#writing day instead

[gifti3]

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ .

[choccy-milky]

seb's 2 modes around clora 🥰👿

[wheneverfeasible]

Omegaverse AU where Steve presents as an alpha just like his father always wanted, just like everyone expects, just like he was supposed to. He exclusively dates betas, scoffing and saying omegas weren’t good enough for him. He said they were too needy, too annoying, too pathetic. He was an alpha.

He hates it.

The truth is that Steve always wanted to be an omega, always wanted to soft and taken care of, wanted to be pupped up, wanted to avoid the stupid knotheads that he was forced to surround himself with, forced to pretend to be. He never dated an omega because he wants to be one and wants desperately for another alpha to take him as their own.

Enter Eddie, an alpha unlike any other. He scorns alphas like Steve and Tommy and Billy and all the other knotheads who act like they’re so much better than anyone else just because of their secondary gender. He rants on top of cafeteria tables about it, has ever since he presented and actually had the other alphas try to talk to him at first as if he was one of them.

No fucking thank you.

Steve is…not enamored, but curious about the super senior. Nancy broke up with him, he and Tommy are sort of on the outs though still barely friends, and Billy has a one-sided rivalry for the crown Steve currently wore, not that Steve truly cared about it.

Blah blah blah, Steve propositions Eddie after watching him for a while, realizing that Eddie might just be the sort of alpha who would fuck Steve and let him pretend to be an omega for a little while, meanwhile Eddie thinks King Steve wants to start shit with him like a knotheaded alpha and is wary and lightly mocking at first, until he realizes what Steve wants.

Steve and Eddie become fuckbuddies, nothing more, where Steve gets to role play as an omega and have Eddie dominate him, who seems to know that Steve wants to pretend to be cared for rather than playing the slut role he’s been doing as an alpha, and Steve actually breaks down in tears the first time Eddie calls him “good boy” and “good omega” though they both pretend he didn’t.

And you see, bitching isn’t really well known yet. It’s not really a thing that’s spoken about amongst polite society. So neither of them clock it when, as their feelings for each other grow, Steve becomes a little more emotional, a little more irrational in regards to Eddie’s attention, and they use scent blockers and neutralizers all the time to keep their affairs secret, so they don’t notice Steve’s scent changing, or the fact that he’s starting to become more than just artificially wet, or his knot doesn’t really pop like it used to because they both steadfastly had ignored it for so long to play the role right.

And it’s just not known. It’s not something that’s really spoken about, so they’d never think about it.

So no, they don’t notice anything until it’s too late, until it happens, and Steve is suddenly thrown into a spontaneous heat after an intense basketball game or something, the final stages of his transition. There was too much sweating, too much testosterone, that the blockers and neutralizers don’t really cut it anymore.

Billy makes the winning shot as the heat hits, making Steve’s legs collapse under him as slick coats his drawers and shorts, dripping down his thighs. All alpha heads suddenly towards him as his new true scent bursts out, surprise on all their faces, even hunger on some.

Billy and Tommy both take a step towards him but are forced to stop by a growl that reverberates through Steve as if it were his own as the familiar scent hits him of blockers and tobacco and weed and leather and that stupid cheap shampoo/conditioner/body wash 3-in-1 that Eddie uses as strong arms wrap around him and dark hair cascades around him.

Because he’s there. His alpha. He’s always there, hiding in the corner or under bleachers or somewhere where Steve can’t see him and he’s always there because this stupid thing between them has become so much more than either of them ever expected and he’s so protective of his omega because Steve is his omega even when he was an alpha because he was always an omega even when he wasn’t biologically.

It isn’t ideal. It far from fucking ideal, but Eddie whisks Steve away in his arms, whispering those words of praise that used to only belong in their role play, but Steve is burning up and he can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait can’twaitcan’twaitcan’tfuckingwait—

And Eddie pulls him into classroom, locks and bars the door with desks and chairs and whatever else, and then he’s there he’s there he’stherehe’stherehe’sthere.

Eddie wants to bite, wants to mark, wants to claim, but he knows now isn’t the time so all he does is help Steve through it while he’s all but delirious from the sudden heat rewriting him completely.

Afterwards, they will talk. They will confess. They will admit. They will acknowledge that they were his alpha, his omega, and had been for longer than either of them realized. They will slink to Eddie’s car, go to Eddie’s trailer, will wash off all scents artificial and other until the them, finally just them and they will find the truth in each other. They will find a love that thrived against all odds. A love that beat fate itself.

Eddie does eventually bite him, and Steve completes it with his own, and eventually Steve gets his and his alpha’s pups like he always wanted and he can bask in the knowledge that he was exactly where he was always meant to be, with an alpha that loves and cherishes him exactly as he is, with a pack both of his own pups and the pups he all but adopted as their babysitter and real friends he gathered along the way he never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

It’s not easy at first. Of course it’s not. Something practically unheard of happened in a small conservative town like Hawkins. There were bigots and hateful people galore, and at times it even tested Steve and Eddie, but they always survived and always came out on the other side hand-in-hand and triumphant in their growing love.

They know that the best things in life are worth fighting for. And they vowed to never stop fighting. For themselves, for each other, and for everyone and everything they hold dear.

And they have fantastic sex along the way.

[damianbugs]

silly hc that could never happen but once when jason was 12 and a reporter made it close enough to him at a gala to ask "so, how did you get taken in by bruce wayne?" and because bruce deserves to suffer at least once a week, he shrugs and drops "well, batman found me and said bruce would look after me because they have a deal." the reporter is, rightfully, confused, and upon their kind of disbelieving look, jason adds on innocently "it's okay — batman still visits us on the weekends."

papers get published and gothamites — who had always assumed there was some sort of connection between bruce and batman — simply can not believe the two have dual custody over jason todd. batman gets him on the weekends!

rumours spread; exes? divorced? there is a significant increase in kidnapping attempts on bruce wayne, everyone asking the same thing. what exactly is their relationship, and does batman pay child support? does bruce wayne get robin on the weekends? (did batman babytrap bruce wayne??)

the rumours died out years later, not because of time, but because of gotham's fierce loyalty to the bat. jason todd dies and batman is on a warpath. as bruce wayne retracts from the public completely, batman is prowling the streets with reckless abandon. jason todd meant something to him — to them — it only feels right to let them grieve and move on.

+ years later, a leaked picture of bruce wayne hugging red hood after he saved him from a kidnapping reaches the public and a week later, rumours of batman and red hood working together despite their rocky history. the people can not believe bruce wayne is co-parenting half the vigilantes in gotham!

[mellosdrawings]

Now I want to see the losers club. :)

Are you referring to the ACTUAL Losers' Club (aka the Stephen King's Losers Club) or my band of completely unlucky morons ? Whichever the case, you're getting more N2 Squad x)

Here's some random doodles I did to try and get their dynamics for an attempt at fanfic.

(With a very self-indulgent side of Jamil & Ruggie)

[newtonbridgerton]

cressida practicing writing by putting all her thoughts into unsent letters to eloise

all her feelings of betrayal and inadequacy and yearning and loneliness

and then her aunt jo finds all these sealed letters and mails them off trying to be helpful and then cressida is losing her mind when she cant find them

meanwhile eloise has just received several months worth of mail all at once to a rainy secluded castle in scotland

[esmeislewd]

I really like "dumbification" in feederism~

How many calories did you eat today?

uh I don't know? I'm hungry though so can I have a snack?

When was the last time you worked out?

ummm don't know and don't feel like it~

What are you going to have for dinner?

uh like whatever my feeder gives me?

How fat are you?

not sure...but I like it!

Being able to think doesn't really have any impact on your ability to gain so stop thinking and stop worrying, just mindlessly eat and watch the pounds pile on.

[lauraneedstochill]

Can’t help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you’re standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

“It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?” a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction. “It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

“She didn’t interrupt a thing,” he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,” he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

“Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.”

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. 2.

It’s been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn’t left the bed. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn’t an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn’t leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn’t help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He’s only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He’s startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human’s silhouette — and then another few to realize that it’s you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

“They told me no one was allowed into your chambers,“ your hushed whisper burns his ear. “The silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. “I knew I had to find a way to come see you.”

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that’s still healing.

“Does it hurt?”

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

“I will take his eye,” you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might’ve heard it wrong.

“...Whose eye?”

“Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours,” you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice quiet but firm. “The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed.”

“Well, maybe he is too old to think straight,” you retort. “You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail,” you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

At that moment, he can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can’t lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke’s eye isn’t worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid’s persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it’s you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what’s going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can’t see it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly.”

“I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval,” he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

“While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers,” you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

“I am friendly enough!”

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you’re clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing”.

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you’re talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand.

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure. “Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn’t sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

“The gem compliments your eye very well,” you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

“We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is.”

“This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks,” you chide him lightly. “And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?”

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you’re too concentrated on something, and Aemond can’t help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glancing at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn’t seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone is counting). It’s not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn’t leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to King’s Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon’s birthday, but Aemond didn’t care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond’s feelings for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider her part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it’s all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days.

Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say. “It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you.

Aemond hesitates. “I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add, “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can’t hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can’t think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to her,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe she is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him. “Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.” The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You are looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face.

Taken aback, you inquire. “You pity me?” He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,” he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

“Yes, I remember it pretty well,” you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack,” there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. “Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

“Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

“Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her,” the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

“Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in,” he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

“I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness,” he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

“When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine,” you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

“I think you actually enjoyed it,” you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

“I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you.”

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

“The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar,” he pauses, catching his breath. “You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you.”

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm’s length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you’re in, you look so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence.

“Aemond, please don't give me false hope,” your heartbeat is too loud, you don’t hear your own voice. He does.

“I do not wish to marry you out of pity,” Aemond takes the last step. “I want you to be my wife because I am in love with you,” he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. “I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually,” his voice gets low. “For what feels like an eternity,” Aemond murmurs.

“Why haven’t you told me?” you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?” his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

“Tell me that I am wrong,” he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

“Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices,” you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were ten-and-three, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you is tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fans over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth. His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that’s to come.

author’s note: I’m sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I’m a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don’t want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, thank you for reading! 💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley’s song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there’s also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. 💞 my masterlist P.S. I’m also on AO3 (lol, who isn’t), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[temeyes]

i,, i don't know what possessed me,,

[adorablegorilla]

Sorawo Fang Appreciation Post

(Image Description: Various panels from the Otherside Picnic manga showing the main character Sorawo Kamikoshi. In all of them a single pointy tooth is visible poking out of the top of her open mouth)

[grandwretch]

modern au; nonbinary steve

dustin bullies steve into playing their favorite MMO with them. to Dustin's disgust, Steve's favorite part is collecting all the different cosmetic items and making cool fantasy outfits for his avatar. unbeknownst to the party, steve creates an alt account where he can collect the female outfits and wigs, because there's a bigger selection and they're much prettier.

as Steve interacts w people on his new account, he realizes he likes it better-- for one, people pay attention to women in a way he isn't used to. not all of it is good attention, but steve relishes in it. also, he likes that people see him as a woman. he likes that they don't even think about it. quickly he joins a guild and actually starts playing the game in earnest, just so that he has these relationships with people who view and treat him as a woman.

he meets Eddie there. Eddie is charming and flirtatious with everyone, men and women, but it's clear that Steve is his favorite. Very carefully, Steve becomes closer and closer to Eddie-- close enough that Steve is full of guilt.

He feels like he's lying to Eddie about who he is, even though he's told the truth about everything but his gender. Even worse is the realization that he doesn't ever want Eddie to think of him as man-- which is confusing, because steve isn't exactly comfortable with someone he's falling in love with thinking of him as a woman.

Things get even worse when, after Steve drunk texts Eddie after a night out with Robin, they start sexting. Its fun, casual flirtation, nothing too serious, but Strve realizes he likes the idea of sex better as his alternate self. He likes pretending to have tits, he likes imagining what it would be like to have a cunt, he likes talking about wearing lingerie and being Eddie's good girl.

He thinks he can't come clean without losing the best thing he's ever had, so Steve pushes his guilt down and pretends he's not in love.

Of course he gets caught out, eventually. Dustin and Eddie become friends in real life and Eddie isn't an idiot. Steve is mortified and distraught, but once Eddie is sure that this wasn't all a cruel prank, he's quick to assure Steve that nothing has to change-- Knowing that in real life Steve has broad shoulders and a square jaw doesn't make him any more of a "man" than his online avatar makes him a "woman". Not if that's not what Steve wants.

So Steve doesn't have to give anything up. He gets to keep his amazing, supportive boyfriend. He gets to keep his pretty clothes and avatar. He gets to keep experimenting in the bedroom, finding out what makes him happy instead of what he thinks he should be doing.

And he gets more, things Steve never even dreamed of having: He gets to start buying pretty clothes in real life, too, and they hang next to his polos like they belong. He gets to grow out his hair. He gets to slowly find out what he likes, how he wants people to think of him, how he wants to think of himself.

[seizethedeansofproduction]

guess who rewatched gravity falls

[chosai]

ROUGH DAY AT WORK ? LET ME HELP YOU ! — ZAYNE (黎深)

warning: this drabble contains smut (18+ content). minors do not interact!

© chosai — do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

your husband, zayne, isn't the most vocal when it comes to his emotions – if you don't, thoroughly, read him between the lines, it definitely would be a struggle for anyone since this man would not budge, keeping his mouth shut. undoubtedly, you worry for him; he works long hours – nearly sixty hours per week, nights and days, yet he refuses to catch a break. one thing's for certain, he's quite the stubborn workaholic.

you're busy cooking dinner; your nimble hands working on the meat and vegetables while you hum your favourite tune. you glance at the time on the microwave behind you, and you immediately quicken the pace on your chopping. in twenty minutes or so, you expect the front door to open; revealing your beloved husband outside the door – the next course of action being you spoiling him with food. after all, upon returning from a long shift at work, it's important to eat a filling meal.

"he's going to love this," you hum to yourself, sautéing the meat and vegetables together in the pan in contentment. the rice is finished cooking, and the main dish is nearly ready. your stomach is grumbling like crazy at the delicious scent. for the first time in a long time, you feel proud at yourself for cooking such an appetizing dish. you take a small lick from the spoon, and you close your eyes shut and squealed. best bet for the next couple of weeks, you'll be cooking this for dinner.

the door opens suddenly, and steps in your husband clad in his usual dress shirt paired with his trousers. you take a peek from the kitchen, and you excitement took over you.

“welcome home, honey!” you greet zayne warmly, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. once you pull away, you manage to fully inspect your husband’s face; there’s fatigue evident in his hazel eyes and from the way his lips are pressed in a straight line, he doesn’t look too pleased. you rest your hand against his broad chest, leaning closer to him.

“what’s the matter my love? you look tired and upset.” you question him, caressing your hand against his cheek. “i also finished making dinner, we can talk more while we eat dinner if you want!”

before you’re able to pull away, his strong hands stop you; gripping at your waist as he pulls you closer. his thumb rubbing light circles against the thin fabric of your shirt; his face nuzzling into the comfort of your neck.

“i want to stay close to you like this,” he breathes, his voice slightly muffled. you rest your head against his chest.

“work’s been rougher than usual,” he then adds, and he breathes in your scent. “ah, but just touching you makes me feel better.”

“you’re so cute, zayne.” you coo, before leaning in closer to his face. you press a soft peck against his lips, giggling softly. however, you’re caught off guard when he leans in for a second kiss — this time, though, is plenty more heated; while his one hand rested on your hips, his other hand rests on the back of your head to pull you closer. soft, muffled moans fall past your lips, your legs trembling as your arousal steadily grows. a thin string of saliva connects both your lips as you pull away; soft pants leaves your lips as you stare at each other in arduous desperation.

“z-zayne,” you mutter his name bashfully, completely dazed from his overhasty movements. it isn’t as if you minded, though. through your heavy lidded gaze, you can also make out the delectable sight of your husband sharing the same need as you; his mouth slightly agape, his ears slightly flushed a bright incarnadine, and his bedroom eyes — dinner will have to wait. in this moment, you yearn to spoil him by other means.

through heavy and heated kisses, you both find yourselves on the comfort of the sofa; your hips straddling his lap as your lips immediately finds his neck, trailing a line of kisses down the soft skin. his large hands finds its way to your ass, giving the plush a tight squeeze as he grinds you against his aching erection. you moan against his neck, feeling your body twitch beneath his grasp.

aroused is truly an understatement.

“h-honey,” you say in between shaky breaths, “i wanna spoil you today.”

zayne’s hands then travel up your shirt, removing the soft fabric with ease; the cool air immediately hits your skin, and you shiver slightly. your husband licks his lips, savouring the sight of your pretty breasts before him.

without passing another second, your husband latches his mouth onto your soft mound. “you already are, my love.” says your husband, his voice muffled as he twirls his tongue against the hardened bud.

your body shrivels underneath his touch, yearning to get closer to him. soft moans of his name falls from your lips as your hands travel down to his trousers, unbuckling his exorbitant belt and quickly unzipping his trousers which then reveals his grey boxers with a moist spot at the tip.

fuck, you can feel your mouth watering at the sight. just how long has it been since you last had a taste of his dick? with gentle fingers threading through your husband’s raven locks, you pull him away from your breasts — and you squeeze your legs even tightly; he looks so drunk in your touch, his gaze clouded in desire. before zayne can process anything further, he immediately finds you perched in between his legs; your hands going straight in for the hem of his trousers and boxers, attempting to pull them down in one go as if you’re famished.

his erect girth springs out of his boxers and nearly smacks your face. you smile, tracing a finger along his twitching length. enamored, you lick a strip along his cock — not breaking eye contact with your now flustered husband.

“you had a rough day at work, no?” with languid strokes, you ask the question with feigned innocence, leaning your head against his herculean thighs. “let me help you~”

that being said, you take him all the way in your mouth; relishing the way zayne’s breath hitched out a moan as you ignore the tiny tears that threaten to roll down your flushed cheeks. his hand that rests atop your hand trembles, his fingers softly digging into your scalp as he thrusts his hips higher — urging you to take him deeper. you bite back a gag as you try your damnedest to breathe through your nose.

“hah, fuck.” your husband hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back as a hoarse groan falls from his lip, and you moan softly in response albeit his girthy cock is still inches down your throat. “you’re taking me so good, m’love.”

you hum in response through your blurred gaze, your cheeks coated in tears as you continue to please him; one hand resting at his hips, while the other trails south, the tip of your fingers circling around your swollen clit. you can’t help it. given how alluring your husband can be, it is nearly impossible to not pounce on him. your subtle self-pleasure doesn’t go unnoticed by zayne, however.

his hands find stability in your scalp once again, and he holds on to it tight before he begins to thrust into your mouth frantically. the sleek noises of your mouth making love to his dick resonates athwart the living room, paired with some occasional choking from the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat — but zayne loves every single noise that leaves your mouth, even more the lewd expressions plastered across your face as you’re eager to please him.

“fuck, y/n. your mouth feels so fucking good around me. you’re such a good girl for spoiling me — hah. you’re going to make me cum soon.” a string of breathy praises leaves his lips, the pace of his hips thrusting relentlessly begins to stagger the closer he gets to his release.

you pull back slightly and suck on his tip, circling your tongue around the little hole. you stare at your husband, your eyes blown back in lust. from zayne’s point of view, you’re practically staring at him with hearts formed in your eyes. his eye twitches and a hoarse groan slips past his lips, his hands gripping onto your scalp firmly yet softly as he spurts his seed into your mouth.

as you draw back from his cock, you open your mouth — revealing the large amounts of his cum resting on your tongue before swallowing it all. zayne caresses your face gently with his long fingers, giving you praises for taking him so well with your mouth.

“did… did that help?” you ask him cutely, your shoulders rising and dropping as you attempt to catch your breath.

“yes,” zayne says, his hands slowly snaking around your hips. “however…”

a sharp gasp rips from your throat as your husband effortlessly positioned you onto the couch, your ass now facing his hardened cock. you stare back at the erect girth in shock — a minute hasn’t even passed and he’s already..? all thoughts that linger in your head dissipates the moment you feel his long and thick fingers tracing along the lines of your drenched folds; such minimal movements of his index finger elicits the lewdest noises coming from your heat. he savours the sight of you; your flushed face looking back at him as your ass is high up in the air for him to see the arousal drooling from your cunt.

“my wife is so so beautiful,” zayne comments sweetly before sticking two fingers inside, your slick walls immediately welcoming his digits in a tight embrace. you arch your back, raising your ass higher as you beg for more friction. you can never grow tired of the feeling of being filled. he pulls his fingers out and licks your love juices.

“i hope you don’t mind, but i’m still not done with you spoiling me.” says zayne, pressing a kiss on the back of your head as he aligns the tip of his cock to your sopping entrance. “you can still take me. right, honey?”

you nod your head frantically, trying to push your hips back to meet his. “mmm, fuck. please, baby. i wan’ you to fuck me so bad—”

a loud moan rips from your throat when his cock slides easily inside your folds, the tip already kissing your cervix. you arch your back and curl your toes, and your face is stuffed into the soft cushions of the couch — completely submitting into being used as a cock sleeve for your husband, who in turn, is fucking into your hole like a madman. he stuffs his face into the nape of your neck, his breaths heavy as he ruts his hips into yours.

“ah! mmm — shit, you’re fucking me so good.” you mewl a praise, though your voice is muffled from the pillow you stuffed your face in as he only fucks you with a newfound vigour; his nails digging into your hips, his groans vibrating against your skin merely adds more fuel to the fire — your release slowly reaching its peak.

the more he fucks into you, the more your body trembles beneath his touch. with each thrust he made, a moan rips from your throat as he makes it his sole mission to get you to come hard. especially in a position such as this, each thrust of his hips lands a hit on your sweet spot; your walls squeezing tightly onto his girth as he did.

he grabs both your hands and holds them behind your back with his one hand, raising your body higher from the cushions.

“don’t hide your moans from me,” he demands, thrusting his hips into yours deeply. you cry out in response, your body twitching against his as you’re nearing your orgasm.

“i-i’m coming,” you announce, your voice tottering as the pressure in your abdomen erupts and your body trembles. zayne lets out a low moan, closing his eyes tightly to relish the sensations of your walls clamping tightly around him, attempting to milk him dry of his cum.

heavy breaths filled the warm air surrounding your living room; small beads of sweat rolling down your bodies as you both try to catch your breaths.

“thank you, my love. you always treat your husband so well.” zayne says sweetly, peppering kisses all over your face and you giggle softly. though, you’re a little muddled when he starts to get up from the couch; his hand reaching out towards the piles of clothes scattered across the floor. “let’s go shower before we eat dinner.”

you reach out for his hand, and he looks back at you with a questioning look. excitement flickers in your eyes, the thrill overtaking your veins suddenly controls your consciousness. you lay back down on the couch, giving your husband the most seductive look you can muster and spread your lips. his gaze follows your hands, and he gulps softly; his eyes locked onto your swollen and dripping cunt.

“you didn’t cum again,” you say, your voice soft yet there is mischief laced in it. “i don’t mind if we go another round.”

sora's note: 😳

[galactichoneybee92]

Not to sound like a boomer on main, because I love my phone- I do. But I really miss the day when I could hang out in public without having to hear everyone else's phones. I don't care if there are babies crying (because babies cry sometimes) or if other people are having conversations (because that's what people come to cafes and such to do) but hearing tinny little phone sounds blasting out loud out of their speakers drives me insane. I'm only in my 30's, why are you making me complain about how things were "back in my day" like I'm 80? Public phone noise is prematurely aging me. Send help.