#maybe i should write something about them

[kashverse]

Nanami and yuuji? Or maybe jst Nanami..You can choose the prompt! I jst wanna see more of them

i live to write for papamin and yuuji <3 thanks for requesting

there were many things people didn’t know about nanami. for instance, his impressive ability to make five different kinds of soufflés, his uncanny knack for always finding the best parking spots, and, of course, his surprisingly adept skill with a guitar. whenever he strummed those strings, the rich, mellow notes would fill the room like warm honey, each chord carefully played, each song a testament to years of practice. and, of course, yuuji noticed.

"papa," yuuji announced one day, struggling to drag nanami’s acoustic guitar across the floor, the instrument’s body screeching horribly against the tiles. “i wanna be a moosician like you!” nanami, cringing at the sacrilegious sound of his beloved guitar being manhandled, managed a tight smile. "that’s great, yuuji. but maybe we should start with something… smaller."

and so, enter the ukulele. a tiny, four-stringed instrument that seemed perfectly sized for yuuji’s chubby little hands. yuuji took to it immediately, strumming with all the enthusiasm of a rockstar playing a sold-out concert at madison square garden. "TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAaaaRRRRR!" he belted out in a voice that could only be described as beautifully tone-deaf. "HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU AaaaREEEE!"

you tried to hide your smile behind your hand as yuuji’s fingers fumbled clumsily over the strings, creating a unique version of the song that could only be described as experimental jazz. nanami, sipping his coffee with the resignation of a man who knew he’d never experience silence again, watched as his son poured his entire soul into the performance.

"up above the world so high! like a diamond… in the… pie?" yuuji paused, face scrunching in confusion. "no… in the sky!"

nanami chuckled softly. "almost, yuuji."

but the grand finale was yet to come. as yuuji reached the dramatic end, he went for a flourish, fingers flying wildly over the strings—and the ukulele pick slipped from his fingers, disappearing into the sound hole with a soft thunk.

there was a moment of silence. yuuji blinked down at the instrument, poking a chubby finger inside. 

"papa… it ate my pick."

you snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, while nanami set down his coffee, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"papa, is it hungry? do i need to feed it more picks?"

nanami shook his head. "no, yuuji. we just have to get it out."

"okay!" yuuji turned the ukulele upside down, shaking it violently, tiny brows furrowed in concentration. "give it back, you bad ukey-lely!"

you finally let out a giggle, watching as nanami tried to calm yuuji down, showing him how to gently retrieve the pick instead of waterboarding the poor instrument. and later, when the ukulele was pick-free and yuuji was tucked in for the night, you glanced over at nanami, who was softly strumming his guitar in the dim light of the living room.

"i think he gets his musical talent from you," you murmured. nanami chuckled, plucking a gentle melody. “he certainly gets the enthusiasm.” 

you leaned into his side, a soft smile playing on your lips. "and the dramatics."

he hummed, fingers dancing over the strings. "we’ll work on the lyrics next."

from his room, yuuji’s voice called out, "papa, can i sing twinkle twinkle again tomorrow?"

nanami sighed, setting his guitar down. "of course, yuuji. every night if you want."

"yay!"

and though it meant endless nights of off-key lullabies and missing ukulele picks, nanami couldn’t help but think that, these were the moments he’d remember forever.

plus, he figured he could write a pretty great song about it one day.

[honourablejester]

So it's not that authors consciously believe that crusades were good - they just took all the 18th-19th century glorifying poetry and applied it to a fictional world, or maybe just took the mythology of a just war of absolute good versus absolute evil. Or maybe they want to play a wilderness campaign with added chivalric theme and that's the first framing they thought about.

It doesn't matter. What matters is that sometimes we get works that glorify fictional crusaders, through this glorify real crusaders and then help fash to mask their intentions. It's also not like a crime in itself - nobody is going to jail for accidentally writing a work about noble knights waging a war against some absolute evil in a way that resembles crusades. But it has to be avoided and dealt with when created.

But what does that mean? ‘It has to be avoided and dealt with when created’. Do you genuinely mean just not portray crusades, holy wars, good vs evil, at all? Because otherwise what do you mean ‘avoid and deal with’ it?

Because people will use literally anything to forward their cause, no matter the intent of its authors or the internal resemblance to said cause. There are rabid nationalists who use Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA’ as a rallying cry despite the fact that any clear-headed listen to the song would show that it’s very much not that. So is the answer here that no one play that song again? That he shouldn’t have written it in the first place?

I don’t think that censorship, or self-censorship in anticipation of potential reactions, is the answer to defeating propaganda. I don’t think that we can or should just make whole areas of history or means of expression taboo to try and avoid them being co-opted. Because all that means is that no one ever learns about or questions those areas of history. Or questions themselves about those areas of history.

The crusades were a massively complicated, centuries long period of history involving several cultures, religions, and a whole host of varied motivations among every side involved, with the end result of centuries of warfare. There were ‘good’ and ‘evil’ people on all sides. There was false piety and genuine belief, there was rampant opportunism, there was raw imperialistic greed disguised as moral piety. Different crusades had different causes and different results, were enacted by different players. It was complicated, and fascinating, and educational, and it deserves to be examined, from any number of angles.

A piece of work going ‘if the thing they said they believed was happening, that a force of evil was attacking something precious, was what was happening, would it have justified what they did?’ and then taking the time to play that out and entertain nuance and come to various conclusions, that work is more valuable to me than …

I mean, what’s the alternative? No work at all? Nobody ever questioning the fascist portrayal of events?

The burden is on the audience to examine what the work says, what the work thinks it says, what other people are saying about the work, and, on the balance of evidence, who the audience then thinks is right, if anyone is, and to what extent. You don’t defeat propaganda by telling people not to look at things. You defeat propaganda by telling people to think about everything they look at. The fascists can ‘claim’ whatever the fuck they want. That doesn’t mean it actually belongs to them.

Yes, certain topics are going to attract more nazis. And yes, that means people who want to explore those topics for other reasons need to be on the look out for said nazis. But it doesn’t mean that that topic should never be mentioned again. Because that lets them claim it. Lets their stories be the only stories about it.

Generalisations do not help. Taboos do not help. Censorship does not help.

Let people write whatever the fuck they want. In whatever cause they want. And then just question all of it. And teach other people to question all of it.

kind of concerning how married the fantasy genre is to "crusades as a basically good thing"

[forever-rogue]

hii i love the way u write for Joel and was just wondering if i could request something.

so i always see people write joel coming home later then usual after patrol and reader is very worried but i haven’t seen much of it the other way around, like reader is on patrol without joel and joel is all worried and can’t sleep and is just waiting for reader to come home and maybe reader comes back with a few cuts and bruises but nothing to serious but joel is just taking extreme care of her 🥹

AN | Oh, but I love this concept! Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | None

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Pacing ain’t going to get you anywhere,” Ellie stood at the foot of the stairs with her arms over her chest as she looked at Joel, “you of all people should know that better than anyone. ‘Sides what are you even worrying about?”

“Ellie,” he sighed her name in that familiar tone that never failed to amuse her. He’d been at the front door, poking his head out and looking around the yard and surrounding area, “why are you still up?”

“It’s only ten o’clock, old man,” she made a show of looking at her watch, one he had gifted her a few years back, “and I’m not ancient. And…I knew you were worried and I can’t sleep if I know you’re worried.”

“I’m not…” he stepped back inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He leaned against the door and looked at the girl with a small smile, “ain’t no use lying to you, is there?”

“Never has been,” she walked over to the couch and flopped on it, leaving ample space for Joel, “and there never will be. I can see right through you. You’re not as brooding and mysterious as people like to think.”

“Well then you should probably know exactly what’s on my mind,” he sat down with a groan next to her, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. The two of them exchanged a quick look, “I can’t not worry about either of you. You’re….you’re my girls and it’s my job to worry. She was supposed to be home this afternoon. She’s late.”

“Don’t you think we worry about you as well?” she nudged his leg and he huffed with a roll of his eyes, “we do. You know that. It’s okay to worry…even if there’s no use. They’re probably just running a little bit behind. You know how these things go. It doesn’t inherently mean that anything bad happened.”

“There is always use,” Joel insisted, “even if you don’t want to think there is anything to worry about, there’s always something. You can’t just trust anything outside of our walls.”

“Yeah…well, nothing’s ever happened to your sweetheart so I think it’ll be okay,” she insisted softly. Ellie barely managed to stifle a yawn as Joel raised an eyebrow at her before looking pointedly towards the upstairs. She rolled her head back and groaned, “fine. Fine. Maybe I’m tired. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You’re not gonna stay up all night looking out the door every five minutes?”

“I’ll be alright,” he promised. He knew that, logically, everything would be alright but it still didn’t help to quell the lingering worry that was hanging on at the back of his mind, “I’m about to go to bed too. You’re right; ain’t no use with worrying about something I can’t change.”

Joel had had the intention of going up to bed after Ellie, but he'd remained on the couch for a few minutes longer. Soon enough he had changed positions and was fast asleep, snoring away softly, despite his intentions of actually getting up and going to bed.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you walked into the house, the sun was starting to rise; you’d planned on being home the afternoon before but you know, life always seemed to have a different plan. You hadn’t planned on getting injured either but here you were; your shoulder was grazed but patched up the rest of your scratches weren’t anything of note. Well - to the average person they wouldn’t be anything to take a double look at but your partner was far from the average person. You were pretty sure he’d have a heart attack, or something close to it when he saw you. 

You opened the door as quietly as possible, slinking into the front room and shutting and locking the door. You’d been sure that Joel and Ellie would be fast asleep but instead you found Joel sprawled on the couch, snoring softly. 

“Oh honey,” you whispered sweetly, careful not to make too much noise to rouse either Joel or Ellie.

A smile graced your face as you dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, trying to be as quiet as possible. You grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and gently draped it over Joel’s frame. He mumbled something softly but didn’t stir otherwise. You tenderly pushed some of his stray curls out of his face, and brushed your thumb over his cheek. Your original plan had been to take a quick shower and slip into bed and maybe, kinda, sorta pretend you’d been there for some time, but as soon as you’d seen him on the couch you knew that wasn’t going to be an option. 

Instead of any of your original plans, you yanked your sweater off and tossed it the pile by the door before gently pulling the blanket off Joel’s frame and sliding in next to him. You had just enough room to make it in, and as soon as he felt your body next to his, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his frame. You made a small sound of content as you settled into him, quickly feeling yourself lulled to sleep. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel hadn’t heard you come home - not entirely anyway. He had been half awake when he’d heard the door open and then felt someone drape the blanket over him. He was pretty sure that he was having some sort of dream so he hadn’t questioned it or bothered to try and fully wake up. 

When he did finally wake up, he was confused by the warm body next to him. Panic was his first instinct but then he quickly realized that it was you. He let out a small sigh of relief at the fact that you were finally home. He put two and two together and realized that what he thought was a dream was actually just you coming home. You hadn’t woken up yet so he gently maneuvered himself out from behind you and made sure you were comfortable before going to gather up your things to put them away. 

But before he managed to walk away he touched your face and almost froze. 

“What happened?” he asked sharply, as he looked over the bruising on the side of your face that led down to your shoulder. He exhaled sharply when he spied the bandage that was covering most of your shoulder. He hadn’t meant to ask so loudly, but it caused you to startle awake.

You blinked away the bleariness that was remaining in your eyes and found Joel looking at you with a worried expression on his face. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth when you realized it was him, “hey Joel.”

“Baby,” he sighed softly, crouching down in front of you, “thank god you’re home.”

“Happy to be home,” you whispered, yawning lightly, “sorry it took so long.”

“What happened? Do you have any other injuries?” Joel was ready to rip the blanket off and look you over for himself to make sure there wasn’t anything hiding from him. If anything happened to you, he wasn’t sure he’d survive. He’d been through too much in his life and he wasn’t sure if he’d survive another such heartbreak. He knew, he was well aware, that he was spiraling and was trying to control himself but it was hard. But logically, judging from how you were still quietly laying on the couch, he knew that you were more than likely okay and if you had anything more it would be superficial. 

“Just scratches and stuff,” you mumbled as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and shifted to sit up. You slowly stretched, careful not to aggravate any of your injuries further and fully aware of Joel’s eyes being locked onto you, “nothing I can’t handle. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Miller.”

“I hope I never get rid of you,” he mumbled as he took your face gently in his hands, appraising you with gentle eyes, “I’m gonna need to keep staying tough, baby.”

“I don’t plan on changing,” your words came out as more of a whisper than anything as you looked at him with sweet eyes and a saccharine smile, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he promised in return, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh, “I just worry.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” you put your hand on top of his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, “but what does worrying get you? Nothing except a few more wrinkles and worry lines. It doesn’t change what’s happened or what will happen. I know it’s easier to say than do but promise me you’ll try?”

“I’ll try,” he agreed and you gave him a knowing little smile, “I didn’t say I was going to be perfect. But for you I’ll try anything. You gonna tell me how you got that injury then, darlin’?”

“Joel…it’s fine,” you swallowed thickly, absentmindedly running your hand over the bandaging, “just know it’s all going to be alright.”

“Now what makes you think I would accept that as an answer, huh?” he said back down in front of and offered you an expectant look. You knew that he wouldn’t just accept that answer and you’d been a fool to even try that one on him. Silly girl. The only way Joel Miller would accept such an answer was when he was long cold in the ground and even then it wasn’t a guarantee, “you’re smarter than that.”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” your voice was small and gentle as Joel nodded. 

“I’d never be mad at you, baby. I just want to know…please.”

You let out a small sigh as you nodded, “well, it turns out that I was a little slow and umm, well, t-there was a clicker and the fucker was a just a little faster than me. A-and it got me so yeah….”

Joel’s mouth dropped as he processed what you said, “I-”

“W-wait, I didn’t - I wasn’t bitten,” you hastily pulled off the bandage to show him as though he needed some kind of proof. You’d never put anyone else in danger and neither would Joel, “just scratched and scraped. See - I-I’m fine.”

“Baby - baby,” he put his hands on your upper arms, doing his best to calm you down, “I’m not worried about you being bitten. I know you wouldn’t…no. But this is….it’s still not great. It looks-”

“Terrible,” you finished for him, fully aware that you would be bearing a nasty scar for some time, “I didn’t want you to panic.”

“I just want to know that you’re okay. I don’t want this to get infected - don’t laugh at that - and lead to something worse,” you hadn’t meant to laugh at his inadvertent comment but you also were tired and felt half delirious from everything that had happened, “but it looks well looked after. You’re just going to have to be careful for a while, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed softly, “you’re not going to let me go on patrol for a while, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he agreed, causing your heart to melt at his sweet tone, “I’ll pull double duty if I have to, but you ain’t going out there. Not right now - I think everyone can understand that. And if you even try, darlin’, you won’t even make it to the stables.”

“I wouldn’t dare to try,” you were absolutely a strong independent woman…but you couldn’t deny the fact that when Joel grew so protective and in charge it did something to you, “can I ask for a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can we go to bed?” you asked softly, “I just wanna go to sleep and want you to hold me.”

“We can do that,” he slowly rose to his feet and stretched before helping you off the couch, “that sounds great to me. You’re trouble, but I love you.”

“I’m just your kind of trouble,” you offered as he huffed through a laugh, “I love you too, Miller.”

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the cozy café, the kind of place that hummed with quiet conversations and the occasional clatter of ceramic cups. Lizzie sat in the corner, tucked into her usual spot by the window,  her mind was elsewhere.

The Laptop was open, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the words…the words refused to come. 

Instead, she sipped at her now lukewarm tea, absentmindedly, running her fingers through Mara’s soft fur. Mara’s chocolate coloured head was resting on Lizzie’s knee, watching her, her tail rhythmically thumping against the floor. 

They often came here..nearly every day, to be exact. 

Elizabeth Treshton’s life was built around her routine after all. 

She knew the exact number of steps from her apartment to the cozy coffee shop on the corner. She knew the best seat—by the window, tucked away, where Mara could curl up at her feet while she wrote. And she knew the barista always had her order memorized: earl grey tea with a dash of milk, one sugar, and a small bowl of water for Mara.

They knew them both. They knew not to bother Mara while working, even when it looked like the dog wasn’t working. She was. 

Mara told Lizzie when her body once again decided that having seizures was something it should do and then stayed with her through the whole…shitty ordeal that were said epileptic seizures. 

Still, they thrived on their usual routine. And they hadn’t been able to have that for weeks, because Lizzie had been busy with all the publicity surrounding An Autumn of Flames and Stone and the fact that her little book had reached No. 1 of the New York Times Bestselling list. 

Which meant…that she now got to write the last book in the Seasons of Fate Series…Something that she never thought she would get to do. 

This had been her dream since she was a child…and now…now she finally got to do this. This was her job! Her dream job!

And if this chapter was finally going to start going her way, then maybe Lizzie would be feeling like she actually knew what she was doing too. 

Just at that moment, Mara suddenly lifted her head, ears alert and then stood. Lizzie’s pulse spiked. She waited with baited breath for Mara to tell her that another seizure was incoming, even when Lizzie couldn’t feel anything yet. 

“Mara?” Lizzie murmured, feeling her stomach knot.

Her service dog didn’t react to her voice. Instead, Mara’s attention was locked on something—or someone—across the café. 

Lizzie turned just in time to see Mara move.

Straight toward a guy at the counter.

“Mara, heel!” Lizzie called, already pushing back her chair, heart pounding.

But Mara wasn’t listening.

Mara always listened. Lizzie had not once been in this situation. 

Mara was always well behaved. Mara had been trained so well that this was nothing Lizzie had ever needed to worry about…but apparently that day Mara had decided that her time as picture-perfect seizure dog was over and instead she would run across the cafe, straight to random guy…

The guy turned just as Mara reached him. He was tall, wearing a hoodie pulled up over messy brown curls, and he looked as confused as Lizzie felt when Mara pressed her nose against his hand.

“Oh,” he said, blinking down at her. “Uh. Hi?”

Lizzie practically skidded to a stop beside them. “I’m so sorry—she doesn’t normally—”

And then she got a proper look at him.

Her brain stuttered.

Because that wasn’t just any guy in a hoodie.

That was Lando Norris.

Formula 1 driver. Twitch streamer. Walking, talking social media chaos generator.

She knew who he was. Of course, she bloody knew who he was. 

They were literally in Woking. A stone thrown away from the McLaren Technology Center. 

And even if Lizzie hadn’t grown up seemingly right next to the headquarters of a Formula 1 racing team, she still would have grown up as the daughter of a man that believed that Formula 1 was just as important on Sundays as church services were. 

Her dad was the original F1 fan and Lizzie had easily inherited his love for the sport. 

So to say that she was…a little bit starstruck, because there was Lando freaking Norris standing in front of her, holding a  coffee cup in one hand, a half-eaten croissant in the other, looking between Lizzie and Mara with increasing confusion, was an understatement

“So, uh.” Lando tilted his head. “What’s happening?”

Lizzie swallowed hard, her mind racing. “She’s a service dog,” she managed, her voice tight. “She only does that when—”

Mara insistently pushed her nose against Lando’s hand again. When he didn’t react she started to headbutt his thigh aggressively. 

The realization slammed into Lizzie with the force of a freight train. Mara had alerted to him.

Lando still looked baffled, shifting slightly like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Is—uh—is she okay?”

Lizzie swallowed hard. “I—I think she’s actually asking you that.”

His brow furrowed, then a flicker of something passed over his face. A split-second of realization. “Oh.”

Lizzie watched as Lando’s hand curled slightly, his fingers flexing like he was suddenly hyper-aware of his own body.

“Do you feel off?” she asked, voice softer now. “Lightheaded? Dizzy? Aura?”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue—but then he hesitated. “I mean… I was feeling a bit weird this morning.”

Mara let out another small whine, nosing at his wrist.

Lizzie exhaled sharply. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Sit. Down. And drink some water, for god’s sake.”

He blinked at her in mild shock, but something in her tone must’ve struck him because he moved, letting her guide him to an empty table.

Lizzie crouched next to him, all business now. “Do you have any underlying medical issues? Mara was trained to alert to my Epilepsy. Have you ever had a seizure?!”

Lando shook his head. “No, nothing like that. But—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I do get migraines sometimes. And sometimes before I get one, things feel… off.”

Oh. 

Lizzie sat back on her heels. “Then she probably picked up on that.”

Lando looked down at Mara, who had now settled next to him, still watching carefully.

“Is this—normal?” he asked.

“For her, yeah.” Lizzie scratched the back of her neck. “She’s trained to detect seizures, but she picks up on other stuff too. She’s never alerted to someone else before, though.”

Lando let out a short laugh, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. “Huh. Well, I’m still here, so I think I’m good,” he finally said and Lizzie exhaled. 

“Sorry, about that,” she apologised. “She has never done that before.”

Lando grinned, slow and teasing. “Guess I’m just special, huh?” he teased. 

A pause. Then, hesitantly, Lando reached down, fingers brushing Mara’s head.

“Thanks, I guess,” he murmured. Mara’s tail gave a small, reassuring wag.

“So, like… I am not dying, right?” Lando asked her suddenly, and Lizzie let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. 

“No. But she’s never wrong about this kind of thing.” Lizzie sighed. “Drink some water. Eat something. Just—don’t ignore it.”

Lando hummed. “Noted.” Then he tilted his head, studying her. “And you are?”

She blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “Your name. And her name too.”

Lizzie felt warmth creep up her neck.

She bit her lip.

“I am Lizzie. That’s Mara.” 

Lando grinned, like he was committing both names to memory. “Lizzie and Mara. Got it.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure why her stomach flipped at the way he said her name, but she pushed the feeling aside. “And you’re Lando,” she said, more to ground herself than anything else.

His grin widened. “So you do know who I am.”

Lizzie scoffed. “I live in Woking. I’d have to be actively avoiding the internet to not know who you are.”

Lando let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” He glanced down at Mara, who had finally relaxed, still keeping a watchful eye on him. “So… does this mean I have, like, a cool dog guardian angel now?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Only if you promise not to ignore your body when it’s telling you something’s wrong.”

He hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Noted.”

The café felt warmer than it had before as they looked at each other. Lizzie, still crouched next to Lando and Mara. The air between them felt charged, and Lizzie was suddenly reminded of a fact she had never forgotten: Lando Norris was unfairly attractive.

"So...are you here often or was today my lucky day?"

She blinked at him, caught slightly off guard by the question. “I—uh. Yeah. I’m here most days.”

Lando nodded like that was exactly the answer he was hoping for. “Cool. I might have to come by more often then.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Because of the coffee? Or because of the dog that just diagnosed you?”

He smirked. “Both. And maybe because the company’s not bad either.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was actually flirting or just naturally charming. Either way, it was… a lot.

Lando hesitated, then scratched the back of his neck. “Look, this might be weird, but—can I give you my number?”

Lizzie’s brain stalled. “What?”

His grin turned a little sheepish. “I mean, you know, in case Mara ever wants to check in on me again. Or, uh, if you ever want to.”

Lizzie exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “That was smooth.”

“I try,” he said, dimples on full display.

Lizzie couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips, part amused and part baffled at the whole situation. She had gone from sitting in her usual spot, writing away in her notebook as Mara dozed by her feet to now crouching next to a Formula 1 driver giving her his number. What sort of alternate universe was this?

She hesitated, but then Mara nudged her hand, like she was making the decision for her. Lizzie huffed, pulled out her phone, and slid it across the table. “Fine. But if you start texting me memes at 2 AM, I’m blocking you.”

Lando chuckled, tapping in his number before handing it back. “No promises.”

Lizzie glanced down at the contact name he’d put in: Lando ‘Not Dying (Yet)’ Norris.

She sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Lando shot her a cheeky grin as he got to his feet. “It’s part of the charm.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, the smile stubbornly clinging to her face. It only widened when Lando bent down to say a quick goodbye to Mara, who promptly licked his hand in response.

Lizzie shook her head, but she couldn’t quite fight back her smile. “Come on, Mara. Let’s go before you decide to start diagnosing other random strangers too.”

As she walked away, Lando called after her, voice warm with amusement. “See you around, Lizzie.”

She didn’t look back—but her stupid smile stayed all the way home.

***

***

The morning air was crisp, the kind of early autumn chill that made your breath curl in the air but wasn’t quite cold enough for a proper coat. The park was quiet, save for the occasional jogger or dog walker, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees.

Lando arrived a few minutes early—not that he was eager or anything. He just… didn’t want to be late. Which was not the same as being eager.

He shifted on his feet, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

It wasn’t a date. Not officially. Just a walk. With a girl. A very cute girl. Who had a dog that might have magical powers if yesterday was anything to go by.

He heard her before he saw her—the sound of Mara’s paws on the pavement, the soft jingle of her collar. Then—

“Morning,” Lizzie said, smiling as she approached. She had a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, and Mara trotted happily at her side.

Lando tried not to notice how good she looked or how her smile lit up her face. He was cool. He was casual. He wasn’t a blushing teenager getting flustered over a girl.

He failed utterly.

Lando exhaled, grinning back. “Hey. You actually showed up.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. Mara padded over and sniffed at Lando’s hand, her tail wagging excitedly.

“As if you weren’t expecting me to,” she said, eyes glittering with humor. “Did you really think I’d ditch you?”

Yes. Yes, he had. 

“I dunno. Maybe you’d wake up and realize agreeing to go on a walk with a random guy from a coffee shop was a terrible idea.” 

Lizzie laughed, the sound surprisingly musical. “It probably was. But you’ve got Mara’s seal of approval, so you can’t be too dangerous, right?”

She glanced down at Mara, who panted happily up at Lando, as if in agreement.

"Can I touch her?" he asked carefully. "I should have asked yesterday, I am sorry." He may had spent too much time yesterday reading up on Service Dogs. And what exactly they did for their handlers, especially if they had handlers that had epilepsy like Lizzie had.

Lizzie smiled, her expression softening. “It’s okay. I know it’s not exactly common knowledge.” She nodded. “You can touch her. She’s off-duty right now, so you’re good.”

Lando crouched down, holding a hand out, allowing Mara to sniff him. When she didn’t shrink away, he cautiously patted her on the head. Her fur was silky-smooth to the touch.

"Hello Mara," he greeted her. "I even brought  Peanut Butter for my saviour.”

He probably shouldn't have said that. At the sound of these two words Mara suddenly perked up, immediately sat down before Lando’s feet.

“You shouldn’t say the magic words unless you plan to give some to her right at that exact moment,” Lizzie said drily.

Lando laughed in surprise, looking down at Mara as she sat there, looking up at him expectantly. “She is serious about peanut butter, huh?”

He pulled the jar out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap before holding it out for Mara to sniff. She stuck her nose in it, tail wagging furiously.

“I think she approves,” he said, watching as Mara licked at the peanut butter.

Only after she had been allowed to stick her snout in there for a full 5 seconds was Mara ready to continue their walk. 

“So, how’s the head?” Lizzie asked, tilting her head toward him.

“Better. I took something last night before it got too bad and slept it off.” He glanced down at Mara. “Not sure I would’ve done that if someone hadn’t warned me.”

Lizzie hummed. “She’s good at her job. Even when she has never alerted to somebody else before.” 

Lando tried not to let that go straight to his ego. Tried.

Lando tried to sound casual as he spoke, but couldn’t quite hold back a hint of satisfaction. "I guess that means I’m extra special, then?"

Lizzie raised an eyebrow at that, but there was a laugh in her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “Yeah, too late for that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, just walking together, the sound of the leaves crunching under their feet and Mara’s paws filling the air.

“So, what do you do, exactly?” Lando asked, trying to shift the conversation somewhere less awkward. Though he was pretty sure that the abrupt topic change was not gonna help at all. 

Lizzie smirked. “You mean besides walk dogs?” she joked. 

“Yeah. You know, because you know what I do” He gestured at himself dramatically, trying to be playful. “It’s not fair that you are the big mystery.”

Lizzie laughed and shoook her head. “It’s not fair,” she agreed. “I write books.”

Lando blinked. “What kind of books?” he asked, his curiousity piqued. 

“Romantasy,” Lizzie answered, watching him closely, waiting for a reaction.

What? 

Lando frowned. “Like… romance and fantasy?” Was that a thing?

“Exactly.”

“Is that, like, dragons? Or is it—”

“Faes,” Lizzie supplied. “And magic, and epic love stories, and usually some kind of dramatic war.”

Lando’s eyes widened as she talked, the concept of 'romantasy' sinking in. “Wow. So, like… magic powers and romance and all that good stuff?”

Lizzie nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty much. And there’s always a bit of adventure thrown in for good measure.”

Lando thought for a moment, picturing tales of epic battles and star-crossed lovers. It sounded…. Nice.

“You write those books that people fight over on the internet, don’t you?” he asked. Because he was pretty sure he had seen things about Morally grey love interests and a enemies-to-lovers arc and people fighting with other people about which fictional man was hotter. 

Lizzie’s smile widened, her eyes glittering with humour. “Guilty as charged. I write the books that people have passionate debates over online. The ones where people are way too invested in the love triangle and have very strong opinions about which fictional man is hotter.”

His brows shot up. “Wait—are you, like, famous?”

She shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”

Lando narrowed his eyes, then pulled out his phone and started typing.

Lizzie swatted at his arm. “Are you Googling me?”

“Uh, yeah?”

"What are you evening googling? Lizzie Romantasy?" she asked him with a snort. "You probably won't find me. Try Elizabeth Treshton."

The results for 'Elizabeth Treshton' appeared on the screen, and he scrolled through for a moment, articles and book covers, reviews and interviews popping up.

A moment later he got his answer.

"You sold millions of books."

Lando stared at Lizzie with a mixture of incredulity and awe. "I think that counts as famous."

Lizzie shrugged. “And yet, my dog still expects me to carry her up the stairs when she’s being lazy.”

Mara wagged her tail like she agreed.

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “I have a feeling Mara has you wrapped around her paw.”

She hummed in agreement, her hand going to the end of Mara's leash as the dog stopped to sniff at a tree.

“I swear, she knows exactly how cute she is and uses it to her advantage.”

Lando slipped his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head. “That’s actually really cool. How’d you get into it?”

Lizzie hesitated, then exhaled. “I have epilepsy. Had a lot of seizures when I was younger, which meant a lot of time in hospitals. You get really bored after a while.” She snorted. “So, I kept busy. Told myself stories, read, learned to crochet. But writing stuck. Studied English lit at uni, got a publishing deal right after. I was really lucky.”

Lando nodded. “That’s kinda sick, actually. You get to make stuff up for a living.”

Lizzie chuckled. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” She glanced at him. “What about you? What’s it like, racing cars all day?”

He grinned. “Honestly? A lot more boring than you’d think.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “You drive 300 kilometers an hour for a living.”

“Yeah, but I also stare at spreadsheets for hours. It’s not all fast cars and cheering crowds.”

“I mean, if you didn’t look at data, I think there would be bigger problems,” Lizzie said, teasing.

He rolled his eyes. “I do look at it, I promise.”

“So, how’d you end up doing that?”

“My mum tried to get me into horses—wasn’t into it. But I wanted to drive. Did quad biking, motorcycle riding… then my dad took me to a kart race, and that was it.”

“That’s sweet. My dad and I have watched F1 together since I was a kid," Lizzie said with a grin.

Lando glanced at her. “Really? That’s awesome. So, are you, like, one of those people who actually knows what’s going on during a race?”

Lizzie grinned. “You’re just mad because I probably know more than you.”

“Impossible,” Lando said, acting affronted. “I drive the car, I know what I’m doing.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Do you, though?”

He gaped at her. “I can’t believe you just questioned my driving skills.”

She just laughed. “I can’t drive at all, you know.”

“I can teach you,” he offered immediately.

She laughed. “I am legally not allowed to get behind the wheel,” Lizzie told him drily. “Epilepsy, you know. If I get a seizure while driving, I would accidentally murder people,”

“That sucks,” Lando said quietly.

“It’s just one of those things you get used to. You get used to not having control over that part of your life.”

Lando felt a pang of sympathy. “That must be tough.”

Lizzie shrugged. “It is, sometimes. But Mara’s a huge help. And I get by.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lando said, glancing down at the dog, who was happily leading the way once again.

Lizzie smiled. “She’s the best. And it’s not all bad. Gives me more time to write, at least.”

Lando grinned. “I’m definitely interested in reading some of your work now.”

She laughed. “You are aware that they are all like 500 pages, right?”

Lando groaned dramatically. “You’re telling me you’ve published multiple million-selling books, and they’re all doorstoppers?”

"I am a wordy person, you know," Lizzie shot back.

Lando groaned again, but he smiled, too. “You’re making me work for it here.”

Lizzie just shrugged, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

” Lando grinned, already planning his next move. “Alright, super important question,” he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Lizzie raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Who’s your favorite F1 driver?”

She let out a soft laugh. “You really want to know?”

Lando nodded, deadly serious. “This is crucial information. Make or break.”

She laughed, a strand of dark chocolate brown hair escaping her bun. 

“My dad is a die hard Ferrari fan,” she told him. “Seriously. Like you know that quote that there are only two religions in Italy, Catholicism and Ferrari? That’s pretty much my dad,” she said with a shake of her heard. “So for him it was always Schumacher…

As they strolled through the park, Mara trotting ahead with her nose to the ground, Lando shot Lizzie a sideways glance.

Lizzie hummed, drawing out the suspense. “When I was little, I loved Kimi Raikkonen.”

Lando groaned. “Kimi? Seriously?!?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You asked! I was, like, ten. You weren’t even in F1 yet.”

“Still hurts,” Lando muttered. “Alright, fine. What about now? Who’s your current favorite?”

Lizzie smirked. “Are you asking because you want me to say you?”

He feigned innocence. “Noooo… but also, yes.”

She pretended to consider. “Well, I do appreciate drivers with great car control and a smooth racing style.”

Lando’s grin stretched wide. “That does sound familiar—”

“Which is why I love watching Lewis.”

Lando gasped, scandalized. “Lizzie, what the hell?”

She laughed. “What? He’s a seven-time world champion! You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I can definitely be mad at you for that.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I thought we had something special.”

Lizzie smirked. “Would it make you feel better if I said you’re my favorite driver I’ve ever gone on a walk with?”

Lando narrowed his eyes at her, fighting a smile. “Barely.”

***

[sacrificiallane]

leaving him alone with your plushies ۶ৎ percy jackson blurb

cw: nothing, really. it‘s just very fluffy ♡ & very short, and a slight little mention of past 'activities', but you'll miss it if you squint so eh. enjoy!

the scream you let out was equally hilarious as it was terrifying. and it had your pretty boyfriend ― of who was the sole reason for such a sound even escaping your vocal cords in the first place ― literally smack into your cabins' door like a bird would against a window.

"you okay? are you hurt? you okay??" Percy came running like your life was on the line.

before you could offer an answer, his hands were already reaching for your arm, your hand ― basically anything ― to make sure you were okay. "talk to me pretty girl, hm? what happened?"

"Perseus Jackson" and yea, he might've just flinched a little at your tone, but his hands did not fall away quite yet, "what did you do to my bed?"

"uh, what did i do to your..." the confusion was evident, until his sea green eyes followed your own, all the way to your sheets and it suddenly ― thankfully! ― all made sense...

when Percy was left by you this morning, the boy was so bored! so, in his typical bored boyfriend fashion, he had taken the time to arrange your beloved stuffed animals to recreate a ... slightly 'gruesome' scene. because after fluffing out your pillows, and folding your blanket, he was only left with turning your plushies from facing the wall...

then, though ― his genius mind was unstoppable! ― he had come face to face with the plush he'd gotten you for your birthday! (a cute octopus plushie in your favorite color, and maybe a bit too big for your small cabin bed... especially when he was sharing it with you). and maybe it was sleepy delusion, but he had made up this whole scenario of how the gifted giant sea creature was basically your child!

Percy admits, he might have gotten a little carried away, staring at its big button eyes, and thinking about how it was probably so jealous of all your other fuzzy friends.

so, he explains, he had used each of it's fluffy tentacles, to wrap them around each of your other plushes, to make it look like he was trying to murder them! not that it was rally scary, or anything. just a little cruel, maybe.

when he tells you about it, and smiles a bit sheepish, you feel equally flattered as you feel horrified! he can only watch with endeared amusement as you quickly detangle all of your emotional support stuffies, push a kiss to their heads ― as though they were scared or hurt ― and put them each back where they belonged.

"i love you Perseus, but gods are you dumb..."

"love you too, pretty girl."

something a little different? i needed some fluff. i miss him. saw this in a tiktok so credit to that, ig? should i write a smutty blurb about what happened before this? like Percy rearranging your guts and turning your plushies to face the wall because he's all like 'nuh uh, you do not wanna see me do this to your mom'. or is that weird? 😔 (i'll probably do it anyway, you can't stop me!)

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel… hear me out…

butch babies already has 4 drabbles, just one more to get an emoji and be officially a series soooo… what do we (you) think about writing about one of them being jealous maybe bc of insecurities (like idk someone was flirting with sev and reader started feeling insecure bc she is like complete opposite of this other girl), OR maybe they got on a stupid argument and they both are so dumb and stubborn that they don’t know how to solve shit (they are teenagers after all) so they try and make a move to solve everything like organizing something in their hideout but they end up planing the exact same thing JSMDMDKD. OR how would be their first time together (i kinda picture sev waiting for an adequate moment and trying to make it really special for reader, maybe as a birthday gift, or celebrating like an anniversary of that first fight when they meet).

I’m just obsessed with them atm 😭😭😭

this whole series is healing my inner teenager ugh asd;lfjas;ldkj

men and minors dni

you're having a shitty night.

you and sevika snuck up to piltover to sneak into some university frat party-- looking to sell the shitty cave-weed you've been growing in your hideout to rich college kids who don't know any better. at first, it was fun. you made good money, drank expensive liquor, and danced to piltie music.

but now, you're a little drunk, you've got a headache from the altitude, and sevika's pissing you off. she's got her signature cocky smirk-- the one usually directed at you-- pointed at some pretty, proper, pilite girl.

sevika says she's yours. she says you're her favorite girl in the world. but... sometimes you worry.

you know you're different from most girls your age. you've never been interested in typical girly things. wearing dresses makes something nervous start to crawl around in your stomach, and you prefer to keep your hair short and out of the way, not bothering with ribbons or clips or bows. even in zaun; where piltover pinks and frills are traded out for flashy piercings and bold makeup-- femininity just doesn't suit you, no matter what form it takes.

you huff as your girlfriend leans closer to the piltie girl, snatching the closest bottle of good liquor and storming out of the frat house.

you make it halfway down the block before sevika comes running after you.

"hey! don't you hear me callin' your fuckin' name?" you roll your eyes and keep walking. you can hear her scramble after you, before she reaches out and tugs your arm. "what's your fucking problem?"

"what's your fucking problem!?" you ask.

sevika gawks at you. "i-i dunno?" she asks. "i thought we were having a fun time!"

"you sure seemed to be having fun." you huff.

"well, yeah! babe, look!" sevika reaches in her pockets and starts pulling out silverware and watches. you snort and roll your eyes, and resist the temptation to show your best friend your own stolen goods from the evening.

"sev... do you ever think..."

"what?" she asks, still confused.

you sigh. "sometimes i feel like you should be with someone so prettier than me."

"what?!" sevika shouts. "y-you're the prettiest girl in the entire universe--"

"yeah, but i'm not, like..." you flail a bit, looking for the words.

sevika frowns at you. "you're not what?"

"you know sevika. you've known me since i was a kid. you're the same way, sorta." you say.

"so you don't think i'm pretty?" sevika asks.

you gasp and reach out for her with your free hand. "no!" you shout. "sevika-- you're so pretty, your face is all i ever think abo--"

"then why are you being weird?!" sevika shouts.

"because you were flirting with that girl!"

sevika freezes, then she bursts into laughter. "babe!" she cackles.

you huff and pull away from her, taking a sip off the bottle you'd stolen.

"i don't get what's funny."

"i was scamming her!" sevika cackles. you blink.

"what?" you ask.

sevika shrugs. "people up here are rich. and stupid. she was telling me all about how she snuck out of her sorority house-- how everyone who lives there is at a party tonight--"

"we cannot rob a sorority house!" you cut your girlfriend off. sevika deflates.

"but babe!" she whines.

you can't help but giggle with relief and exasperation. sevika must be even drunker than you-- she only gets this mischievous when she's drunk.

"absolutely not. c'mon, i took this bottle, we can go to our hideout and have our own party."

"but i only got like three sets of silverware!"

"look." you giggle, pushing the bottle into sevika's hands and reaching into your sports bra. underneath your shirt, flannel, and jacket, nobody could see the increasingly lumpy silhouette of all the shit you managed to sneak out of the frat house. telescopes, fancy lighters, pocket watches, bifocal glasses, and best of all-- two unlimited piltover university cafeteria passes.

"holy shit!" sevika gasps, grinning down at your haul. "you're fucking amazing!" she giggles.

you smile. "i'm sorry i freaked out."

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you my evil plan. guess i oughta tell my partner in crime about my criminal plans, eh?" she teases. you laugh, redistributing your goodies from the evening in your pockets, before grabbing sevika's hand and tugging her toward the university's campus. you're gonna treat your girl to an all expenses paid cafeteria dinner.

"yes, you should. now hide that liquor so we can get into the dining hall." you whisper.

sevika giggles. "these passes are for grad students. we're too young, they're gonna know!"

"we'll tell 'em we're child prodigies."

"us?!" sevika cackles. you snort and stop your trek, pulling sevika in by her waist for a kiss.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3

[stcrmade-illusions]

mmm I’m gonna say it…I really, really don’t like how this fandom treats nonbinary people. yes this is an otome game that’s targeted to straight women but that doesn’t mean nonbinary people and even men can’t play it and love and thirst over the characters.

I’ve been writing a sylus x male reader fic, I shared a few paragraphs and someone commented “Why? lads men aren’t gay!”

Yes, you’re absolutely right! They’re the straightest fictional men to ever exist but what people do in fanon isn’t going to change what’s canon.

There’s a thousand and one fics with lads men x fem reader. I love and enjoy those so much and I’ve even written a few of my own…but I am nonbinary and one of the ways I explore my gender fuckery is through fiction.

I don’t always want sylus or caleb to fuck my pussy or feel up my tits sometimes I want them to suck my non existent dick and fuck me in the ass!

I see a lot of people get defensive and claim they’re not homophobic but maybe the people who get so up in arms about lads men x male reader or when people ship the guys together should ask themselves why it bothers them so much. Especially because it doesn’t affect you and if you don’t want to see something, you have the option to block and mute.

…I think a lot of people get way, waaaay to defensive about this game. Nobody’s gonna take it from you. 💀 The characters aren’t gonna magically turn gay, the company has made that crystal clear. Idk…shit like this just turns me off from wanting to engage and participate in the fandom.

[aerichives]

study buddies

aeri uchinaga x reader

genre. eventual smut

warnings. cunnilingus, fingering, choking (lmk if there's anything i missed)

words. 2481

note. heyyy bbgs :3 i literally did that exact scene when i was studying earlier but the difference was... there is no aeri :"( anwww i hope it's not obvious that im really into friends to lovers or to whatever trope LOOOLOLMLMLKM

the library was eerily quiet, save for the soft shuffling of papers and the occasional sigh from a stressed student. y/n and aeri had been holed up in their usual study corner for hours, surrounded by coffee cups and highlighted textbooks, the weight of their upcoming finals pressing down on them.

both nursing students, they had spent the last few weeks drowning in endless notes on medical and surgical nursing. the exhaustion was setting in, but y/n had always been the type to find something to keep her curiosity piqued. and today, that something happened to be asphyxiation.

the highlighter in y/n’s hand hovered over the page, the neon ink already smudging the edges of the text she’d been poring over for the past hour. finals were looming and the library’s fluorescent lighting was doing little to keep her alert but something in their notes had caught her attention.

"strangulation" she murmured, tapping her pen against the heading. "this one’s interesting."

across from her, aeri, who had been lazily skimming through her own notes, quirked a brow. "you have a weird definition of ‘interesting,’ you know that?"

y/n barely spared her a glance, already engrossed in explaining. "no, listen. it’s not just about suffocating. if you apply pressure to the carotid arteries, it cuts off oxygenated blood to the brain instead of blocking the airway directly. it can cause unconsciousness in seconds. that’s cool."

aeri let out a soft laugh. "you sound way too fascinated by this."

"because i am!" y/n grinned before suddenly sitting up straighter, an idea flashing across her face. "actually… we should try it."

aeri blinked. "come again?"

"on me." y/n tapped her neck lightly. "you find my carotid, apply pressure, and i’ll tell you what it feels like. a hands-on demonstration."

aeri stared at her, half-expecting her to burst into laughter and say she was joking. but y/n was staring back, eyes expectant. "absolutely not. what if you pass out? or worse?"

y/n waved off her concern. "i’ll tap you if i start feeling weird. come on, it’s for science."

aeri sighed, raking a hand through her hair. "this is a terrible idea," she muttered, but she was already shifting closer, positioning herself in front of y/n. "if you die, i’m not writing your final paper for you."

y/n grinned. "noted."

aeri reached forward, fingertips ghosting over the column of y/n’s throat as she searched for the rhythmic thrum of her pulse. once she found it, she hesitated, her thumbs resting lightly on either side of y/n’s neck. "last chance to back out."

y/n only nodded, lips parting as she took a slow breath.

aeri applied pressure.

at first, nothing. then, y/n’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting just a little more. the muscles in her neck tensed beneath aeri’s hand and something about the way she looked up at her, head tilted back, eyes unfocused, breathy, made aeri’s stomach tighten.

shit.

this was supposed to be an experiment. no malice, no ulterior motive. but aeri could feel the way her pulse quickened, not from nerves, but from something much deeper, much worse. y/n’s lips looked glossy under the library’s dim lighting, her expression dazed yet trusting. aeri’s fingers twitched with the abrupt and inappropriate thought of what it would feel like to do this in a completely different setting.

in bed, maybe. with y/n pinned beneath her, mouth parted just like this—

aeri inhaled sharply, pushing the thought away before it could settle.

y/n tapped her wrist, signaling the end of the experiment. aeri immediately released her, exhaling sharply as y/n took in a deep breath, blinking a few times before breaking into a grin. "that was insane," she murmured, rubbing her neck. "i definitely felt it."

aeri didn’t respond right away, too busy pressing her palms into her thighs, willing away the heat pooling in her stomach. "yeah," she said, voice slightly strained. "insane."

y/n, oblivious, launched into her findings, excitedly recounting the sensations she experienced. aeri nodded along, pretending to listen, but her mind was elsewhere. her gaze flickered back to y/n’s throat, now sporting faint imprints of her fingers, and she swallowed hard.

this was bad. because now, all she could think about was doing it again.

-

the final exam was over, and relief settled over the two of them as they stepped out of the hall. both y/n and aeri had been buried in stress and exhaustion for weeks, and now that it was finally behind them, they were ready to unwind.

"so, where do we go now?" y/n asked, stretching her arms over her head, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her.

aeri groaned. "honestly? i just want to sleep. pay back all my sleep debt from the past weeks."

y/n chuckled. "that's nice but you live an hour away."

aeri sighed, rubbing her eyes. "don’t remind me. i might actually pass out before i even get home."

y/n hummed, then nudged aeri playfully. "then crash at my place. my apartment’s only a fifteen-minute walk from here and we can grab food along the way."

aeri considered it for a moment, the idea of a nearby, comfy bed quickly winning her over. "you know what? that sounds perfect."

after a stop at the convenience store for snacks, they made their way to y/n’s apartment. as soon as aeri stepped inside, she sighed in relief, dropping onto the sofa and stretching her limbs. "i think i might die here."

y/n laughed, heading to the kitchen. "i’ll get the food ready. here, you should change into something comfortable first." she tossed aeri a shirt and shorts before disappearing into the kitchen.

aeri hesitated before taking the clothes to the bathroom. the moment she pulled y/n’s shirt over her head, the faint scent of her. clean, warm, unmistakably y/n, hit her senses. her pulse quickened slightly, thoughts she shouldn’t entertain creeping in as she quickly changed.

when she stepped out, she nearly choked.

y/n was lounging on the couch in a low-cut tank top, her collarbones and bare chest exposed. aeri quickly tore her gaze away, trying to focus on anything else.

they ate in comfortable silence, the exhaustion from the exam settling in deeper. once they finished, y/n stretched and grabbed aeri’s wrist. "come on, let’s sleep. my bed’s big enough for two."

aeri shook her head. "i’ll take the couch or even the floor, seriously—"

y/n rolled her eyes, pulling her along. "you need a real bed. just shut up and come."

the moment they laid down, aeri realized the bed wasn’t nearly as big as y/n had claimed. they were close, so close that aeri could feel y/n’s body heat radiating against her.

then without warning, y/n shifted, wrapping her arms around aeri and snuggling in. "what are you doing?" aeri stiffened.

"just hugging you. you’re warm and comfy." y/n mumbled sleepily.

aeri stayed still as she stared at y/n, feeling her heartbeat quicken. she forced herself to breathe evenly, trying to ignore the way y/n felt against her. 

minutes passed and just as aeri was about to finally sleep, y/n suddenly stirred, eyes fluttering open. aeri tensed, caught in the act of staring.

"are you okay?" aeri asked, voice a little too tight.

y/n yawned. "yeah, just fell on my sleep you know."

aeri exhaled, chuckling softly. "silly. go back to sleep." she reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from y/n’s face.

y/n smirked. "not until you tell me why you were staring at me."

"i wasn’t. that was your dream."

y/n pouted, shifting slightly. "you’re so obvious. you were looking at my lips. do you want me or something?"

aeri’s breath hitched. the teasing lilt in y/n’s voice was dangerous, and she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to brush it off.

"and what if i do?" aeri murmured.

y/n grinned, her hand slipping behind aeri’s neck, tugging her closer. "maybe..." she mused, "i’ll mark you here so everyone knows you’re mine."

aeri’s throat went dry. "what..."

"relax," y/n giggled. "i’m just messing with you. you’re so red right now."

aeri swallowed, the heat coursing through her too intense to ignore. and she was done ignoring it.

before she could second-guess herself, she rolled them over, straddling y/n’s thighs, hands pressing into the mattress. y/n’s eyes widened slightly, but there was no hesitation, only intrigue.

"and i’m not kidding when i say i do want you."

y/n’s breath caught. "what..."

aeri leaned in, voice low. "what if i do want you to leave marks on my neck, y/n?"

the air was thick with something unspoken, tension crackling between aeri and y/n like a live wire. aeri’s grip on y/n’s hips was firm but hesitant, fingers twitching against the fabric of y/n’s top. her restraint was evident, her breath unsteady as she struggled to keep her hands from wandering any lower, from touching y/n’s bare thighs where heat radiated between them.

“you’re so pretty…” aeri rasped against y/n’s lips.

y/n grabbed a fistful of aeri’s hair to close the gap between them and kissed her. a sigh slipped past her parted lips, her resolve thinning as aeri sucked her lips gently.

“we should stop,” aeri murmured, though her fingers curled against y/n’s waist as if anchoring herself. her words lacked conviction and y/n knew it.

“what if i don’t want to?” y/n whispered against her ear, voice laced with something intoxicating. when aeri pulled back slightly to meet her gaze, her pupils were dark with desire. y/n’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the way she was breathing so heavily, it all undid aeri.

“yeah?” aeri’s voice was strained, like she was holding back something dangerous.

y/n bit her lip and nodded. that was all it took. “you don’t know what you do to me,” aeri muttered, breath ghosting over y/n’s lips. her free hand slid up y/n’s torso, groping at her chest as a soft moan escaped against aeri’s mouth.

“aeri…” y/n whined, grinding down against aeri’s lap, desperate for more friction.

aeri chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down y/n’s spine. “so needy.”

y/n grabbed aeri’s wrist, guiding her hand up to her lips before taking her middle and ring finger into her mouth. her tongue twirled around them, coating them in warmth, gaze locked onto aeri’s as she hollowed her cheeks.

“please,” y/n breathed against aeri’s skin.

aeri’s restraint snapped. eyes darkening further as she tugged at y/n’s top, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. the way she looked at y/n sent heat pooling in her stomach, her gaze tracing over y/n’s perky breasts, her hardening nipples.

“so fucking beautiful,” aeri murmured, voice thick with want.

her mouth was on y/n before she could respond, lips wrapping around one nipple, sucking and biting, leaving behind bruises that would have y/n blushing in the morning. her tongue flicked over the sensitive bud and y/n arched into her touch, fingers tangling in aeri’s hair, tugging when the sensation became too much.

“tell me what you want, baby,” aeri rasped, her thigh pressing between y/n’s, the firm muscle rubbing against her clothed heat. y/n gasped at the pressure, her hips rocking forward instinctively.

“want you to touch me” y/n whined, breathless.

“where?” aeri teased, dragging her fingers down y/n’s stomach, hovering just above the waistband of her panties.

y/n huffed in frustration, gripping aeri’s wrist and pushing her hand lower. “Everywhere.”

aeri smirked, slipping her fingers beneath the thin fabric, feeling the heat and wetness that awaited her. “fuck…” she exhaled and y/n squirmed under her touch. “you’re soaked.”

her fingers slid through y/n’s folds, gathering the slickness before she brought them up to her lips, sucking them clean. y/n clenched at the sight, the way aeri’s tongue swirled around her fingers making her throb between her legs.

“look at you,” aeri murmured, eyes drinking y/n in like she was something sacred. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen.”

y/n shuddered, heat crawling up her neck. “aeri…” she whined, shifting in anticipation.

aeri chuckled, her fingers parting y/n, gaze fixed on her glistening entrance. “so desperate for me.”

y/n gasped when aeri’s tongue traced a slow, deliberate path from her entrance up to her clit, her lips wrapping around the swollen bud to suck lightly. y/n’s thighs trembled around aeri’s head but her hands kept them open, held her still as she devoured her.

“aeri—fuck!” y/n’s hands buried themselves in aeri’s hair, pulling her closer, needing more.

aeri hummed against y/n, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through her body. “taste so fucking good,” aeri groaned, pressing a kiss against y/n’s inner thigh before sliding a finger into her, slow and careful. y/n exhaled shakily at the stretch, hips bucking into the sensation.

“gonna push another in, okay?”

y/n nodded frantically. “yes, please.”

aeri smirked, slipping in a second digit, curling them just right, hitting that spot that had y/n’s back arching off the mattress.

“right there, huh?” aeri mused, repeating the motion, watching as y/n’s body trembled beneath her. aeri groaned low in her throat before sitting upright, fingers wrapping gently around y/n’s neck as she pulled her in for a searing kiss. the pressure wasn’t harsh, just enough to make y/n dizzy in more ways than one, just enough to have her pulse stuttering beneath aeri’s palm.

“aeri—oh my god” y/n gasped, her stomach tightening as her release built, creeping up on her with every stroke of aeri’s fingers and with a new sensation of being choked. 

“gonna cum?” aeri asked, voice dripping with satisfaction. “gonna make a mess all over my fingers?”

y/n whimpered, legs shaking, the coil in her stomach on the verge of snapping.

“go ahead, baby,” aeri coaxed, voice muffled against y/n’s soaked core. “wanna see it drip.”

and with a cry of aeri’s name, y/n came undone, pleasure crashing over her in waves as aeri worked her through it until she was a panting, trembling mess beneath her. y/n gasped when aeri removed her hand on her neck. aeri pulled back slightly, watching y/n catch her breath, her chin glistening with her release. her dark eyes locked onto y/n’s, and she smirked, voice husky when she murmured,

“bet you’ll let me choke you again, huh?”

[je0ng1nn]

WILD FLOWER — CHO SANGWOO

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ PAIRING — Cho Sangwoo x Pregnant!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ TYPE — Fluff, little bit of angst?

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ NOTE — Hey y‘all! this is my first fanfic on Tumblr, i do have some experience in generally writing things like this, but i have no knowledge when it comes to writing here.. so bare with me🤍 This is supposed to be a little fanfic about Sangwoo where he won the games and came home to his pregnant wife, have fun!

It was a cold afternoon, the sun wasn’t shining. Rain falling down the sky as Sungwoo came home from the Squid Games. He won. He didn’t know if it was worth it, killing his old friend for money? But he just had to.. he didn’t want his child to grow up poor. He knew he needed to, for his baby, for his wife.. and for him.

He got the keys out of his pocket as he opened the door. „Y/N? I‘m home,“ He said. He never told her the truth, where he was. Or what he did. It was always just a business trip in America.

„Sangwoo?“ A soft female voice called out, slowly walking to the door. Her shocked face turned quickly into a surprised and happy one. She immediately hugged him.

„Finally! You’re home! I missed you a lot.. The business trip must‘ve been really tough.“ She let slowly go of him, her hands wandering to his shoulders as she looked into his eyes.

„It was, but we got the deal. We have enough money now, jagiya. Our little trouble maker will have a good childhood, i promise.“ He sighed. The memories still played in his head. It was like a nightmare. He got a card, which would give him access to the bank account. He didn’t planning telling her how much he won. After all, 45,6 billion won was a lot of money.

„Really? Ah.. it makes everything easier, i‘m happy everything went well.“ She smiled. She closed the door behind him to not let more rain into the house. Sangwoo got out of his shoes and hung his jacket next to her‘s. Everything was tidy.

His wife turned to him, she was holding his hands as she guided him to the kitchen „I was just cooking Tteokbokki, do you want some too?“ Sangwoo‘s eyes shined, he loved her Tteokbokki, and maybe, just maybe he can calm down a little. He kissed her forehead

„Of course Jagiya, your Tteokbokki is the best!“ Y/N giggled at his compliment before putting something in a bowl, she got out two plates for each of them. „Let me help you. You shouldn’t do so much, the baby can come any time.“ He took the plates from her and put them down, after he went again for chopsticks.

Y/N was already sitting at the table, deep in thoughts. „Something was wrong with him.. he isn’t like this normally.. hm“ Sure, Sangwoo was a big Introvert, he didn’t show a lot of emotion. But he always had a soft spot for his wife, after all it’s his first, and only love in his whole life. It did something to her. But she didn’t bother saying anything, if there’s something, he would tell her.

Y/N and Sangwoo ate together the meal she cooked. „Thank you for the delicious meal darling, I missed your cooking. In the States there wasn’t a lot of Korean food“ She smiled at his compliment, like she would always do.

He loves her smile, it always brightens the room. „Really?“ Sangwoo nodded, before looking down at his food again. „Ah, Sangwoo?“ He looked back at her, a curious look. „Lets go to the States sometimes yeah? I really want to go! Also we should go to your Mom, she misses you a lot yeah?“

Sangwoo‘s heart started to warm up at the mention of his Mom. She loved her a lot, she also didn’t know anything about what happened, and he also couldn’t tell her at all. „Oh really? We should go to the States if you want to go that bad“ He chuckled, he finally had the money again to go anywhere she wants, give her the life she dreamed of. „And for my mom, why don’t we go there together tomorrow?“ Y/N nodded, she replied with a short sure, and they both continued to eat in a comfortable silence.

——————————————————————————

Y/N was already laying in bed, reading a book. Sangwoo was doing the dishes and did some callings. It was always like this, it was normal. Y/N thought.

Finally he was back home, the business trip was long enough, she missed him a lot. The door opened, a tried sangwoo behind it. „Baby?“ he called out, earning her attention. „Whats up?“ She put the book away, sitting up more than she was already doing.

„A… friend of mine passed away, she had a brother in a Adoption center.. it was her last wish that someone would take care of him.. I know we already have the stress with the baby.. but-„

Y/N stopped him, „Of course! The poor boy, oh my.. We should go see him after visiting your mom yeah? I‘m sure he‘ll be happy seeing a friend of his big sister wanting to take care of him.“

Sangwoo, sat down on his side of the bed, turning around to look at her. „Really? I have the money now.. let’s buy a bigger house, so we can fit him in..“ He smiled. he felt guilty for killing Sae-byeok. She would’ve died anyway, but after hearing what she said to Gi-hun, he wanted to atleast let her last wish come true.

„That sounds wonderful. I‘d love to, let‘s plan everything tomorrow yes? You should go to sleep now.“ Y/N kissed him, a passionate kiss on his lips, Sangwoo let himself fall into her touch. It made him feel loved, the feeling he missed for the last days.

He nodded and layed down himself, he was exhausted. He turned of the lamp on his left. The two wished each other a good night before drifting of to sleep together.

——————————————————————————

„You’re a monster Sangwoo, it was a mistake loving you. Why did you do that? You killed for money, like a greedy animal. Killing your friends without a second thought. Lying to them.“ Sangwoo stood in a empty room, it looked like the Squid game‘s. Infront of him his Wife, it felt familiar but also so strange.

„Have you heard me?! A monster!“ the voice screamed this time. Anger could be heard clearly. „N-no.. it’s not-.. I-..“

„You can‘t excuse this Sangwoo. You‘ll be a Monster. No matter what you‘ll try or do. Its over!“ and out of nowhere his Wife fell to the floor. He ran to her. the only thing laying there was a dead body and blood. When he looked up, the room slowly started to write „YOU’RE A MONSTER“ all over itself. Sangwoo started to cry, shaking his wife‘s body.

„Y/N!! Y/N pease stand up! I love you haven’t you heard? Don’t leave me!!“ Nothing happened and out of nowhere the guards came in. Took his wife away and all he had was himself and the voice that sounded like his Wife’s which kept telling he‘s a monster.

——————————————————————————

Sangwoo jumped up, sweaty and exhausted. He was shaking. He started to cry, the guilt and fear overflowing him as he sat in his bed. Of course this didn’t go unnoticed by the sleeping Y/N. She slowly woke up to the crys of her Husband.

„Sangwoo? Love? what happened?“ Still tired but worried she took his face in her hands, whipping away his tears. „I-it’s..“ he could barely talk, the fear keeping him from doing anything. „I thought i-i lost yo-.. you..“

„Shhh.. look at me, everything’s alright yeah? It was just a nightmare, i would never leave you.“ He couldn’t tell her the truth, atleast not yet. He would when the time was right, but now it would be too.. risky. Y/N kissed him passionately and slowly, letting him melt and calm down. Her hand was on his shoulder now, caressing it. It often helped him calm down a little..

Hey guys it’s me again! I had a lot of fun writing this so i hope y‘all love it🤍, I‘m maybe planning on doing a second part on this where he has a family and all and finally plans on tell her, if y‘all want to ofcourse ;). If you have any requests, just tell me! I‘d love to write storys with your ideas.

I write mostly about K-drama actors/characters and K-Idols! So anythinf in that topic would be fine🤍 Until next time !

[arabellasleopardcoat]

I am having breakfast before I leave for work, and I stopped eating my toast in fascination during the end of this chapter.

Is Daemon... Growing up?! Incredible. Fascinating. A thing they should study at universities. I truly didn't think him capable of it, so credits to your writing for redeeming him after all he is done in this fic and still being believable.

I do not know if they should have a baby because I love this reader too much and you confessed on planning to kill her before, you evil woman, so I will hope they use contraception.

Also, may I ask what does reader have in your head? Like, the maesters say nerves and a weak body, Otto says hysteria, she says she is doomed to death. But she must have something inspired by our world sickness, I think? Untreated asthma maybe? Fibromyalgia? Another sort of autoinmune disease?

Talking about otto....

OTTO COME HERE I JUST WANT TO TALK

(BTW, my gifs are from tumblr, I just look up the concept on mobile, which allows better results than my computer, but Idk if that is true or my perception. In this case, "murder" Then I scroll until I like one)

I want to say that even though baby Aegon and the Arryks are my favorites and my precious babes, Laenor is becoming a close second. When you said this:

"You hark aimlessly so like my twin."

It got me thinking of how similar Gwayne and him are in this fic! And in canon, both younger brothers to amazing women (I believe everything you write so much I hadn't noticed because I was thinking Gwayne was a twin in canon, when no) I don't know, it tickles my brain the right way. It's just one of those things, I love parallels.

As always, your writing is amazing! I loved how this chapter showed so so much character developing. I am impressed by Daemon's arc and envy you a bit the fact that you can craft such amazing plots and I can't! But it's fine because I get to read them!

Cannot wait to see what comes next for these two. Also, how I will go to work after reading this:

Tormented Spirit | 17

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: my mum and i got into an argument after my cat died and now i remember why i wrote this | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

You walk across the dragon pit, making your way back to Laenor, who was petting his mount. "Hello."

He turns and smiles, "hello. He watches how you pick the petals of the flowers he gave, "where's-"

Before he can finish, the sound of a dragon screeching and soaring of echoes across the pit. His own dragon huffs and bleats, making you turn to it.

"What's the name of your mount?"

Leanor looks at you as you near the beast, "Seasmoke— eh," he dashes in front of you, "careful," he takes your arm, "he's not hostile, I don't think, but then again, he's my ride and I'm biased. Regardless, Seasmoke is, in fact, a dragon."

"Ah," you step back, "forgive me, I-"

"Found yourself very comfortable around Caraxes?" Leanor smiles at me, rubbing your arm, "I'm surprised. The wyrm is rather cranky..." he leads me to his dragon, "not unlike his rider, no?"

Your eyes remain on him as Seasmoke screeches. The dragon sounds nothing like Caraxes, neither does he look or even smell the same, which you think is rather interesting.

"You may touch him if you like," Laenor smiles, stroking his dragon's scales. Seasmoke purrs, almost like a cat.

You rub your hands before touching the beast, "rytsas." Hello.

Laenor's brows quirk.

"Skorkydoso gaomagon gaomā?" How do you do?

He chuckles, "when did you learn High Valyrian?"

"While you and Daemon were in the St-" you squeal when Seasmoke shoves you with a roar, earning an equal reaction from his rider. Laenor snaps and swats his ride, commanding him to obey, to be gentle.

Your heart races and continues to against yourself. You clutch your chest, feeling a telltale uncomfortable tightening. Gods, please, not in front of Laenor.

You vaguely hear him chide the dragon for being cheeky in High Valyrian, and you suppose he says something to you, but your lungs are too constricted for you to hear. For a moment, as you feel your legs begin to buckle under the weight of your breath, or rather, lack thereof, you realize you were treating Seasmoke awfully familiarly. He gave you a simple correction, and now your weak heart was going to make him look like a villain.

"Apologies for— prin-" Laenor grunts as he catches you just as you topple. You crumble into his chest and drop your flowes. You both end up on the floor as you try to catch your breath.

Laenor looks around. He orders the dragon keepers to bring his ride to the pit and he pulls you into his arms, "can you stand?"

Stand? You can barely breathe.

Your silence, paired with the tangible tremors of your body, is enough answer for him. He maneuvers around you, arms wrapping over your form. His stomach drops at the greyness of your skin, but he tells himself he's merely imagined it. He quickly carries you out of the pit.

Alternatively, Daemon is idle in the sky. The sun beats down on his skin as the wind scratches through his hair. There is no thrill in it however, no reprieve. What's more, Caraxes seems to stagger halfway through the flight. The usual agility of his lithe body dwindles the longer they fly, and his rider is rightfully concerned. He turns back before they go very far.

When they arrive at the pit, Seasmoke is no longer there. Daemon is alarmed by the way Caraxes lands. It's not at all like his usual demeanor. He drips into saddle and yelps when Caraxes flops and crashesbelly down on the ground. The dragon keepers are as equally concerned as Daemon upon witnessing this.

Daemon dismounts and gazes upon his mount. One of the senior keepers asks him, "skoros iksis pirta lēda Caraxes, ñuha dārilaros??" What is wrong with Caraxes, my prince?

"Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon," Daemon mutters, "ziry massitas hen daoriot." I don't know. It happened out of nowhere.

The prince watches as one keeper brushes Caraxes by the snout. The dragon huffs and closes his eyes, rolling on his belly. Daemon's brows furrow tightly and his lips part. This was severely unlike his vicious mount— falling prostrate? He was deeply concerned.

Daemon explains to the keeper that his dragon was well earlier today, in the funeral, and when they just got back from it. It was only after they had flown again did Caraxes begin to act rather dreary.

The keepers try to feed Caraxes but he does not eat. They try to bring him into the pit, but he does not stand. It troubles Daemon. He does not wish to leav, but as much as his heart aches for his companion, it bleeds for you.

"Laenor."

Laenor freezes upon hearing your voice. He had already managed to carry you halfway towards the maester's ward when you regained your voice. He looks at you, brows furrowing at the sight of the tears you'd silently shed. He speaks your name.

"Will you set me down?"

Laenor nods and slowly brings you to your feet. You wobble against the young prince and lean your weight into him as you find your footing. You shudder, struggling to keep yourself upright. A shameful heat wraps around your body. I hate to have you see me like this.

"Hush," Laenor mutters, guiding you to the window sill.

You look up at him, brows furrowing.

"Are we not friends?" he tilts his head, "do friends not help friends?"

Gods... you had said that aloud. You were losing yourself. You shake your head, "yes, but-"

"But what?" Laenor purses his lips, "but if I could not find the strength to stand, surely you would do all you could to help me."

You frown.

He follows suit as you sit by the window. He squeezes your arm, "it's just me, the same Laenor you wrote heartfelt letters to."

Your brows furrow. You gulp as your throat tightens, "I never wrote to you about my affliction."

He shrugs, taking your hand in his, "it is your prerogative what you do and do not wish to tell me."

"I am dying."

He does not respond.

"I'm already dead inside."

He hums, "how macabre," he looks off, "I was rather hoping you'd bring up something more mundane, like how the drapes in these halls are rather plain, considering the fact we are in the capital castle."

You stare at him for a moment.

He looks back at you, "it's safe to say the king cares little for drapes."

You snort and shake your head.

A faint smile spreads across Laenor's lips. He squeezes your hand, "I suppose that is good. A king has much more to worry about than the drapes that drape across his halls."

You release a deep breath. The heaviness of your shoulders become apparent to you. You tentatively lean into Laenor's shoulder; he shifts towards you, offering his arm.

"You hark aimlessly so like my twin."

He steals a glance of you, lips curling into a soft smile, "you speak this as if you believe it would offend me."

"It should."

He chuckles and examines the texture of the wall in front of him, "to be likened to Ser Gwayne is an honor."

You snort and roll your eyes, "it should not be. He is ugly."

"He has your face."

"He does not!" you pull away to look at him, "pray tell, do you think I am comely?"

Laenor looks at you. He purses his lips where yours curl mischeviously.

You raise your brows and snort, "my point exactly."

"Your beauty is simply not to my taste."

"But my brother's is?!" you exclaim, "he has my face!"

Laenor rolls his eyes, "he does not."

You swat his arm.

He raises a brow at you, pretending to be offended, though it barely lasts. He instantly melts at the sight of your smile. He smiles back, "I am glad to know banter livens your spirit."

Your expression softens, "I am glad to know you will be living here."

"Yes. Perhaps initially. You might soon find me irritating like mine own sister does."

You share a chuckle. You shake your head and come to a stand; the prince immediately does the same. You link arms with him and begin walking, "might I show you the gardens, my prince?"

He thinks for a moment, "should you not go to the maester's?"

"They have nothing for me but scolding and milk of the poppy," you tighten your hold on his arm, "the roses are in full bloom."

He nods, "very well."

You saunter to the gardens with no sense of urgency whatsoever. Laenor is good at concealing his worry over you, but unfortunately, you are better at sensing other's agitation over your affliction. You fill the walk with hushed chatter, "you cannot like my brother more than I. I wish to hold your affection."

Laenor turns to you, brow raised, muttering, "you hold my affection."

"Yes, but you've not met him, yet still your prefer him," you whisper.

He looks away, shrugging, "I think he is pretty but I do not prefer him. If I recall correctly, he drank much during someone's nameday and became rather less pretty to me."

You chortle.

Laenor chuckles, turning back to you.

You look at him, thinkinv his eyes are very kind. Your smile turns into a frown as you squeeze his arm, "where were you when they were forcing me into marriage?"

His jaw feathers. He rubs your hand, "you do not want me as a husband. I would not satisfy you."

"I would not ask you to."

He shakes his head, "I do not think I would be able to give you heirs."

You tighten your hold on him, "I do not think I would either."

He frowns, "I-"

"Daughter."

The two of turn back, finding the Hand of the King rushing towards you. Normally, such a sight would cause you concern, but presently, it made you feel only exhaustion... and dread. You pull away from Laenor, preparing to face your father.

You huff when Otto reaches you. The first thing he does is place a hand on your cheek, "are you well?"

You frown and nod, "yes."

"The servants say your husband left you in the pit and your affliction flared. Prince Laenor," he offers him a glance, "had to carry you off."

"I am fine," you mutter, shaking your head, pushing him away.

He lowers his hand, "have you gone to the ma-"

"I'm bringing my friend to the gardens, father."

Otto stiffens. Laenor notices the way Otto's hands clench; he clears his throat, "she has told me pl-"

"Forgive me, my prince, but it would be best if my daughter goes to-"

"The gardens," you blurt, "to show my friend my flowers."

Your father mutters your name.

Laenor knows the argument is quickly going to inflame. He steps forward, "the princess assured me she is well enough—"

"She is not well," Otto blurts, "she just burned her children and fainted in the pit-"

"Why do you despise me?"

Laenor stiffens where he meant to take your arm. Otto altogether loses his words.

You huff at his terse expression. You clench your teeth and turn to Laenor, "perhaps I ought to show you my garden another time."

The prince furrows his brows. He mutters your name slowly.

You shake your head and manage a smile, "perhaps after supper?"

Though he was rather reluctant to leave you in the thick of it, Laenor nods. He squeezes your arm one last time and gives your father a curt nod, "Lord Hand," before walking off.

"Have you gone mad?"

You turn to Otto. He is seething with rage.

"You would speak so carelessly in front of-"

"My frien-"

"He is not your friend," he blurts, stepping forward, "today? Tomorrow? He is promised to Rhaenyra and-"

"He is my friend!" you interrupt. "And my question does not involve him but you, my lord." You shake your head, "why do you despise me?"

He scoffs. He feels his collar tighten around his neck, "you think I despise you?"

"No," you mutter, "I know you do."

He scoffs once more and wipes his face with a sigh, "you stupid, fucking girl."

You feel like you're drowning as tears stream down your face. Your father paces and you gasp when he suddenly walks off. You watch him take large strides, only to stop at the end of the hall to turn back to you. Your heart races when he storms back with a finger pointed at you.

You gulp and step back, but you do not trust your feet to take you very far, so you end up freezing in your spot.

"You are ludicrous!" he pokes the air, "and you are wrong!" he pokes again, face red as he comes back in front of you.

You shudder when he grabs your shoulders and shakes you slightly.

"Despise you?!" he snaps, spittle spattering to your face. He releases you roughly, his chest rising and falling, "you unwitting pup! You've no idea the measures I've gone to ens-"

"DOES IT MATTER?"

Otto clenches his teeth so hard his head shakes.

Your outburst costs you all the air in your lungs. You care little to chase after it, "you fed me to your enemy! Left me to die!"

"I HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT PRESERVE YOU!" he screams, loud enough that his voice echoes in the hall.

Your ears ring and your struggle to breathe.

"Out of all my children," Otto's voice comes out shaky, "I have not lost sleep and coin as much as I have for you."

You manage to reply through the thrumming of your chest, "then you have your answer."

Otto's face hardens as he screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. He wipes both hands across his face in exasperation, "I do not despise you."

"Look at what's become of me," you bring your fists into your chest. You chuckle dryly, "perhaps if you despised me more, I would be better."

"All I've ever done is to better you!"

"Like how you forced me to bear children?!" You quip, "my body could not keep them!"

"If you did not do this, you would have been casted out or killed!" he raises a finger, "you did your duty."

"I did what you wanted-" you groan, "AND IT IS NEVER ENO-"

"ENOUGH!" he snaps and you flinch. Otto grabs your arm, "you are hysterical."

Hysterical. You wince at his tight grip. How you loathe the word. Though you knew it was pointless, you still attempt to wrangle out of his strong clutch.

Even in his vehement vexation, he does not force you to stop. He loosens his grip, speaking your name.

"Release me," you mutter, heart racing.

"No," he mutters, "you need a maester."

You whimper and yank at your arm, "father."

His stomach rolls. For a moment, he hears the voice of his young child begging for his presence. His grips tightens, "let me bring you to-"

"I hate you!"

Otto clenches his jaw. He mutters your name.

"You will not let me be happy. You will not let me die."

He shouts your name.

"Release me!" you whimper, begging to feel light headed.

Finally, he does.

You gasp when you topple into a wall. You are shocked when arms come around you. You turn, breath staggering, eyes meeting the hard face of your husband.

"If you ever touch her," Daemon mutters, hands clutching your waist and arm. He pulls you into him, "if I even hear that you touched her- nyke hobrenka kivigon jaehossi uēpossi arlȳssī-" I fucking swear by the old gods and the new—

You can feel him trembling against you. You will yourself to breathe in deep to try and calm yourself. Your hand comes to his cheek.

Otto draws breath, "my daughter is-"

"Do NOT fucking call her that," Daemon snaps as he pushes you upright only to bring you behind him. His hand clutches the hilt of Dark Sister, "it matters not who sired her— she is my wife."

"She needs medicine," Otto blurts raising a hand, "she is in hyster-"

"Of fucking course she's in hysterics!" Daemon growls and steps forward, "you're her fucking father—"

The Hand scoffs.

"— It's a miracle she's withstood the poison you've been sledging into her throat since gods know when. You're the reason she's fucking sick-"

"DO NOT," Otto barks, "speak to me of her—"

"Daemon!" you grab his arm as Daemon presses closer to him.

"Ivestragī nyke ossēnagon zirȳla!" Daemon barks, eyes fixed on Otto. Let me kill him!

He repeats this twice, leaving you in a fit of tears. The sound of your staggered cries is the only reason he stays his hand.

Otto watches as you crumple into Daemon's arms. He feels helpless to see the monster clutch your cheeks and hold you close. He can see you struggle for air, and it makes his own breath hitch. He feels an overwhelming sense of horror overcome him.

Daemon's brows furrow as you shake your head. He wipes your tears before carrying you and walking away.

Otto stands there, balked, torn, angered, hurt, resentful, tormented. He watches the devil usher you deeper into his hell.

"Maester?" Daemon mutters as he hurries down the hall.

You shake your head.

He makes a sound, "are you certain?"

His throat tightens as you grip his collar, tugging it ever so slightly. You shake your head, "bed."

He nods, heading to your chambers.

When you arrive, Daemon is quick to sit you upon your bed, leaning you on the headboard. He removes your shoes and undoes the braids in your hair. He is gentle, far gentler than anyone who has ever touched your hair.

His face is grave when your tears do not cease. He notices that your breathing is still heavy and ragged. Images of the day you nearly died flash in his mind's eye. He stops undoing your hair and takes your hand, kneeling beside you on the bed. His eyes begin to water, "you must breathe."

You groan and turn away from him, pulling your hand with you. You strangle out, "it is difficult."

Daemon whimpers, kicking his shoes off. He climbs on the bed and sits beside you. He rubs your chest and leans on your shoulder. He cannot help himself; he kisses your neck, "please-"

"Daemon."

"I- I-"

You grab his wrist and shake your head again.

He clenches his jaw as you lower his arm to your lap.

"I can do it."

He gulps and nods slowly.

You inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

Daemon squeezes your hand. He is restless.

"When I die—"

"Stop-"

"— you cannot kill him."

He makes a terrible sound. He shakes his head, "do not speak to me of this."

"I must," you squeeze him, "he deserves to suffer me, to flinch each time my name is spoken."

"Do not die to spite your father," Daemon grunts, "spite him with your life."

You close your eyes and sigh, "and what if I do not want to live?"

You gasp when you hear him whine. Daemon crumbles into your lap. He squeezes your hands tightly, "speak no further... I beg you."

You look down at him. Your heart aches. You sigh and brush his hair, "I would not kill myself. You know this."

He turns his head, one eye peeping up at you, "am I supposed to be comforted?"

"Yes," you blurt, "be sure that when I pass, it is my time."

Daemon sits up, "and what if he kills you?"

You sigh. You take a moment to calm yourself before reaching for his face. He instantly presses his hand over yours and leans into your touch. You rub his wet cheeks, "my father would not kill me."

"Yet he does."

You feel Daemon clench his jaw.

"Slowly... subtly."

You lean your head back. You whimper at the feel of the braids that were still not undone. You pull away from Daemon to undo them yourself. He's about to help you, but then you mutter, "get me shears."

"... why?"

"I do not wish to fashion my hair ever again."

He looks at you for a moment before standing. He heads to your vanity and quickly finds what he is looking for. He reluctantly hands it to you and you gratefully take it.

He watches you undo your hair wholly and bring it to one side. You bunch your dark strands together and haphazardly try to cut it. You cannot, your hair is too thick and the blades too dull; it barely cut parchment. Still, here you were trying to cut your hair. Daemon is silent as you do.

You grow frustrated and look at him, finding his eyes are fixed upon your tresses. Your eyes water, "am I hysterical?"

Violet eyes meet your glassy ones. He strokes your head, "you are my wife."

You grip the sheers tightly before lowering it.

Daemon frowns, "did you not enjoy my braids?

"I-" you stare at the shears, "that is not why."

"... would you like me to help you?"

"No," you look up at him, handing him the metal object, "I am hysterical."

"Do not listen to that cunt," he takes the shears from you, putting it back in its place. You watch him crawl beside you again. He takes your hand and frowns, "you are far tamer than you ought to be."

You raise your brows at his words. You reciprocate his hold and rub your thumb against his skin, "you would feed my madness."

He gazes at your sad face and shrugs, "we could be mad together."

You chuckle.

His heart skips. He squeezes your hand.

"You mean to tell me you aren't yet mad?"

Daemon dares to lean into you.

You do not pull away when he rests his head upon your shoulder.

He whispers, "no."

You feel him bring your hand to his chest. You feel him kiss your hand.

"You are my sanity."

You feel him kiss your neck. You shudder.

Daemon is entranced by your scent. He soon has his hands brushing around your torso, pulling you close to him. He breathes you in like air, because you were his. He buries his face into your hair. Gods, he's missed this. Gods, he's missed you.

You close your eyes and sigh, palms brushing up his shoulders. He takes this as permission to kiss you more, so he does. He peppers his lips across your skin, down your throat, across your neck. He clutches you into his chest, willing you into his ribcage. You gulp and melt into him with a sigh.

The sound encourages him. He pulls you down to bed as if you were weightless. Your skirt hikes up in consequence, and he hisses when he repositions you and feels the bareness of your thigh.

Daemon breaks the kiss, panting like a dog as he examines your from. He gulps, mind reeling at the skin your dress no longer concealed. He remembers what you told him in the garden, how you no longer loved him. He slowly withdraws his hand, feeling it trembld.

You watch as he battles with himself. You dig your fingers into his collar, urging him to look at you.

He does, pupils blown. Your name slips past his parted mouth.

You rub his shoulder, "do you want me?"

"Fuck," he laughs manically, "d-do I want you?"

Goosebumps prick on your skin as he rubs up your thigh. You feel your breathing heavy as his nails dig into the flesh of your hip.

He draws a deep breath and whispers, not trusting his voice, "I want you."

You huff and close your eyes. Your tug his top and part your legs.

"Fuuuuuuck," Daemon whines through a sigh, sinking his head into your neck as he slots himself between you. He curses again when he hears you whimpe. He wraps your thighs around him.

He bucks into you. His teeth nip your jaw. Your nails scratch up his nape and tug his short hair. Your eyes water.

Daemon could peak from this alone.

You mutter his name.

He moans and squeezes your thigh in response.

You whimper as you feel his erection against your core. Your lips wobble. You press your face against his and whisper, "I'll let you put a babe in me again."

Daemon turns to stone.

You begin to breath heavily again.

His voice is muffled, "what?"

"I said I'll let you put a babe in me again."

He lifts his head. His eyes are reddish and his brows are furrowed. Little did you know you mirrored him, if not worse. You were crying, and you couldn't even feel it.

"And then w-hat?" his voice cracks.

You clutch his cheeks.

"And then you die?"

You brush his chin. You cannot reply.

He chokes on your name and screws his eyes shut. He buries his face into your neck and shakes his head. He sinks into you, but he's no longer hard, just sad and desperate.

"... if gods be willing... I'd have a reason to live."

"I am unwilling to gamble."

You lean into his head, "it's always a gamble, affliction or not."

Daemon lifts his head and looks down upon you. He rubs your cheeks frantically as he says your name. He mutters, "I do not even have you yet. Do not be so eager to leave me."

You close your eyes, relishing the feel of his thumbs on your face.

He kisses your forehead, "give me a chance. Please."

You sigh, "I'm exhausted."

His hand trembles, "please."

Your brows furrow.

He examines your face restlessly, brushing your skin in hopes it will coax the answer he wants.

"I'll try."

He breathes a sharp sigh of relief. He kisses the corner of your mouth, "thank you."

[angelicgirlmj]

an angels guide: solo valentines

hey angels! whether or not you are single this year valentines is more than just a celebration of romantic love, it should be one of platonic, familial and most importantly self love! oscar wilde wrote ‘to love oneself is the beginning of a life long romance’ and that quote feels so relevant and meaningful to me. after all the only person who will always be with you and experience every moment with you is yourself - you have to give them the love they deserve. with that being said here it is, an angels guide to solo valentines!

write a list of every single thing you love about yourself. doesn’t matter how long or short, how utterly random or specific it is, the point is for you to have a reminder of what makes you loveable in your eyes that is just for you!

read a self discovery book, it could be from any author, genre, fictitious or not, find a book that prominently features a journey of self exploration.

be kind to yourself. have that snack, go to bed a little earlier, take a walk even though it’s cold, stretch as you wake up, whatever helps you treat yourself lovingly and kindly.

buy a physical magazine - cute, girly and depending on the kind you get valentines themed! my favourites are vogue, the new yorker and the paris review!

write yourself a love letter. make it special, meaningful, sweet, whatever you need to receive in the moment. save it till valentines.

buy yourself a little treat. maybe your favourite flowers or snack, maybe a movie ticket, whatever it is get yourself a gift because you deserve to shower yourself with love!

have an everything shower or bath. be slow and mindful, light a candle and put on a playlist, spend as long as you want doing all of your favourite shower activities. use that shower lotion you save for special occasions and spray yourself with a favourite perfume even if you just are getting cozy for bed.

bake yourself something sweet (or savoury, i just associate sweet things with valentines!). maybe strawberry and white chocolate scones, dark chocolate raspberry mouse or a comforting tray of brownies. save it just for you or share with friends and family!

take yourself on a solo date, spend deliberate and conscious time alone. maybe it’s something small like getting a matcha and reading in a coffee shop, maybe it’s something bigger like a shopping spree at your favourite clothes shop or maybe it’s even a solo trip away! do whatever feels right, affordable and needed for you in this moment.

make a self love, valentines playlist!

declutter your room and make your space bright, cozy and comforting. celebrate and honour your space and self, take the time to pick through the things you love, clean them, treat them with care.

have a romcom film night! make a list, get your fave movie snacks, a drink and cozy blanket and settle in and get cozy.

be creative, learn a new creative skill or rediscover an old one, please use your hands, use your mind, make something just for yourself regardless of how good you think it is.

explore your city or town or the place you live by yourself (if safe and able to do so!), bring a camera or take pictures on your phone. stop and be in the moment, find pockets of brightness and beauty. bring your headphones, find a song that fits your mood. pick up pretty rocks or things you find them and save them. keep things that will remind you of yourself in this moment, this place and put them in a junk journal or memory box.

move your body in a way that honours it and is kind. do a dance workout with rests when you need, move slowly during a pilates workout, go for a run and take the time to breath deeply and drink cold, fresh water. love your body and all that it does for you.

i know for many (regardless of their relationship status) can feel at best bored or like this time of year is pointless, or at worse lonely and upset. this year i want you to focus on finding love within yourself, because, angels, you are so full of it. let internal love fulfill you and then let the external find you. what are your plans for solo valentines or solo valentines activities this month? let me know i would love to hear it and get some inspiration!

happy valentines! love, m.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I feel like the Ghost Marriage event shouldn't have happened. I mean, it's a little sus that this dead chick was proposing to a bunch of TEENAGERS in the first place, but not only that, but she was a royal, and as I understand only a few of the students at NIght Raven were of noble/royal decent.

Personally, I don't think there's a huge issue here?? Depiction of something doesn't automatically mean endorsement or condonment of it. Ghost Marriage clearly depicts Eliza wanting to quickly get hitched to one of the NRC students as a patently bad thing; it is in no way promoting what she's trying to do. (Small correction though: she's not proposing to anyone, Eliza is just outright kidnapping the one she deems to be her ideal groom; it is the other NRC students who are proposing to her in an effort to rescue Idia.) The mere existence of Ghost Marriage is NOT Twst saying, "Hey, it's okay for minors to marry adults and this is what we should be doing!" That's like claiming that Sebek being depicted as racist or Epel believing in gender norms is promoting racism or gender norms. If you look at the context surrounding these situations, you'll quickly realize that these depictions are, in fact, NOT promotions. Sebek, Epel, and Eliza are constantly told their viewpoints are wrong or clowned on for expositing their beliefs.

When it comes to age, the devs kept Eliza's pretty ambiguous. Just because she is dead doesn't mean she's like 80+ years old. They never put a number to it, but they allude that she "died young", but she isn't exactly a child since her attendants speak of her childhood like it's a thing of the past (ie "[...] ever since you were a little girl"). Judging by her immaturity and even her looks, you could honestly argue that Eliza is roughly the same age as the NRC students or is at least a fellow teenager herself. (Furthermore, in the original Japanese text, Eliza promises to visit the school again with a baby; this was scrubbed from EN--why? Maybe because they didn't want to imply a young woman close to the boys' age getting pregnant so soon.) Whoever she marries wouldn't be left alive; her kiss will literally kill them, also rendering them a ghost too. As a married couple, both Eliza and her groom would be dead; it would not be a situation where one is dead and the other is left alive. I don't find it problematic that students potentially younger/older than her proposed because the intention was never to go through with the marriage, it's to trick her so she puts on a magical ring that will dispel her from the world of the living. Again, CONTEXT MATTERS. No one here is actually seriously wanting this legally binding marriage except Eliza herself. Idia (the intended groom) is 18, so he could marry if he wanted to. It might be weird if Eliza was younger than him, but I think that even if that's the case, it's fine because she's supposed to be viewed as immature and unrealistic about love. Eliza is MEANT to be seen as a little cuckoo, not an example to live up to (literally ALL the other characters, including Idia, see her as unhinged); the writing in this event isn't trying to tell you that you should aspire to be like Eliza. On the contrary, you shouldn't be like her, and Ace even calls her out for this at the end of the event. I would take issue with Ghost Marriage if it had done the opposite and tried to promote her behavior as "good" or "desirable" when it very obviously is not.

I don't think the typical rules for nobility and their marriages apply in this case. Eliza is dead and technically has no country, wealth, or anything to her name. She is chained to this mortal coil because of her unfulfilled desire to marry the perfect prince--so that's the desire she seeks to fulfill. Her retainers help her because they lament that she was not able to achieve her dream when she was still alive and they feel guilty for not being able to help her flee before their kingdom was brought to ruin. Eliza doesn't have to heavily vet lineages or even necessarily marry another royal. That kind of stuff is only really important if you have countries to rule over, assets that could be impacted, politics that could shift. You know, actual things at stake that are dependent on who she marries. But Eliza currently has nothing but her own desire fueling her, so nothing is riding on who she marries. She's just driven by her own selfish longing to find her perfect prince because... oh yeah, everyone in her country is already dead and this is literally all she has to "live" for left 💀 (though if we really wanted to get technical, Idia may not be nobility but he’s still pretty rich and influential; he’s close to being a noble without the actual title attached to it.)

[asterafroditis]

Ur writing is so nice! Could I request Leona x reader, hurt/comfort? Whatever comes to ur mind! ^_^

𐔌 . ⋮ second to none .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Leona Kingscholar x gn! reader

𓏵 849 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, angst, hurt/comfort

yayyy, first request done (๑°ㅁ°๑)‼✧ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Leona knew better than to let himself care. Caring led to expectations. Expectations led to disappointment. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

And yet—here you were. Again.

Sitting beside him in the dim glow of the Botanical Garden, unbothered by his sour mood, by the way he kept his back turned to you like a wounded animal trying to hide its injuries. You didn’t prod, didn’t push—you just sat there.

That made it worse.

"Kifaji again?" you finally asked, voice careful but not hesitant.

Leona scoffed, running a hand through his tangled mane. "What else is new?" His tail flicked sharply against the grass, irritation rolling off him in waves. "‘Prince Leona, you must do this. Prince Leona, your duty is to your kingdom.’ Blah, blah, blah—what a joke."

"It’s not fair that they treat you like that."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Fair? Oh, don’t gimme that. You’re smart enough to know the world doesn’t give a damn about ‘fair.’" He finally looked at you, and for a second, the weight of his exhaustion nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. "And neither should you."

You frowned, leaning closer. "Leona—"

"No. Don't start." His voice dropped lower, rougher, like the walls he’d spent years fortifying were beginning to crack. "I know what you're gonna say. That I’m ‘more than just a second prince.’ That I ‘deserve more credit.’ That I should ‘believe in myself’ or some other feel-good nonsense." His jaw tightened. "I know all that. And it doesn’t matter."

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the sheer resentment in his voice—not towards you, but towards himself.

"Why doesn’t it matter?" you asked softly.

Leona clenched his fists, looking away. "Because nothing I do will ever be enough. I could be the strongest magic user in the kingdom, the best strategist they’ve ever seen—but at the end of the day, I’ll still just be the second-born. The ‘spare.’" His voice wavered, but he swallowed it down, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "If I can’t change that, then why the hell should I bother?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling your heart twist.

This wasn’t just bitterness. This was defeat.

He had already convinced himself that he would never be worth as much as his brother. That his best would never be good enough.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong—not in the eyes of his kingdom.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t wrong to you.

"Leona." Your voice was quiet but firm. He still wouldn't look at you, but he didn’t pull away when you reached for his hand, fingers gently brushing against his calloused skin.

"You’re right," you admitted. His ear twitched, but he stayed silent. "You can’t change how your kingdom sees you. You can’t change the fact that you’re the second prince. But that doesn’t mean you’re worthless."

His grip tensed, knuckles white. "Tch. That’s easy for you to say."

You held onto him tighter, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin of his palm, grounding him in the moment. "Maybe. But I mean it."

The night air was thick with the weight of his silence. His breathing was shallow, controlled—like he was forcing himself not to let your words sink in.

Like he was afraid of believing them.

Your free hand moved without thinking, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles, lingering in a way that felt too intimate to be casual. You could feel his pulse, steady yet tense beneath your touch.

"I wish you saw yourself the way I see you," you murmured.

A flicker of something passed through his sharp emerald eyes—something unreadable, something dangerous.

Leona was always good at pushing people away before they got too close, but this—this was different.

"And how do you see me?" His voice was quieter now, almost wary.

You hesitated for a moment, then tightened your grip on his hand.

"I see someone who’s brilliant. Strategic. Strong." Your voice softened. "Someone who doesn’t just follow the path set for him, but carves his own, even if no one else understands it."

Leona let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. "Doesn’t change the fact that it’s a path to nowhere."

"Then I'll walk it with you."

That made him pause.

You bit your lip, then continued, voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "You keep acting like you have to prove yourself to people who refuse to see your worth. Like you have to do everything alone." You sighed. "But I see you, Leona. And I’ll keep seeing you, whether you want me to or not."

He stared at you, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a huff, he looked away, running a hand down his face. "You’re too stubborn, y’know that?"

You smiled faintly. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

He scoffed. His tail flicked against the grass, irritation laced in the movement, but his fingers curled more securely around yours. Holding on like he wasn’t sure how else to keep himself standing.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to believe you.

And for now, that was enough.

[freyito]

Want to write for boothill? Then....remember how he reacted when he was called cute? That should be your starting point

✭ pairing(s): boothill x gn reader

✧ a/n: as always, boothill cannot live a peaceful existence around me and MUST have some sort of angst in any fic i write. youre welcome :D

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, GET SHIP OF THESEUS'D, little bit of hc work?, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴ'

Boothill is a prideful man. You know that better than anyone. He doesn’t take much compliments, if at all. Perhaps ‘handsome’, or maybe even ‘dashing’, but he only really accepts them from you. A man of his standing can’t be called… ‘cute’. No, no. He’s rough ‘n’ tough, he’s manly, and on occasion, he’s pretty. But not cute, adorable, or anything of the sort. Don’t insult him like that! Not even when he comes home with a new getup, pretty in pink, even down to his medals.

Well, not that you cared. You called him whatever you wished, because he was cute. Especially when he was all pouty, acting indignant. This didn’t help him, of course, it only spurred you on to show him with as many adorable nicknames you could. ‘Boo-Boo’ in particular has always stunned him. He’d get this look, where his nose scrunched, giving you an awkward grimace (which often turns into a sheepish smile), and his face lighting up like a firecracker. He’d stammer and trip over his words, telling you to ‘knock it off, sugar…’, shake his head, and mumble something about how you can’t do that to a man’s dignity.

But you do. He won’t do much about what you call him, because deep down it sparks something akin to butterflies in his stomach. Or, at least, in what could be his stomach. It’s more like an odd quivering feeling within his wires that simulates adrenaline, and apparently, nerves! Boothill himself will never get used to it, but you’re quite taken with the effect you have on him, and the subsequent results.

He loves you, he truly does. And of course he’s willing to sit still and accept the fact that you won’t stop hurling such… endearing words at him. Yet, despite all his protests, all his pouting and shaking his head, he can’t help but admit (to himself, if he let you know, he would never hear the end of it) that he quite enjoys it. A man like him, who tossed his body away to become a killing machine, the hollow shell he inhabits created for the sole reason of revenge, considered cute? He hasn’t heard words like that directed at him in such a long time. Not since he was a kid, anyways.

When he looks into the mirror, all he can see is a weapon. Even the most human parts feel twisted to him, his teeth reinforced for… what reason? There was a point where he forgot why he had gotten all these augmentations, wondering if he truly needed to shed the entirety of his humanity. Truly, there was no need for sharper teeth, augmented tongue, and an augmented eye. Nor did he need a neurochip, his mind alone could’ve gotten him this far. And yet, he had still gone through with it. All this to kill one man, who has avoided him for so many years. How many more augmentations, or “upgrades” would he need until his dream of revenge was finally realized? What would happen once that happens? Perhaps, by then, he wouldn’t be so deserving of–

You wrap your arms around Boothill’s waist and rest your head on his shoulder. He flinches instinctively, before letting out a soft chuckle and reaching up to pet through your messy hair. There you two are, framed in the length of the mirror, and in an instant, he forgets about his earlier thoughts. 

You had just woken up, barely able to keep your eyes open, or your steps steady. Despite your blurry vision, you had caught Boothill standing there, staring solemnly at his reflection in the mirror. This kind of thing was all too common, and you regret to admit you’ve noticed his penchant to stare for too long. You don’t understand what’s going on in his head, but at this point, you’d rather just hold him. And hold him you do, burying your face in the crook of his neck like the measly morning light that had filtered through the curtains was just too bright.

“Awh, darlin’, why don’t you go back to bed?” Boothill murmurs softly, leaning his head onto yours. “Didn’t mean to wake you, and definitely don’t mean to keep you up.”

You groan and shake your head half-heartedly, squeezing his waist just slightly to emphasize your want to stay. Or, perhaps your stubbornness to let go. You peak out from his shoulder, shooting him a look that tells him all. ‘I won’t go back to bed without you’, or something of the sort.

“Don’t give me that look,” He chuckles, tilting his head a little so he could press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll be back in bed in a minute, okay? Just gotta… clean up…”

His voice tapers off as his gaze returns to the mirror, oddly transfixed on his teeth and eyes. You let go reluctantly, but you decide to stay close by. You stand next to him for a moment, looking up at him and watching the way he bared his teeth and leaned in. You raise your eyebrows, trying to decipher what was going on his head at the moment, to no avail. While he registers the fact that you are right next to him, he doesn’t say much else, focused on his reflection.

“Hey, cutie,” You mumble, deciding to take a page out of his book. He snaps out of his trance and stares down at you with that same, flustered look, his cheeks red as he tries his best to form a sentence, something to tell you off. Eventually, he gives up, shoulders slumping slightly as he allows himself to be defeated by such a simple word. “What’cha thinkin’ about?”

“I-It’s nothin’, hun. Just…” He shrugs, gesturing towards the mirror, then himself. “I think I’m… unhappy.”

You blink and stare up at him for a moment, surprised by those words. Boothill has always had his ups and downs, and around you, he was never afraid to ‘cry’, wallow, or anything of the sort. He could mournfully explain what happened to his home to you, he’d tell you he missed it, but you don’t think he’s ever said he was unhappy. 

“Ah, uhm… with me? With us? Or, like…” You point at his mouth, “Your teeth?”

“No! No, I could never be unhappy with you, sugar. Or the life we have– but, I mean, I guess the teeth are part of it,” He turns away from the mirror, gaze softened, almost sorrowful. “It’s my body… I ain’t insecure, or anything, and I know what I was gettin’ into. I mean, I chose this for a reason, but… I dunno. I don’t. Sometimes I start thinkin’ if it was worth it, and sometimes it scares me to think of what happens after.”

“After… what, exactly?”

“When I find that sunuva-nice-lady, and string him up by his pearls and show him what iron tastes like–”

“You’ll have me. We’ll have a life, we’ll have the same life we have now, or maybe even better.”

“I… I suppose we will… but I hate to be the bearer of bad news, when Oswaldo Schnieder is dead, my bounty’s only gonna get bigger. You know that.”

“I do, but, not to jinx it or anything, they don’t know where we are. We can live out our peace day by day by day… yada yada yada.”

Boothill pauses, and thinks about it. It’s nice, that kind of future. But he also understands that it won’t be possible. You do too. Not that you want to admit it, if you were to say it out loud, you feared that it would become true.

After a beat, Boothill sighs and wraps his arm around your waist, nudging you back to the bed.

“Well, it’s a bit too early to think about that, isn’t it. I’ve yet to find the dang clockstucker,” He huffs, shaking his head, before falling back onto the bed, hands behind his head. “Best we get some rest instead of talkin’ all grim-like. Ain’t good for our minds.”

You follow suit, laying down next to him with a huff, rolling over onto your side and staring up at him. He closes his eyes, as if pondering something, or perhaps trying to go to sleep. Granted, he didn’t need to. He just liked to play along with you, hold you close and cuddle up despite how ‘uncomfy’ he claimed his body to be. Yeah, metal and steel wasn’t exactly the softest material, but… you liked it all the same. At this point in the relationship, it felt normal. If anything, it’d feel wrong to hold anything else other than steel.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you reach out with your other hand and cup his face. His eyes flutter open near immediately, tilting his head ever so slightly and looking up at you.

“What’s up?” He smiles weakly, his bravado faltering. You know damn well that whatever was on his mind earlier was still haunting him, and you’d rather have him fight against being called the word ‘cute’, rather than this.

With a huff, you take your hand from his cheek, raking your fingers through his bangs before pushing them up and revealing the rest of his face. Taken aback, he blinks, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to decipher your goal. The eye that’s normally covered is damaged, torn a little at the edge, revealing some of the mechanized shell underneath. It’s not something he’s secretive about, you’ve known about it well before you two had started dating, but you didn’t see it much, and therefore, you were quite fascinated by it.

Before Boothill gets a word of protest in, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s small and fleeting, but it’s enough to earn you a blush and a confused look. His lips work to form a word, but he ultimately fails, body slumping slightly as he realizes exactly what you’re going to say.

“You’re cute, you know? Like–”

“I know, I know, sugar. Thank you.”

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[aangelinakii]

idk if i've said it before but i loveloveloveeeee ur damian stuff omg. i had the silliest idea of damian slowly realizing that he was in love with the reader and caught himself doodling them on the corner of a homework assignment and he's adding a sappy caption like "my beloved" and adding his signature before he can stop himself.

DAMIAN WAYNE + CRUSHING.

note : this idea is SO FRRAKING CUTE !!!! i lowk didn't wanna write a whole imagine so i did something similar to what i did with bruce and CRUSHING HEADCANOND !!!! yes yes

damian isn't one to get a crush

crushes are for babies

and damian al ghul wayne is Nawt a baby

so why tf is he sitting in his ap physics class that his father paid for with his old money

doodling your name in the margin of his textbook

beside his stuff about newton's law

whatever that is 💀

his eyes widen at the sight of the scribbles, blacking out what looks like your first name with variations of his last name

what would sound better, wayne or al ghul ?

and below that there's his name, damian, scrawled with your surname

maybe he'd take yours

or mush them together in a double barrel

and oh look he's done that too, just to check how well they'd go together

his knuckles grow white as his grip on his pen tightens, and he knows he should scribble them out further, to better hide the evidence

but something's fluttering in his heart and he can't bring himself to do it

maybe he'll just tear the page out when he gets home and hide it at thr bottom of one of his various drawers, maybe even slide it within the pages of one of his books in there so it's sure to not get found

when damian had found himself thinking about his school friend more than usual

and i mean breakfast lunch and dinner

he just thought

oh we must be really good friends, they must mean a lot to me

but as he stares down at the sketch he's done of what he can see of your face at this angle on one of the desks before him

something hits him and he realises this isn't just friendly

you're his muse, the only thing that can take his mind off what's most important — and at the moment that's getting a good grade in ap physics

there's no way he can talk to any of his brothers about this, not stephanie or barb

duke might be more relenting

cass might be more understanding

even his father would be a stretch

he hasn't had much luck in the love department, what good would he be in this situation ?

perhaps... yes.. perhaps he should talk to alfred when he gets home

[wolfsclothing6]

Hey, love your stories! Could you write one about a guy who hates his body and buys a skin suit to become bigger and hairier? Maybe he doesn’t read the fine print, takes a hot bath, and gets stuck like that forever?

(Oh I like that idea and thank you for taking part of MorphoSkin Industries deluxe service)

Tobias Model #3224.

Package Arrived!

Okay, so I finally did it. After weeks of obsessing over the MorphoSkin Industries site, I pulled the trigger. My Deluxe Identity Series body suit arrived this morning, and let me tell you, the box was way heavier than I expected. They ship it in this sleek, all-black container with "MorphoSkin—A New You Awaits" printed in silver. Fancy.

Ripped it open, and there he was: Tobias Model #3224.

6'3", built like a truck, covered in thick body hair, and rocking a solid dad bod. Exactly what I wanted. Something bigger. Something different. My real self? 5'9", kinda scrawny, patchy facial hair that never grows in right. But Tobias? He’s got that rugged, burly look—hairy chest, thick forearms, the kind of guy who owns a flannel and actually looks good in it.

I found the instruction booklet (didn't read it, let’s be real) and just went straight for the good stuff

The inside of the suit was... weird. Cool to the touch, kind of like putting on damp silk, but it moved when I stretched it. I pulled it over my legs first, feeling them thicken as I stepped in. My thighs ballooned, my calves stretched, and when I flexed my toes, I felt calluses that weren’t mine.

I tugged it up over my stomach, and whoa. Instant gut. It even jiggled when I moved. I gave it a little slap—solid, thick. Damn.

Pulling the arms in was surreal. My fingers got beefier, veins popping under the skin, knuckles bigger, hair covering my forearms. The weight of it felt right, like I’d been in the wrong body my whole life.

And the face?

Lining it up took a second, but once it was on, I felt a sharp tingle from my scalp down my spine. My vision blurred, ears popped, and suddenly… I was Tobias. Deep brown eyes stared back at me in the mirror. A strong, squared-off jaw covered in thick stubble. My neck even felt thicker. I ran my hands through my now wild, unkempt hair and let out a deep, rumbling laugh that wasn’t mine.

"Holy shit."

After pacing around, flexing my new muscles, admiring the way my hairy stomach peeked out under my stretched-out shirt, I decided to celebrate the best way possible:

A long, hot bath.

I turned the water on full blast, watching steam fill the bathroom as I stripped off the last of my clothes. God, everything felt so heavy in the best way. My arms rested on my belly, fingers idly scratching at the coarse hair now covering my chest. This body was made for lounging.

Sinking into the water was heaven. The heat wrapped around me, seeping into my new muscles, making them ache in the most satisfying way. I stretched out, letting my thick fingers drag lazily over the surface of the water, feeling completely at peace.

I lost track of time. The steam, the warmth, the weight of this body settling in—it was perfect.

Eventually, I forced myself to stand, water sloshing off my broad frame. I grabbed a towel, rubbing it over my arms, my chest—except something felt… different.

The suit usually had a slight give to it, almost like a second layer of skin. But now? It wasn’t moving.

I frowned, pressing a hand against my stomach. No shift. No subtle detachment. Just me.

I moved to the mirror, wiping away the condensation. Tobias’ face stared back at me, as expected—but there was no seam, no subtle ridge where my real face should be beneath. I reached up, pressing at my jaw, my cheekbones, even behind my ears.

Nothing.

I tried pinching at my wrist, where I knew the access point was supposed to be. The skin didn’t budge. I dug my nails in harder, trying to find an edge, a weak spot—anything.

My breathing picked up.

"No. No, no, no—this was temporary. Just a temporary malfunction. I just needed to let it cool down, right?"

I paced the bathroom, my heavy footsteps thudding against the tile. My arms swung at my sides, the thick forearms, the hairy knuckles—it all felt too real now.

I snatched up the instruction booklet, my hands trembling slightly as I flipped through the pages. Then, I saw it:

"DO NOT EXPOSE SUIT TO EXTREME HEAT FOR EXTENDED PERIODS. High temperatures may cause permanent fusion with the host."

The booklet slipped from my fingers.

Permanent...

I looked back at the mirror, at the deep brown eyes that were no longer borrowed but mine. My broad shoulders, my thick-fingered hands. Tobias's body.

This was me.

I took a deep breath, watching my massive chest rise and fall. I ran a hand through my thick, unruly hair, scratching at the beard I hadn’t earned but now owned. My voice rumbled out in a nervous chuckle—except it wasn’t nervous.

It was satisfied.

I swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing. I wanted to be Tobias, didn’t I?