset he is that it's not him you're cozying up to. still, there's a smug air to him whenever he confirms that you don't think of them that way. he can be confusing— is he flirting with you? is he just being friendly?— until he finally asks you out. "don't act like you didn't know i liked you," he'll huff, completely oblivious to his mixed signals.

on the flipside of the coin, soonyoung is the complete opposite. he wears his heart on his sleeve, after all. why should this be an exception? he'll whine about not having your attention. he'll fawn over your work until the others are begging him to tone it down. and he'll make it very, very clear that while you're not his (yet), he does not appreciate the other members interacting so closely with you. when it comes to soonyoung, it's really just a matter of when you'll give in to his painfully obvious advances.

this whole situation— falling for someone he's not supposed to, getting jealous of his own members— activates wonwoo's fight or flight response like crazy. it's one thing to accept the fact that, okay, maybe he has a crush on you. but when he has to deal with the fact that he's feeling negatively towards the boys who are as good as his brothers? yeah, wonwoo doesn't like that. in short: he chooses flight. he might freeze you out, might suddenly go from friendly to just cordial enough that it's not mean. the moment he realizes what's happening, wonwoo doesn't hesitate to put his walls up. + a wonwoo drabble!

🎱 the jihoon 'chapter' .ᐟ

author's note: anon, u had no way of knowing this, but i have a brewing jihoon story with a very similar plot as ur request— i absolutely could not resist a quick special (featuring my half-baked thoughts/wip which will hopefully come to life some day lol)

jihoon isn't entirely sure what to make of having a new producer on board, even if it is a temporary arrangement. perhaps it had been his pride. a part of him was happy having BUMZU and PRISMFILTER around, but anything beyond that felt like a challenge. and to have to do this with a fellow idol-producer? it definitely felt like a test of some sorts.

jihoon's hesitance morphs from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. he likes your work and your ethic. he sees why you produce for your group; can recognize some of that scrappy, hungry qualities you bring to the studio.

because you run such parallel lines as idols, jihoon ends up exposing to you a habit of his that he tends to only ever show off to his co-producers. he video calls. often.

never mind if it's something that can be resolved over text or audio message. jihoon will video call instead of text because he usually talks in streams of consciousness, because he needs to see your real-time reaction to a lyric or a tune. that's just the type of person that he is, and you quickly get used to it in the months you work together.

honestly, the thoughts of jealousy are secondary to jihoon. if anything, what he's forced to reckon with is a much more foreign feeling. the flutter of his chest when you walk in to his studio. the stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over his DAW. the hitch of his breath when your head falls, ever so slightly, on to his shoulder, the longer the evening drags on.

jihoon is a man in his late twenties. as he tries to stay absolutely still to keep you from waking, there's only one thing on his mind: wasn't he too old to have a crush?

(when your shared project ends, jihoon goes back and forth before deciding— fuck it. he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.)

(and so he 'confesses' in the most jihoon way he knows: with a song.)