#BUT HE’S HEALTHY AND THRIVING that’s all that matters

[chosows]

CHAMPAGNE COAST 🥏 - Beach vacation with Sukuna (P1)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Summer arrived and you finally set off for your long awaited vacation. A tropical getaway for two weeks; you hope it will erase the stress you and Sukuna have faced recently. Work has not been easy on either one of you, but it was worth it to save up for this getaway. A destination filled with sun, sea, and a lot of…

Word count: 2.5k

Contains: Established relationship, no smut (in this part), suggestive actions & conversations, fluff, public displays of affection, Sukuna being cocky, healthy relationship, alternative universe: no curses, Sukuna is human, Sukuna is not Yuji

Note: p2 will have smut because the vote decided to split practically even. the title and plot is based on + inspired by the song champagne coast by blood orange

Saving up a sufficient amount of money greatly assisted in your deposit for a worthwhile summer vacation. Sukuna picked up extra shifts at work to help you stabilise the funds, and now you have finally arrived at the destination you fawned over for months. The airport rush resulted in an argument between the two of you; both are now silently seated in a taxi to be driven to the place you will be staying. It’s hard to stay mad at him while the sun is shining down and the breeze sways the thriving vegetation. You put your hand on top of his and squeeze it, beaming at him as the scent of the sea wafts in through the open window. He took a deep breath and cocked his head slightly aside, staring at you through squinted eyes. Even though you frustrated him, he ended up cracking a smile; he’s unable to resist that pretty little face—it’s his only weakness.

“Did you remember to pack your swim shorts?” You prod his skin with your fingernail until he swats you off, now making sure his hand is the one on top.

“How many times do I need to answer that question? Yes, I packed them. Even if I didn’t, I could just buy some.”

“But we have matching ones; it won’t look good on the photos if we’re mismatched.” 

“I have my swim shorts; stop stressing yourself out.”

“Okay, I’m sorry; I just want this to be perfect. I’m so excited!”

“I can tell. Save it until we get to the beach.” Finishing the conversation, he lifts your hand to his lips and places a kiss on each knuckle, hoping that will somehow settle you down.

Rather than soothing you, it prompted the bundle of passion in your chest to burst, now sliding closer to him in the backseat to rest your head against his biceps. You adore Sukuna more than anything and you never fail to show it. Despite having two polar opposite love languages, as a pair you work in perfect harmony. No matter how much he claims he despises how touchy you can be, you catch him smiling to himself when you gaze up during prolonged cuddles. He has never been a good liar—he’s far too much of an honest man. Other than the cold front he puts on display, he truly does possess the warmest heart.

The taxi stops as the road comes to an end, allowing you both to gather your luggage and head up the path to the place where you will be staying for the next two weeks. It wasn’t anything luxurious—it was the cheapest villa you could find, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. After a short five-minute hike, you reach the door and unlock it using the key provided—the furnishing is sourced from local products, giving it an extreme tropical aesthetic. It was a pop of colour followed by a unique architectural design, and it blew your expectations far out of the park. You were ecstatic. Sukuna, who was left hurling the luggage, finally makes it through the door and slumps back onto the wall—his forehead dripping with sweat.

“Thank you; I love you.” You push yourself onto your tiptoes and place your hand on his chest for support, leaning into the peck before sweeping your baggage away.

“I know you do. Who else would carry all your shit?” Sukuna strides into the living area and sinks onto the sofa, staring up at the intricate details, “Place is pretty nice; I thought you said it wouldn’t be that good.”

“There weren't many photos online—I was just hoping it was real and we didn’t get scammed.”

“You are far too reckless to be allowed to handle that much money,” He stretches before standing and follows you upstairs, finding you lying flat on the bed in the master bedroom, “Aren’t you going to get changed? I thought you wanted to go to the beach.”

“I was testing out the mattress—it’s comfy. Wear your red swim shorts, I’m wearing my red bikini.” 

Since Sukuna is beginning to rush you, it’s best to get back on track. You strip from your plane attire and turn your back as you slip out of your lingerie. The bikini you chose was rather skimpy—you didn’t quite acknowledge that until you were putting it on. Bikini tops are notorious for coming undone, and you just had to pick one with the thinnest string. You pout your lips as you fidget, attempting to tie it until another set of hands make their presence known. Sukuna rubs your shoulders before tying a secure knot, then slaps your barely covered ass from behind.

“Make sure you put one of those cover things on.” He tosses the sarong near you and you nudge it aside with your foot for now.

“Do you think the top is too small for me?” You stand in the mirror, doing your best to snuggly tuck your breasts in.

“I like it; I think you look sexy.” Of course he does—what man could complain about that sight? He slides his hands around your waist and pulls you into a cuddle, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Let me see what you look like,” You wriggle free from his grasp and spin around, his chiselled figure instantly catching your eye while your tongue grazes over your dehydrated lips, “Wow.”

“Wow? Is that all?” He crosses his arms, a subtle way to flex his biceps.

“You look really good. Very hot.” 

“That’s better. Shall we go? You already packed a beach bag.”

“Ah-ah!” You grip Sukuna’s wrist before he heads out the bedroom door, stopping him in his tracks, “You need some sunblock.”

“I don’t burn in the sun—you know that.”

“Still, sunblock is good for your skin. Just let me put some—”

“No, I’ll be fine. Use it on yourself; I don’t need any.”

“One day you’re going to regret all that confidence.” You glare at him through the side of your eye while you lather your entire body, sure not to miss a spot.

“One day you’ll miss it. Hurry up; the sun will go down at the pace you’re moving. Should buy yourself some moonblock.”

“You’re hilarious—just take my bag downstairs and wait by the door!” You toss the sunblock back into your tote and his footsteps descend, leaving you to finish getting ready in peace.

When you’re satisfied with your hairstyle, you step into your sandals and meet him downstairs. He opens the door for you and allows you to tread out first, instantly greeted with the overwhelming intensity of the sun. It was sweltering; you felt as though you couldn’t take a proper breath. Thankfully, the air isn’t still. The breeze will make this bearable, it should increase when you move closer to the coast. If you had to guess, you would assume this is UV ten. You use your hand to provide shade while you walk down the path leading to the beach, Sukuna’s sweaty fingers intertwined with yours. Neither one of you could see properly—equally as blinded. Reaching the final step of the stairs which seemed to last minutes, you come in contact with the sand and breathe a sigh of relief.

The beach was full of life—different families and couples spread across the entire stretch of sand. It wasn’t bustling, but there were enough people to create an atmosphere. Surfers were busy enjoying the waves while children were building castles, heroically digging moats believing it would save their structure from the flood of sea water which is inbound. You find a spot away from the others and drop onto the ground, digging your hand through your bag to pull out the beach towel. This area has now been claimed by you and Sukuna. Since there won’t be much fun sitting around, you packed a frisbee you intend to use.

“Can we play?” You hand the frisbee over to him and he stands up, backing away to create a fair distance, “Don’t throw it too—”

Before you had time to finish your sentence, Sukuna had launched the frisbee using his full strength—it went soaring through the air. You begin chasing after it, dodging through herds of people to make it to the place where it landed before a child runs off with it. You were mortified by how you were panting—you felt like a dog playing fetch. He stood there with his hands on his hips, appearing miniscule from the position you’re in. You dash back, sensing the eyes of other adults burning through you. This was supposed to be a small-scale game, not a quarter of a span of land.

“Don’t do that! You don’t have to throw it like you’re competing in the Olympics, just do it like this.” You prepare to show him how it should be done, only for your throw to fail and the frisbee to fall a metre away from where you’re standing.

“Good job, baby. Threw it really far.” Sukuna grins; he recognises your pride plummeting rapidly and thrives in it.

“You are about to get on my last nerve.” You bite your cheek as you pick the frisbee up, hurling it his way only for him to catch it mid-air.

“That one wasn’t too bad; since when were you so competitive?” He throws it lighter this time, though you still can’t seem to grab it.

“Since my boyfriend decided to be an asshole who thinks he can win everything.”  The game goes back and forth, as does the clash of words.

“What’s his name? I know I’m not the asshole you’re referring to.”

“Can we do something else?” You snuggle the frisbee to your chest, closing the gap created between the two of you.

“You are a terrible sore loser,” He bends down and kisses your forehead, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “You weren't doing that bad—no need to get yourself upset.”

“I tried my best.”

“I know you did; you did quite well,” Sukuna takes the frisbee and puts it back in your bag, pulling out the deflated beach ball as an alternative, “Should we play catch? I know you like that.”

“Yes, let’s get closer to the water.” You drag Sukuna along while he puffs air into the ball, making it far firmer than it should be.

Now that the ball is full, you toss it to Sukuna. It was a peaceful take as opposed to the frisbee, both kneeling in the sea while playing. What Sukuna says about you is true; it doesn’t take much to please you at all. You are content with tossing a $5 ball on a $7000 vacation—excluding spending money. While many other couples would be on guided tours or rejuvenating in spa treatments, you’re now wrestling with him in the shallow waves, getting drenched as he pins you down. The fact that the two of you can have a good time minus the materialistic activities proves how genuine the connection is—you can source raw joy from indulging in each other’s presence. As time progresses, you grow tired and return to the beach towel, catching a glimpse of Sukuna’s bright red skin.

“Does your back hurt?” You stare up at him from the ground and he shrugs.

“Might’ve cut it on some shells when I was lying down.”

“You’re sunburned.” You shake your head, slathering his skin in the sunblock you encouraged him to wear earlier on. If only his pride wasn’t held so high, perhaps he would admit that you were right for once.

“I’d still be fine without the sunblock.”

“I’m sure you would.” You make it to the front of his body and massage it in, keeping the eye contact strong.

“Feels like you’re touching me up.” When your movements go still, he takes the opportunity to sling his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace.

“Do you have to make everything dirty?”

“That’s not dirty.” His hands cup your face while he reels you into a kiss, refusing to dial down his passion despite being in public. You’re slowly lowered to the ground, his body on top while he continues to plaster your face and torso with pecks.

“Sukuna, there are other people here—with children.” You mumble into his mouth and push him back by the forehead, catching that all too familiar glint in his eyes.

“So? Do their parents not kiss? Sounds like a marriage fault. I’m also certain that I’ve just seen an entire senior citizen’s cock—so have that as you will.”

“What!” You spin your head and the naked old couple come into view, your jaw hanging open, “I didn’t know this was a nude beach— Why are there kids here?” 

“This part of the beach isn’t nude—the other half is. There are signs separating the divide; I thought you saw them when we were walking down.”

“I’m horrified.” You murmur, snapping your attention back to Sukuna’s wandering hands.

“You do realise we’ll look like that too one day, don’t you? You’ll have to put up with sucking shrivelled old man dick.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to get hard?”

“Probably. You’ll always be sexy to me. Couldn’t care less if your skin was wrinkled or sagging; you’re still my girl.”

“Shut up, Sukuna.” His smile was wide; his wonky teeth made him more charming than he should be—even though many people find it unattractive, he pulls it off, a staple of why beauty standards are meaningless.

“Might as well enjoy one another while we’re still young—they seem happy.” Sukuna glances back at the couple and you slap his arm. If there’s one thing about Sukuna, it’s that he has zero shame.

“Stop staring at them! You’ve made your point; you’re being rude.”

Attentive to your orders, Sukuna directs his gaze back to you and lays down on top of your chest. Hoisting another one of the towels from your bag, he covers himself, occupied with finding a comfortable position to lounge. He was crushing you, but that’s something you have gotten used to—it was similar to snuggling up with a giant wild cat. He may be a brooding, well-built man, but your set of eyes see him differently. His eyelashes flutter shut while your nails scratch his scalp, the jet lag hitting him much harder than it hit you. You lay with him for an hour, stroking his hair while he caught up on missed sleep. Nature is the source of peace—the swash of water and the birds chirping was aiding relaxation, all the stress of working and planning slipping from your mind. A finger slides up your inner thigh, concealed by the blanket as Sukuna’s body shifts.

“Did you have a nice nap?” You lift the towel you draped over his head to protect him from the sun, and he mumbles his first few words in a raspy tone.

“I had a dream about you,” He grabbed your thigh, squeezing the flesh roughly, his index finger grazing against the edge of your bikini bottoms. While you would usually brush his tone off due to him just waking up, it is blatantly imbedded with sensual intent, “Can we go back to the villa?”

[iridescentpull]

A talk with a Rose Bush [ ao3 link here ]

[ fic under cut ! ]

The rose bush, somehow, is still intact and thriving– much bigger than when Fit saw it last around three weeks ago.

The male places his hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow. “Huh, I thought it’d be destroyed by now.” He mumbles, before shaking his head with a smile on his face. “Then again, you were always strong, resilient, tough… I should know by now you’re too stubborn to be teared down that easily.”

It had taken him a while to come back. He needed to return to his footing first, finding his old belongings before slowly nursing himself back to health. After he was no longer a walking corpse, dirty and stained with blood, he traveled around. The Wastes wait for nothing or no one, and soon Fit found himself already being the Wasteland Historian once again.

After his radio report transmission detailing the eye amour trim cult, Fit thought it’d be nice to stop by the rose bush– one of the only things he managed to keep with him after he returned from Quesadilla Island.

Plus, it was their anniversary. He had to visit.

Fit walks closer, reaching out and caressing one of the leaves between his fingers. They’re healthy, green and soft. The thorns are sharp and pointy as well, a sure sign that the rose bush is well cared for. The roses themselves are red and in full bloom, the petals plump and vibrant.

The historian chuckles softly, before going into his inventory and pulling out a bottle of water. A small voice in his mind tells him that he shouldn’t be wasting water, but he shoves it down, wanting to water his rose bush.

He pours the water on the rose bush, giving a fond smile. “It’s not much, but I brought you something.” He says softly. “I hope you like it.”

He sets the bottle down, before sitting beside the bush. A few of the rocks he had placed all those weeks ago dig into his legs, but Fit pays it no mind. “Sorry it took me a while to visit.” He says, hand playing with the dirt. “A lot’s been going on, but I bring fofoca.”

Silence follows his words, the Wasteland wind the only sound. Fit leans back, resting against his arms, letting his legs stretch out. “Just when I managed to get back on my feet, word of some cult popped up.” The historian says before laughing. “So you know I had to go investigate and record.”

He looks over at the rose bush, a grin spreading across his lips. “And let me tell you, this cult is pretty interesting. It all centers around some armor trim that only spawns in strongholds, so it’s very rare.” The male snorts. “It was odd, but very entertaining. The transmission was very well received.”

Fit sighs, looking up at the sky. The stars are as bright as they always are, twinkling down on him. “I hope you’ve been doing okay. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He says, looking back down at the bush. “Today would’ve been our sixth month dating anniversary– or maybe fifth month?” He chuckles. “I’m not good at keeping track. I just know is it felt longer.”

Another pause, as the historian smiles. “I don’t really know why I’m even talking. You’re just a rose bush." He chuckles. “But I guess, even if it is a little odd, it’s kind of nice. Helps me sort through my thoughts.”

The rose bush sways thanks to the wind. “Plus, roses always were our thing.” Fit says, fidgeting with the strap of his knee pads. “They’re beautiful and strong, and no matter where they are, they’ll still manage to grow and thrive.” He smiles. “And I guess... I always kind of saw you in them. You always were knocked down and beaten up and hurt, but you always came back. Even when everything seemed to be going wrong, you still made everything right. It was incredible how you could do that.”

Fit lets out a sigh, leaning forward. “Some part of me believes you’re not actually... gone.” He whispers, looking up at the sky. “That the grave I saw was all fake and you’re just hiding. Maybe you found Ramón and you’re on your way to find me.” He smiles tightly. “It sounds silly, and I know it’s not true, but some part of me can’t help but hope.”

A few tears well up in his eyes. “I miss you and Ramón so much. I wished I got closer to Richas.” He says, voice tight. “It hurts so much. Every time I think about us, it’s like someone stabbed me through the chest.” The historian bites his lip. “I miss Ramón especially– I hope you're looking out for him wherever you are.”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. He’s silent, letting the silence envelop him. There’s a faint scent of roses that fills the air, and the wind is a bit softer and warmer than before. The historian stays there, in his little corner, for a long time, just listening to the Wasteland around him.

Eventually, the moon hangs high in the sky, the night turning chilly.

“I regret not telling you I loved you that day, Pac.” Fit says. “I regret it so much. If I could turn back time, I would’ve done that, and told you.” He sighs, prosthetic arm resting on his lap.

A breeze flows, and Fit swears he feels a hand brush his face, and a pair of lips gently kiss his forehead. The historian smiles. “Then again, I have a feeling you knew.” He chuckles, voice deep and fond. “You always seemed to know what I felt, even if I didn’t.”

He takes a shaky breath. “Still.” Fit whispers. “I wish I had told you. But now, I just want you to know: I love you, Pac, and I still do.”

The rose bush seems to glow in the moonlight, as if responding.

“Happy anniversary, my beloved.” Fit says softly, and he stays a few more moments before getting up. He picks up his bottle and his bag, giving the rose bush a sad smile. “I’ll try to visit every few weeks or so, okay? So you better keep being alive, okay?”

Fit looks up at the night sky, before beginning his walk back. The breeze picks up, and he swears he can hear a familiar, gentle laugh, before it fades away.

The wind blows, and the rose bush seems to glow in response.

[piarles]

i am being persecuted for telling the truth (dilf fernando torres is hot)

[heretherebedork]

Yuan says it so plainly and there's so much guilt and so much hesitation and Qian just doesn't have the words or the bravery to speak to what he feels. Qian has endured and he has survived but he has never been able to truly thrive because the past haunts him, holds him, scares him and pushes him. He is shaped by so much that no one else in the story had to known and Yuan knows that and loves him anyway, keeps on loving him anyway, and this is the first moment that Yuan has truly admitted how hurt he was.

Qian doesn't react to this at all. He just sits and he stares and he listens and Yuan doesn't ask for a reaction, doesn't even really look for one, just lets him be. He knows how long it takes Qian to process anything emotional and this is a lot. It's all about how Yuan loves him and cares for him and understands him.

Yuan is working so hard to give Qian permission to love him. To tell him that loving him is okay. That loving Yuan is healthy and good and will only make things better and that his love won't change, won't go away, no matter how long Qian tries to banish his own. Yuan is saying that his love for Qian is forever and that he knows that what they have means more to both of them than anyone outside might know.

And Qian's first reaction is to look even further away from Yuan and that's when Yuan knows that he loves him, that he is loved in return, and that his patience will never end.

And he looks away as well! Yuan looks away and lets Qian look at him safely when he does. He touches Qian to let him know that he's looking away and giving him space and that's their real love story there.

That Yuan understands Qian. That Yuan loves and supports Qian and will regardless of his struggles. That Yuan will hold the world up with him even as it ends.

[khepiari]

Luffy is so spoiled because of Ace too

My headcanon is that, Luffy being such an annoying gremlin is partly Ace’s fault as well. Yes, Sabo was there, and so were Makino and Mayor, Dadan and Gang and of course Garp in some brutal capacities.

I totally believe Luffy’s most formative years of learning happened when: that one year Shanks docked in Windmill Village and told him stories of his great many ocean adventures, and the rest of his life's education happened in the four years he spent running after Ace.

Ace is the elder sibling who had to step up to protect and care for Luffy because the adults in their lives were so incompetent. Especially after Sabo’s “death” he had to sober up. Between the three of them, Sabo was the one who was always kind, and patient and treated Luffy for the child he was. With him gone as the rational and calm one and after the Bear attack incident which almost killed Luffy, Ace had to step up, and actually grow up in a sense; he was no longer the lonely boy fending for himself, and picking fights just to channel his powerlessness and anger. Luffy's existence made him a better human and gave him a chance to be his own person. He became responsible as he had a weak crybaby and who for lack of a better word was — a fool with no sense of self-preservation. And because Ace had no point of reference, let alone a healthy sense of relationships, he raised Luffy like a feral wolf pup that he picked up the streets on a whim and spoiled him rotten to the point of dumb clingy.

On the other-hand, Ace was Luffy’s safe space. He would fight, cry, bite, get hurt, make mistakes, pull Ace into trouble and still follow Ace around with a stupid big smile because he knew Ace would protect and indulge him. Ace’s presence allowed Luffy to thrive and become the epitome of spoilt rotten. Because no matter what nonsense troubles he got into, he had Ace to look after him.

Yes, Luffy was always a selfish little shit who did what he wanted, but Ace enabled him to the point of getting away with anything as long as he was not intentionally harming anyone. I also think Ace wanted to make sure Luffy’s then innocent and happy world was not marred by people’s unkind words or actions, and he did a tremendous job— because Luffy listened to him, or at least tried to. Luffy was the little brother, to be precise, Luffy was his little brother, his only family, his chosen one who was a handful and his only ray of hope in this hateful world. But he knew who he was raising and how he was raising Luffy. Unlike Ace, who was burdened and bothered by the history of his lineage, made sure Luffy was not affected by any of his own dark thoughts or Garp's bullying. So his approach to raising Luffy was to both pamper him and prepare him with one goal: for Luffy to become independent and fearless.

After all a wolf is a wolf, he can be trained not domesticated.

[chefkids]

A Chaos Menu is coming. Emphasis on Chaos.

Carmy's got non negotiables. The list includes: of the place, vibrant collaboration, no repeat ingredients, consolidation + speed, confidence + competence, in + out service, pursuit of excellence, details matter, know your shit, focus, something about perfect, somethings about tradition, something about boundaries, clean as you go, shirts perfectly pressed, and no surprises.

Carmy's focusing on details more than actual dynamics and Sydney's Bandana has got a big list of ingredients.

Carmy is truly going to be a whole new meaning to Chaos Menu, that is going to destroy everyone around them trying to keep up with them. Because as I said before, he still does not know how to do a chaos menu. He is so used to living in chaos, that menus are the only thing he knew how to control, but Syd wants chaos so he’s going to try to bring it. (and probably fail in the process)

Syd told him she didn’t want to be tweezing herbs on a dish she doesn’t care about, but if she’s constantly just making things for the sake of having something new, it's going to feel forced and uninspiring.

Syd and Carmy might be matching each others freaks, but everyone else didn’t sign up to be part of their psycho partnership. Richie will be tired of trying to keep up with their menu changes and expo mess. Tina is going to be so overwhelmed trying to manage all the cooks to keep up with a new menu every day. It’s also just throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. In my experience most high level Michelin restaurant tend to stick to mostly the same menu for the entire season, because perfecting each dish takes time both in trial and error testing and in teaching the crew to able to make it perfect consistently.

Not to mention it’s EXPENSIVE to constantly have to source new ingredients. Which is what was going wrong with The Beef before Sydney stepped in, and she managed to create a great dish with ingredients they already had lying around that got them a good review. We know they’re going to be busy, if they don’t know how to keep operating costs down, they are going to drown the same way Carmy was drowning at the start.

Sydney believes in Carmy because she’s never gotten a star or retained one. But when she meets the Ever crew and sees how the keep up with their stars without tearing each other apart or destroying their lives or keeping insane and unmanageable standards and expectations, she will start to reconsider their partnership.

Especially if Carmy is the one getting all the praise, after the review incident where he didn't let her enjoy her moment. Sydney is going to draw a line at some point about what her non negotiables are, and if Carmy can’t meet them, she’s going to have to find someone or somewhere that will.

Non negotiables are typically things you set in relationships to create a healthy environment, but Carmy is using them to hold them against the entire staff. I think the only thriving aspect of The Bear that isn’t on fire half the time is going to be Ebra's sandwich window.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request.

Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction). No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops. Please block me instead of labelling this, if you find yourself tempted.

Family, Duty, Honor; that is the motto of House Tully, a direct opposition of House Targaryen’s Fire and Blood. If she wasn’t so duty bound to Prince Aemond then she’d find the strength to walk away. If he was a better man he’d let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

She is eight years old when she is sent from Riverrun to King’s Landing. She is to be a ward of House Targaryen, an idea that excites and frightens her in equal measure; she has never been away from her family before and the thought of living in a strange city with people she has never met fills her with uncertainty, yet she is eager for the adventures it will bring.

Her fears are assuaged the moment she arrives in the capital. The sprawling expanse of the city beckons her to explore its winding cobbled streets, the Red Keep is a maze of undiscovered secrets. Naturally curious, she gravitates towards Queen Alicent’s second son, Aemond. He is a quiet, sullen boy, not much older than her, and spends most of his time alone, reading. It is more than apparent to her that he does not get along with his older brother and nephews, and his sister is too lost in her own world to be of any comfort to him.

Aemond clings to her offer of friendship, and the two quickly become inseparable. She basks in the attention he lavishes upon her; sharing his books, learning High Valyrian under his tutelage, dutifully spectating for each of his training sessions in the yard, and accompanying him on his daily visits to the dragonpit - he has yet to claim a dragon, which serves to deepen his fascination of the creatures and drives him to near obsession with desire to have his own. 

Aemond becomes the center of her world, a position which he appears to thrive on. The first time he threatens to take that away from her is on a day that they visit the dragonpit. 

Aegon has lured him there on the pretense that the dragon keepers have discovered an unclaimed mount for him. However, he is humiliated when a pig is led out from the shadows, and he flees, distraught, back to his mother.

He lashes out at her that day, for the first time, when she attempts to comfort him.

“You will have a dragon one day,” She tries to tell him. “Ignore their silly jokes, it doesn’t matter.”

He looks at her with fury in his eyes and she shrinks fearfully away from him. His tone is vile, hateful. “It doesn’t matter to you, because you don’t understand how important dragons are to Targaryens. You are a nobody!”

She weeps bitterly when he storms away from her, it feels like she has lost her only friend in the world. She believes she has trivialised Aemond’s suffering and is ashamed of herself.

When he approaches her the next day, with lemon cakes, a book and a soft “I didn’t mean it”, she is so overjoyed to have Aemond’s attention once more that it doesn’t even occur to her that he hasn’t uttered the word “sorry”, she has him back and that is all that matters. And for a few days afterwards, he treats her with such reverence that she feels foolish for having been upset in the first place.

Aemond is ten when he loses his eye, and he puts on a brave face, though she is certain it is for the benefit of not further upsetting his mother and appearing weak in front of his nephews.

She is proven right the moment they are alone and he turns on her. She wants to support him, to show him she is unafraid of him despite the stitches that now adorn the bloodied ruin where his left eye used to be, but he will not allow that.

“Where were you?!” He shouts at her. “If you’d have been there for me, I’d still have my eye!”

She wants to argue that she could not possibly have known he was going to claim Vhagar, how could she have been there for him when everyone was supposed to be in bed? But the guilt his words inspire eclipse all rationality in her innocent, young mind. She ought to have anticipated him going after a riderless dragon, and been there to help defend him against the attack from his nephews and cousins.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” She cries.

“Sorry will not bring back what I have lost,” He spits angrily. “No matter. I have my dragon now, I do not need you.”

He is lost to her once more, and heartache colours her world where Aemond’s presence used to.

“I didn’t mean it,” He tells her sheepishly, a few days later. “When I am healed, I will take you for a ride on dragonback.”

She does not need an apology, Aemond’s attention and willingness to share something so personal with her are more than enough. For a week after that he makes her feel as though she is the very stars in the night sky, and she basks in his good graces.

On Aemond’s thirteenth name day, she is excited to give him his gift. For weeks she has toiled in secret on a patch for him to cover the scarred side of his face. It is made of delicate black leather and has an intricate green dragon stitched carefully into the fabric. 

She searches for Aemond most of the day and cannot find him. When he does eventually make an appearance he is distant and distracted, not even uttering thanks when she presents him with the patch she has made for him.

“Aegon took me to a pleasure house.” He says morosely, when she asks what’s wrong.

“Oh,” She has trouble hiding the disgust on her face, as she feels sour jealousy spread its way through her. “Why?”

He scowls upon seeing her look of judgment. “Because I grew tired of looking at your ugly face!” He snaps, before storming off.

Her self worth shatters with those words, scattered away on the winds of Aemond’s temper, and yet again she is left to wait for his careless words to become kind, while she grieves his temporary absence.

I did not mean it. And so she forgives him, piecing herself back together with every praise and doting look he offers her. She cares not that he never wears her gift or thanks her for it, it does not matter that he doesn’t say he’s sorry, because when Aemond is kind to her she feels as though she has ascended to the very heavens above.

It is an addictive cycle, and as the years press on, she finds herself craving Aemond’s tempestuous nature in moments of calm, for the love he showers her with afterwards is her only means of reassuring herself that he truly cares for her.

Aemond grows bolder in his mistreatment of her, confident that she is too attached to him to be disloyal. She is one of the few things in his life that he is able to assert full control over and he wields it without a second thought.

Shortly after her sixteenth name day, Aegon attempts to force himself on her. She fights him off and seeks comfort in the only person she can trust; Aemond. Where she expects to find sympathy, however, she is met with scorn and rage-filled jealousy.

“If you did not behave like a whore then Aegon would not do such things. Do you enjoy the attention?”

She shuts herself away in her chambers, the ache in her chest unbearable as her tears soak her pillow.

While Aemond would usually leave it a day or two before seeking her out again, he comes back to her that same evening, telling her he did not mean it as he holds her in his arms. He takes her maidenhead that night, the sharp stinging between her legs, as he pushes forcefully inside of her, soothed by his whisper of “aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā”. I am yours and you are mine.

As their relationship blossoms into something more romantic, their rifts become more frequent. Aemond always seems to know precisely the combination of words it will take to cut her deepest, yet it is a state she has grown to feel safe in. The blood of the dragon pumps hotly in his veins and as frequently as he inflicts this side of himself upon her, it is always followed by a softness that allows her to believe that he loves her, even if they are words he never says aloud.

When Aemond’s nephews return to King’s Landing his moods become trickier for her to predict. It seems impossible for her not to anger him, and his words are poison to her fragile heart. Yet it always devolves into him assuring her he did not mean it as he fucks her into the mattress, healing every spiteful barb with impassioned touches.

Shortly after King Viserys dies, Aegon is crowned, and everything changes for the worse. His succession is challenged by Viserys’ eldest child, Rhaenyra, and steps must be put into place to secure Aegon’s reign. Aemond is a useful pawn in that process, and his grandsire, Otto, wastes no time in arranging a visit for him to Storm’s End in order to choose which of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters he wishes to marry.

Aemond is so matter of fact as he explains this to her, but she feels as though she reacts enough for both of them, struggling to breath as a free falling sensation in the pit of her stomach sends waves of nausea rippling through her.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

Three nights later she awakens to him standing at the foot of her bed, dripping wet, eye filled with fear. She takes him into the sheets, fingers carding through his damp hair as he ruts his misery inside of her.

“It was an accident,” He whispers to her tearfully afterwards. “I only meant to scare Lucerys.”

She soothes him to sleep, knowing she ought to feel repulsed by what Aemond has done, but is overwhelmed by the relief of him being just hers once more.

Confusion addles her thoughts the next day when she overhears Aemond tell Otto that he had meant to kill his nephew.

When she asks him about it in private he grips the tops of her arms with such force that she yelps from the pain of it, his face almost murderous with rage as he stares at her. “If you ever utter those words again, I will have your tongue cut out.”

Aemond’s temper has always been fierce, a trait of his that she is forever wary of, however, until now she has never felt afraid of him. At this very moment, Aemond frightens her. He has the capacity to cause her harm, and does not seem to care if he does.

Later he presses featherlight kisses to each of the vivid purple bruises that mark her upper arms. Though he appears remorseful, he does not offer an apology or even an utterance of “I did not mean it.”

“You must not anger me like that again,” He tells her instead.

She simply nods, dread boring a void into the pit of her stomach.

As the war escalates, resulting in the death of Aegon and Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys, and the grievous injury of Aegon, Aemond takes up the mantle of Prince Regent. While Aemond bears the burden of the additional responsibility, she bears the onslaught of his frustrations, becoming a vessel into which he pours his every grievance. The adoration he showers her with after each display of cruelty becomes infrequent to the point that she feels as though she is a hound begging for scraps. Eventually she learns to accept his ire, reasoning he would simply cast her aside and ignore her if he did not care for her.

She is delighted when Aemond insists upon bringing her along to his march upon Harrenhal. She allows herself to believe that his desire to have her at his side is because he is committed to her, that perhaps this means he intends to marry her once the war is over. A voice in the back of her mind reasons it is most likely because he enjoys the control he asserts over her, but she does her best to ignore it.

Jealousy swirls sharply in her gut when she sees the only person that Aemond has spared in his seizing of the castle - a witch named Alys Rivers, a raven haired beauty who he informs her will be of great use to him in helping him to defeat his Uncle Daemon. She swallows down her doubts, attempting to reassure herself that she has nothing to worry about, Aemond has never strayed from her before, why would he now?

She curses herself for ignoring her suspicions when she catches him between the witch’s thighs. She expects herself to grieve, to scream, to cry, to shatter to pieces at his infidelity, but instead a sense of clarity washes over her. For the first time in a decade she wishes to leave Aemond.

No longer does she crave his approval, or long to make amends, a veil has been lifted and finally she sees him for the selfish, spoiled and callous hearted man he truly is. He will never love her, not as she deserves, and she is making a fool of herself to stay by his side while he is openly disrespectful of her and her feelings.

His eye darkens with familiar ill intent when she informs him of her plan to return home.

“Do not be so foolish,” He says condescendingly. “You are behaving irrationally over a minor indiscretion.”

She shakes her head. “I believe this is the first time since I’ve known you that I’ve behaved with any sense at all. I am leaving.”

“Ñuhon iksā,” He tells her. His tone carries none of the soft, loving intent it usually does when he utters this statement, now it is dark and threatening. You are mine.

“Dōre iksan,” She replies simply. I am not.

“You cannot exist without me,” He says with a scowl.

“Watch me,” She counters.

It is not until a few days later, once she has returned home to her family, that the full weight of Aemond’s words begin to sink in. As the wings of Vhagar darken the skies above the Riverlands, she realises that he does not mean he thinks she can’t exist without him, it is that he will not allow her to.

She watches in tense horror as the fiery blaze engulfs her homeland, acrid smoke drawing ever nearer as Aemond’s dragon immolates houses, farmland and forests alike. If he were a better man he’d simply have let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

[fauustic]

aa hello!! could I request a miguel x enby reader in any way??

the genre really doesn't matter but maybe a little fluff?

for an idea i was thinking the reader works as a florist and miguel knows them meeting them as spiderman. he begins taking a liking to them so he comes to the shop often getting flowers or small bouquets, but each flower means love or care, or notice me? (I'm thinking it would be really adorable if he just, late night studied floriagraphy for them) in the flower language, and they start taking notice to it, and eventually ask him?? idk this is silly but if you wanna write it!!

I hope you have a lovely day!!

(( stares at the miguel gifs i've used so far with a longing gaze... i only have so many left ..

i really hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for your request! it was super sweet. ))

nonbinary reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

fluff. like pure fluff. its literally just miguel pining after a little silly florist.

warnings: literally none except the use of some language. possible use of incorrect spanish because i'm learning so i have help of a translator in some parts :) let me know if i can fix anything!

word count: 3742

The smell of all kinds of flowers flooded your senses as the floral shop's door opened with a little chime, a beautiful melody that brightens every beginning of your shift. The shop that has become the core of your life was nothing too fancy, hidden away in a cozy little alleyway accompanied by a coffee shop and another restaurant– a safe space along the bustling city. 

Your identity wasn’t something that you mentioned often, but with the support of your coworkers you couldn’t help but express yourself easier. Being able to incorporate outfits of all kinds in your daily life without much more than a stare, some days you’d adorn a long skirt and a tank top, finished off with a floral-patterned apron to keep yourself tidy. Other days, you didn’t exactly confine yourself with a particular style because you were just you. As free and as happy as ever.

That was one of the many things you loved about the city you found yourself in. The growth and ability to thrive in Nueva York was a symbol of diversity, no matter who you were or where you had come from. It was different back home, so the newfound independence pushed you to be more talkative and approachable because you didn’t need to worry about others' thoughts. Labels and identities were celebrated in the cultures you intertwined with.

So when you found out you aligned with the embodiment of being nonbinary, you snatched it up like a piece of treasure and hadn’t looked back at who you were once before.

The love you had for flowers was immeasurable, somehow finding ways to include floral in your outfits no matter what you were wearing. A lovely white magnolia, fresh and healthy, found shelter in the secure pocket of your apron. Another flower was tucked upon the sunhat you adorned, a light pink peony settled right within the ribbon.

The alley your store took home in held a usual quiet atmosphere soothed by the comforting ambience of bird chirping due to housing a small little section for trees scattered about the alleyway. It reminded you of where your love for nature first began. Yet as you misted a bundle of Irises blooming upon a full window-sill, doused in a beautiful sunny haze, the tranquillity washing over you was unfortunately interrupted when a cat bumped against the shop’s window closest to you. It was loud, shaking the Irisies you just tended to.

Jumping from the sudden chaos happening outside your floristry, you couldn’t help but rush out the door with the watering pot still in hand. Did you need to get involved? You couldn't help but wonder to yourself when you noticed the little feline looked as if it was running away from something, but before you could intervene the answer dived past you on all fours, claw marks left in its wake. The figure, you have recognized from the news, was the talk of the city– broadcasts nicknaming the hero “Spiderman.” But what was he doing trying to grab one little kitty with the intensity of a predator? Surely Nueva York had more crime than that.

Entertaining the idea of watching such a well-respected hero having difficulty catching a feline, you played it off as if you were watering the flowers that decorate your shop– but in reality you just wanted to have a good laugh at seeing the man who has made criminals beg on their knees for forgiveness speak to the cat in desperation.

Funnily enough, the cat did climb one of the many large trees planted around your shop, and even if it was a bit hard to hear from the distance, this Spiderman guy wouldn’t stop trying to call for it to come down.

“Come ‘ere, gatito.” He shouted towards the cat at the tree’s base, his claws digging into the bark as if he was contemplating scaling the tree himself. “If I don’t bring you back with me, you will have to give up treats for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?” His next step was to “psspspssp,” which just came out as a weird hiss. The cat only hissed back, which only fueled his discontentment even more. Without another moment to spare, Spiderman scaled the tree in two leaps, plucking the cat from the branches with a cautious hold. When he landed on the ground, he caught you staring a little too hard.

But the scene was just too hilarious, having to stifle a hearty giggle with the back of your hand as you noticed he was walking straight towards your shop. But luck wasn’t on your side today, as he stood right behind you. The window mirrored how he was holding the cat the same way as before, held like a little baby with its arms reaching out to you. You only laughed harder, crumbling to your knees as water splashed at your boots from the watering can. He didn’t dare to utter another word, obviously finding amusement in your little laughing fit over something so stupid.

“Did you get it out of your system, jardinero?” It was no doubt he was smirking under his mouth as he loomed over your laughing form. A ruffled meow followed his question, which only made you double down on your giggles. “Oh my god– I can’t breathe. Holy shit–” You cried out, rolling on the side to only have a flurry of Wisterias cloud your vision. 

“Who knew the biggest baddest hero that Nueva has, could barely even catch a little animal?” You cackled into the air, which instantly made him defensive. 

“I did not have a difficult time with this little pest, he’s as agile as a Roomba.” His tone was flat, if not a bit irritated. If you didn’t notice the soft chuckles escaping him softly, you would have thought he was genuinely bothered. Spiderman scooped up the cat in a more comfortable position, belly facing the both of you as the cat’s back lied against his arms. “Lo que sea–” He muttered through his mask, shaking his head in disbelief. After a short pause, it's clear he had nothing else left to say. “That’s enough entertainment for you today.” It was clear he was done once he spun on his heel, cat in arms and not even sparing a wave.

Something overcame you, as you called out to him. Maybe you were just as stricken as all his other fans, but as he paused with an awaited glance– you rushed through the waves of color in your floral shop before stopping to a bundle of crimson petals. Plucking a single bloom, you rushed out your store in a flustered mess so he wouldn’t have to wait long. 

There wasn’t much to his suit, so there was no way you could easily position it in a way the flower couldn’t fall. So you just settled with putting it against the cat’s ear, the feline wearing it without a care.

You sighed, smoothing out your apron in nervous relief. This was an eventful start to your day, to say the very least. But Spiderman didn’t move from where he moved despite being eager to leave just a moment ago. Instead, his attention was fixated at the bloom in his grasp.

“It’s an Amaryllis. Truly a beautiful one, right?” Your tone shifted, excitement lacing your voice at the opportunity to explain a flower to a stranger– let alone someone that is apparently a huge deal.

“... What does it mean?” When your attention snapped to his masked face, you weren’t able to distinguish his wonderstruck expression. You gladly took the chance to ramble about what you knew about the flower, and explain the exact reason why you chose it. 

“Amaryllis have multiple kinds of meanings you see– every flower does– but they’ve always been a symbol of hard-earned success due to its representation of determination and pride. I thought it was fitting because I was able to watch you in action, and you deserve a reward for your civic duties.” You couldn’t help but include some form of humor in your sprinkles of a compliment, but the truth was there. No matter what he had to do under the mask, he deserved to be reminded that his successful missions help so many people. It may have not been your cat, but you were happy that someone will now return back home to their fluffy companion. “And the scarlet coloring of its petals kinda matches your suit, so in a way it kind of reminds me of you.” The masked man in front of you was completely silent, until the gloved hand meeting his shoulder shook him from his daze. “Good work, Spiderman. Can’t wait what next animal you’re going to save,” The spell you unknowingly put him under was slapped away in an instant at the little jab.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips before he could turn away, which only encouraged your teasing more. He waved behind his back, keeping his focus on what’s in front of him. “What will it be, a giraffe? Maybe a walrus–” Spiderman was gone by the time you sputtered the second animal, leaping away with an iron grip on the feline to a nearby building rooftop.

“What about something cool like a whale shark? Now that’d be something to read online..” You mumbled to yourself, brushing off your apron one last time before clutching your trusty watering pail and beginning your duties for the day.

Which is how Miguel O’Hara found himself hunched over his computer, staring at a gallery full of vibrant botany with a sigh. He couldn’t express it under the mask– he had a purpose to not allow any sign of weakness when the suit is on, but he was absolutely smitten by you over some stupid mishap on his end and a nervous, endearing ramble about your knowledge of flowers. The nightlife seeped into the windows of his home, neon lights reflecting off the walls. It was late, but Miguel was determined to shove some kind of information down his brain to make him not look like a complete fool when he arrived at the floral shop again. He was a chemist, for god’s sake– botany wasn’t too far off, was it?

He was just so enthralled with you, the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly at the opportunity of ranting about your favorite thing. The scent of fresh flowers entering his senses through the slightly cracked door of the floristry– it was a place he wanted to spend all his freetime in. Having been surrounded by the burning smell of chemicals and the pollution of such a technologically advanced city, Miguel craved to surround himself with so much nature. Or maybe, secretly, he just yearned to have a space of his own that was hidden away from the evils of Nueva York.

It took him a little while to finally work up the courage to stroll in, not having the mask around his head while he met someone as Spiderman always gave him a weird feeling. But he pushed that aside, chanting the knowledge that he crammed in his memory so he wouldn’t stupidly ask for a bundle of flowers that probably didn’t even exist.

Stepping foot in the floral shop for the first time was like a big breath of fresh air, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the influx of sweet scents. It reminded him of you, the same smell of blossoms clinging onto you even after you walked through the alleyway to give him that Amaryllis. He still kept onto it, dried against the confinement of his wallet. 

Miguel was going to start browsing even though he already knew what he wanted simply because he wanted to know this place inside and out– it was a part of you after all. But he didn’t go very long unnoticed, your voice making him well-aware of that. 

“Hey, welcome to Nueva’s most diverse little flower nursery! Happy to see a new face, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know!” Your voice came from the back of the store, yet you peeked out and was able to study him from afar. He tried his best to be stoic, nodding in understanding before quickly averting his gaze to the waves of flowers you clearly took very good care of. 

Miguel, when faced with attraction to another, struggled deeply with bringing it into words. It didn’t exactly help his case when you haven’t met him outside of being Spiderman, so he devised a subtle plan to get closer to you. He wasn’t religious, but he still prayed that you would pay attention to his little requests and specific choosing of flowers.

And you did, of course you did. Your attentiveness squeezed his heart with a grasp he’s never felt before. After transforming into the Spiderman 2099 he’s come to accept, Miguel just couldn’t bring himself to fall for another. But when it came to you, and your silly little knowledge about flowers and the way he watched you tend to each and every one of them with the same amount of tenderness, the sweetness in your touch made him fall even harder. He imagined your hands grasping his own, as if he was as fragile as a flower. The idea made him flustered.

“A bouquet of red tulips and camellia, please.” He found himself asking you, his index, middle, and ring finger drumming along your counter in a soft rhythm. You were caught by his words almost instantaneously, a certain look in your eyes that even he couldn’t decipher. A knowing smirk erupted on your features, not being able to help yourself at teasing this new customer. “That’s so cute, you found yourself a soulmate?” Miguel choked at the proposal, the question rolling off your tongue in a singsong as you began skipping along the shop you owned. 

The gracefulness you had in every step distracted him, plucking every sense of dignity he had as if he was a flower getting its own petals plucked by your graze. “Only a flower connoisseur would know the meanings behind such simple flowers. It’s what makes them interesting, but I suppose the mix of bright crimson intermingled with a calming purple brings a sort of intensity most people don’t get.” You unknowingly held the bouquet to your heart, a smile blessing your lips. “Camellias are standard flowers that convey longing, mostly a yearning for one out of reach. While a red tulip is a promise, the subtle intention of trying to tell another that you want to spend the rest of your life with the recipient. It’s a big commitment to use such flowers for a bouquet, hopefully you know what you’re getting into.” You wrapped it without a second thought, framed with a sweet soft yellow. 

The cashier popped open as he paid.

“I do,” Miguel peered into your gaze, “I know exactly what I’m gettin’ into, mi sol.” He couldn’t help but utter, scooping the bouquet from your stunned response with a cheeky smile.

“W-What’s your name..?” Your composure lost, you demanded an answer as your finger twirled around an Amaryllis. You had kept one close by since your run-in with Spiderman, your thoughts never swaying from the masked hero until now. The stranger now seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to blurt out anything stupid.

Breathing in the bouquet he picked out, his shoulders sagged just a bit in relief. “Miguel,” He picked up a red tulip, the darkest hue in the bunch, and gently placed it right beyond your ear. “Miguel O’Hara.” His gaze flickered from your name tag and the flower he placed upon your curls, a satisfied quirk of his lips dashing his features. He sounded your name out like a blessing, and the two of you shared a stare that almost knocked you down. 

As he left the floral shop, with the little chime of the door signalling his exit, Miguel had waved behind his back with his other hand keeping the bouquet close to his chest. It reminded you how the masked man occupying your thoughts gave you the same gesture in goodbye, and you couldn’t help but pry the red tulip he placed upon you with delicate hands. 

Bringing it to your nose, suddenly red tulips smelled a lot more honey-like.

The two of you found each other in this routine for weeks now. Neither of you could break, he’d walk into the floral shop and continuously order different kinds of bouquets– sets of flowers that practically screamed, “love me back, you’re all I think about, notice me my dear.” Pink roses hugged by Peruvian and Stargazer lilies, the next week would be more simple– a pair of red roses intertwined with fresh caspia.

His voice was distinct, over the many years you’ve operated this little floral shop hidden away, the only two times you’ve heard the little rambles of his and the light accent within his tone was of course from him, but you kept help but think you’ve heard him somewhere else too. It made you nervous thinking about it, was it truly stupid to think he may be Spiderman? Over just one simple interaction with the masked hero and all of a sudden a person with a similar voice and mannerisms begins parading around your store and buying the most mushy, cliche bundles of floral you’ve ever seen? At this point, Miguel has helped generate an amount of revenue you haven’t seen in months.

By the time his next visit came into fruition, you couldn’t help the question that has loomed over your consciousness for the last week.

“Do.. do you-” You stumbled over your words clumsily, picking at the new floral he’s offered this time. Red roses surrounded by pink, finished off with a row of calla lilies. A beautiful balance of red, pink, and white. “Miguel, what are you trying to say with these bouquets?” You breathed out heavily, the nervousness of speaking about something weighing on you to someone you’ve found yourself attached to crashed against your usual calm and teasing attitude. You were out of your element.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the sudden question, which he averted from your gaze almost immediately. 

Your mind was working a million miles a minute, and as you were trying to get the questions out as fast as possible you stumbled over your words like how you usually do, which in any other situation Miguel would cackle as you burn into the ground in a flustered mess.

“Are you into Spiderman?” You yelled into the empty floral shop, placing your hands down upon the counter in accusation with a thud. A moment of silence hung over the two, bouquet still in your grasp like it's glued to you.

“Am I- what-” Miguel’s jaw practically fell open, in which his fangs were finally on clear display to you. You only could point, stuttering in an embarrassed flurry of limbs as you tried your best to explain yourself. 

“That’s not–” You mumbled as his gaze only widened more, not believing the question he just heard. “I meant are you like–” The silence on Miguel’s end wasn’t making this situation any better. “Are you into me?” You blurted out again, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Like– are you sure you’re into me? Like I didn’t know you would like me like that because I know I express myself a bit differently but–”

Miguel cut yourself off with his hands grasping yours, the bouquet now shared between the two of you. “I-” He sighed, casting his gaze downwards before facing you with a look of determination. As you spent time with Miguel, you came to understand that he never was good at talking about himself. Everything clicked into place as he nodded slowly, not a hint of doubt in his silent confession.

“I thought you’d notice sooner or later,” He huffed, dragging his thumbs against the skin of both of your hands. “Since the moment I saw you with an ungrateful gatito crowding my arms, I can’t lie that you piqued an interest I didn’t know I could feel.” Miguel sighed, leaning forward to lean against the counter opposite of you. “Who you are, how you express yourself– that's why I became so drawn to you, cariño.”

Now your jaw was the one to drop, before dropping your head to the counter the two of you shared in exasperation. “Oh my god! I knew it, I literally knew it. But I didn’t want to seem like some crazy person, you know? But I was right, what the fuck.” He couldn’t but laugh, which earned a warmth spread throughout your chest. Miguel only let out a chuckle and it had your insides twisting as if you were on a rollercoaster.

“You are too much, mi sol.”

“I wasn’t the one buying flowers to subtly tell someone I have a massive crush on them!”

Miguel frowned for only a moment, before leaning in just a bit closer. “Since I put in so much work to flaunt my love for you, do I earn a kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, before practically melting into his touch upon your jaw. Miguel met your lips and it almost felt like rain after a long drought. You didn’t know you wanted to kiss him so badly until his mouth was already on yours, his other hand trailing up the sleeves of your shirt and pulling your floral apron closer to him. 

When the two of you separated after becoming putty in one another’s grasp, Miguel mumbled right upon your lips, breath fanning the blush you felt;

“May I please visit you still, mi corazón? I wouldn’t know what to do without coming here, swallowed by your scent and surrounded by what you love the most.”

You only laughed, nodding against his hand upon your cheek. It soon became a nuzzle, relaxing against his touch like the cat he saved when you first met him. 

“Don’t start asking stupid questions, you know you’re more than welcome to come find me wherever I may end up at.” Miguel smiled, full of teeth and unapologetically showing his fangs.

The two of you intertwined like bonded stems, peppering kisses on one another until the door chimed once again.

[sageofthestarz]

Some sad kinda fucked Ifrit thoughts because I woke up and they came

Cw; Substance Abuse, Sex as a coping mechanism, and just kinda general sads.

Nothing graphic said but still putting those ^

Ifrit

Big, Strong, oh so stupid Ifrit.

That's what was thought of him. A muscle head who fucked hard, partied hard, and got fucked up without a care.

An easy fuck and go without connections, without having to stick around after sorta thing

That isn't who he was though.

This was all learned behavior because it's what got him the attention he craved, any sense of being useful, cared about even if it was only because his body was useful

He loved and hated every single second of every single hookup, high, and any other thing that got him out of his head

If he wasn't happy he wasn't useful, if he didn't stay the persona they all knew he wouldn't be liked, if she showed just how broken inside he truly was he'd lose everything and everyone he had, no matter how superficial he needed the attention

It didn't matter if it was a vicious cycle of regrets, and horrible sleepless night, bad highs and.. thoughts he shouldn't have. Couldn't have

It was all he had now

His pack was broken.

His pack hated him after he left.

He never bothered to try and reconnect, why would he.

Aether, Mountain, and Dew stayed with the band, Zephyr never spoke to him, Mist was long gone to be with the lake.

He couldn't bother any of them with this.

With him.

He left the pack, he left the band, that was his choice. He left the only people who cared about him and for what? To go and be whatever he was now?

Yes.

Even when he knew he could possibly rekindle something he didn't. Shoved those feelings down and shoved more substance down his throat.

He didn't deserve it.

Didn't deserve to have that happiness.

That comfort.

Ifrit used to be the most caring, lovable golden retriever there was.

Always following someone's trail, loving on them, and doing every favor he could

His pack loved him

He loved his pack

Now a days he's nothing more then an old dog owned by a family long since grown.

One that's waiting for the first excuse to be put down despite all the love it has left to give.

He thinks it's what he deserves.

A life of misery, and pain without comfort.

He watches his old pack in longing, the only happiness coming from seeing how happy and healthy they are

He'd do anything for them even now

He's so happy to see them thrive and love each other

Even if it also breaks his heart.

[timetobeaghost]

The Noah hate mob is so much worse than I thought. Finally saw the story pic going through someone's blog. Cluelessly I had kinda figured a "sticker" is something you can add to your pic, like a filter. And I thought he might have made a dumb sexy pose maybe with a hot dude and put "zionism is sexy" on it. I thought he might have been somewhat douchy and insensitive, because that seemed IC to me, making a dumb post in a serious situation.

But no. He is making a selfie with a friend who seems to be involved in anti-antisemitism activism and wears a (literal, yeah everyone but me knows what a sticker is, I guess) "Hamas is ISIS" sticker, which is a very important message (because people did not use to like islamists cutting off people's heads and raping girls back when it wasn't happening in Israel, maybe they could remember that feeling) and holding Stickers in her hand that apparently read "Zionism is sexy", which is meant to proudly support Israel and Israeli jews, which is healthy and understandable considering it is a reaction to a horrible terror attack on Israel and to a reminder that its very existence in in danger. No, Zionism does NOT mean war! Zionism does NOT mean ethnic cleansing. To say this is antisemitic trash. Jews wanting the tiniest bit of land to live in peace and thrive is the farthest thing from evil. Do you know how many Jews used to live in the Middle East. Do you know where their offspring is now? ISRAEL. And nowhere else because they were ethnically cleansed out of everywhere else.

And no Israel is not perfect, radical settlers and a right wing government supporting them and all that. That needs to be solved. That in no way means Israel's existence and with that Zionism is evil.

Now still those ZiS stickers could be criticized as dumb, I guess. As flippant in a serious matter, but any hate boner can only be explained by antisemitism, and Noah really didn't do shit to deserve anything. And then he was told he should be put in a blender by Hamas. Hamas being a terror organization who really does specialize in slaughtering jews in creative ways. For context.

The only proper reaction is 💯 support for Noah!

If you are part of a hate mob you are those people, oh they had good reasons for their spontaneous anger, I am told. Spoiler alert: history has already decided you suck. And I can guarantee you the Duffer brothers deepest revulsion. No one dreams of appeasing you people! Leave ST fandom and enjoy your jihadism fandom, if that's where your priorities lie.

If you are on the side of: "Yes I know he kinda deserves criticism, but lets not overdo it. Bullying is not nice either", congratulations for being human, but you are the majority Germans in the mid 1930s and you can do better.

Because someone asked me what I say to a 6-year -old Palestinian being murdered in the US, I say this is utterly VILE. It was a crazy, violent murderer's reaction to the terror attack and it is endlessly tragic that this happened. It was not a reaction to solidarity with Israel's people. The pos was reacting to the actual event. Peaceful, loving support for the victims is the antitheses to that. I wanna ask back what you think of hundreds of children being brutally murdered or kidnapped in Israel on October 7th. Can we agree that this shit is utterly vile as well? Can we agree THOSE HOSTAGES NEED TO BE BROUGHT HOME? Btw?

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Cregan Stark Would Include:

He is a very jealous and possessive yandere, prone to fits of rage when his love interest does anything outside of his control. He can get clingy and obsessive and refuse to be away from the object of his affection. He'll do anything to make you love him and only him, and he won't let anyone else take your attention.

He is a very intense and possessive individual who will do anything for the one he loves. He will go to great lengths to protect and possess his loved one, which includes eliminating any perceived threat or competition. He will also be very attentive and affectionate towards you and will shower you in love and attention. However, if you defy me, he can also be quite cruel, and he may even resort to violence in order to gain complete control over you.

He is a very possessive and obsessive individual, and he will do anything to win the object of his affections. He may appear innocent and sweet on the surface, but deep down, he is manipulative and calculating. He will go to great lengths to ensure that his beloved is always with him, and he will eliminate any and all who stand in his way.

He would be constantly thinking about you, and he would be very vigilant in making sure that you are not being tempted or influenced by anyone else. He would also be very possessive and controlling, and he would want you to be with him at all times. He would not allow you to have your own friends or interests, and He would want to monitor and control every aspect of your life. His main goal would be to keep you all to himself, no matter what it takes.

His favorite kind of affection is physical touch. He enjoys being close to you and feeling your warmth and affection. He enjoys holding hands, cuddling, and showing his love through kisses and hugs. He also enjoys giving you massages and showing you how much he cares about you. He believes that physical touch is an essential part of a healthy relationship and it is something that he prioritizes.

He would also be very clingy and needy. He would want to be with you at all times, and he would not be afraid to express his love and affection for you. However, if you were to try to distance yourself from him, or if you were to reject him, he would become very jealous and obsessive. He would not tolerate any other person being close to you, and he would do whatever it takes to make sure that you stay with him.

He would also be a very obsessive individual. He would be constantly thinking about and dwelling on his love interest, and he would not be able to stop himself from fixating on you. He would become very intense and focused in his pursuit of you, and he would not rest until you were his. He would also be very emotional and volatile, and his feelings for you would be very extreme. He would be easily angered by any perceived slight, and he would be willing to go to great lengths to protect you and to ensure that your feelings for him remain pure and true.

If anyone were to try to stop him or try to interfere in his relationship with you, he would be very angry and would not hesitate to take action against them. He would do whatever it takes to protect you and ensure that you remain his alone. If that means using violence or intimidating others, then so be it. He will not allow anyone to get in the way of his love for his precious darling.

He is also emotionally intense and volatile. His feelings for his love can range from extreme jealousy and anger, to complete devotion and adoration. He thrives on the thrill of chasing after you, and he loves nothing more than feeling like he has finally conquered you and made you his. However, if he feels like he is losing control of you or that you are slipping away from him, his emotions can quickly turn dark, and he may even become violent in an attempt to keep you by his side.

He would be extremely obsessive over you. You would consume his every thought, and any and all of his time would be spent with you or on you. He would become very jealous of anyone who even dared to so much as look at you and would go to great lengths to eliminate any threat to your relationship. He would shower you with affection and love, and you would be his world, his everything.

As a Yandere, he can also be very volatile and unpredictable. He can quickly shift from being sweet and loving to being cold and violent. Yanderes may also be prone to sudden shifts in emotions and can react very intensely to perceived threats or perceived rejections from their loved ones.

He is likely to have a distorted sense of reality and may not always be able to separate reality from fantasy. This can lead to delusional thinking, and can sometimes cross over into psychosis. He may also have a tendency to lash out violently at those he perceives to be threatening his relationship or you. He may also become easily attached and obsessed with you, and may not be able to function properly without you beside him.

He is also often seen as a bit deranged and unstable. He may be prone to fits of rage, and he can be unpredictable and impulsive. He has a tendency to be obsessive and possessive, and he can quickly become obsessive over his beloved. He will do anything to protect you and to ensure your love for him, no matter the cost. He may be unhinged at times, but his love is real and his devotion is absolute.

He enjoys exploring different forms of sensory play, such as blindfolds and feathers. He finds that incorporating sensations can add another layer of excitement to the experience.

He also enjoys exploring power exchange within his relationships. He enjoys being both dominant and submissive, depending on his partner's preferences. He can take on the dominant role in your bedroom and have you surrender to him, or he can surrender to you and give you complete control.

He enjoys bringing you to the edge of climax repeatedly, only to deny you release. He finds this playfulness and tease pleasurable and it often leads to an increased sense of arousal.

He's also highly into voyeurism and exhibitionism. He finds pleasure in watching and being watched. He enjoys having sex in public places and getting a thrill from being watched by others. He also enjoys the rush of adrenaline that comes from the risk of being caught.

He enjoys the elements of pain and pleasure mixed together to create a heightened sense of stimulation. He enjoys light forms of pain such as spanking or even biting during sex. He also finds the element of fear play to be exciting and enjoyable.

He has a bit of a lingerie fetish. He loves seeing his partner in sexy lingerie and it’s a huge turn-on for him. He loves it when you wear something that fits your body perfectly and shows off all your curves and assets. He also enjoys when you tease him by slowly removing your lingerie in a seductive manner, revealing more and more of your body.

[werewolfsmile]

re: "All I’m saying is the fact that someone isn’t talking to me about Eliot Spencer every second of every day is very unfair and borderline illegal." & tags - if you want to, can you elaborate on your werewolf!eliot ideas?? i’d like to hear about it!! if not all good tho :)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Yes I would love to elaborate! (buckle up because i have Thoughts)

(wow this really got away from me so uhhh .... warning for 2k of ranting about Eliot as a werewolf?? list of headcanons under the cut)

From the moment I first met Eliot Spencer, I knew he was werewolf-coded. Aside from his insanely fantastic fighting abilities and the absurd amount of punishment he can take, there are many other factors that contribute to his werewolf status.

Eliot needs a pack Our boy is out here working on his own for years and look at all the good it did him! None! He carries severe trauma from his family life because he blames himself for how it all went down and doesn't think he'll be welcomed back. Plus something probably happened during his military days or early PMC days to put him off working with others. Could have been the pain of losing people all the time, could have been something more. Either way, Eliot working on his own is a defence mechanism - but a self-destructive one.

Wolves thrive in packs - like duh, they're pack animals. As my username suggests, I'm into werewolves and, by extension, wolves. I've done research for my own werewolf novels in the past, so I know that in an average wolf pack, each pack member will have physical contact with the other pack members on the regular. Like, several times an hour! (gosh if I can find the research paper this info came from I'll link it but honestly it's been years) That's a serious level of physical contact required to keep the emotional bonds of the pack healthy!

Flick back to Eliot. He loves to fight, he loves the violence and the pain, yes. He hates the killing and the blood on his hands. He actually tries to leave the assassin world behind after he meets Toby (which is before he meets Moreau, as per early dialogue in The French Connection Job). He bonds quickly with Toby. Show Eliot a little love and care and he's yours for life! He moves onto retrieval work, then somehow ends up working for Moreau.

Now, when we see Eliot and Moreau in The Big Bang Job, Moreau says, "You work alone." Which means that Eliot had that reputation when he came to Moreau. He probably only took contracts to start off with. But he accepted job after job from Moreau and was so good that he was highly respect and it's inferred he ended up as Moreau's top bodyguard/assassin. Why the hell would Eliot end up that close to a man who brings out all the worst in him? Because Eliot's a werewolf and no matter how toxic, Moreau fulfills the need for a pack bond that he's been missing all this time.

Fast forward to Eliot meeting the rest of the Leverage team. One job only - my ass. He saves Hardison's life after Hardison brought a gun to their little meeting - and we all know how Eliot feels about guns.

Wolves are designed to live and operate in packs. Eliot says it's one job only but is bonding with them all from the get-go. Werewolf trait confirmed.

Eliot needs physical touch Now, I know what you're thinking. Eliot canonically avoids physical contact with the team. He refuses hugs, especially from Hardison, growls at Parker poking his bruises (don't get me started on the growls), and shoves people (ahem Parker) out of his personal space. So why would he do all this if he needs physical touch??

Because he's one gigantic ball of angst and self-loathing and guilt.

Eliot doesn't think he deserves forgiveness or love or family, etc. That is a whole other rant, but he denies himself the physical contact he needs with others as a way of punishing himself.

However, as the series progresses, we see him become more comfortable with physical contact! He hugs Hardison several times, he doesn't move away from Parker, etc. Why? Because he's bonded with this team (ahem pack) and there's only so much he can suppress his instincts. The more time he spends with them, the more naturally the contact flows.

Eliot needs to protect others Whenever we get a scene of the team walking as a group, where is Eliot positioned 90% of the time?? That's right, at the back of the group. He lets the others walk in pairs and falls back to bring up the rear. He's keeping them all in his line of sight and constantly scanning for threats ahead, along with protecting the team from any rear attacks. It makes sense for him to do this given his military background, but it also makes sense for a werewolf to do this.

He's the only werewolf in the team. His instincts revolve around keeping the pack safe and protected, so he does that in the best way he knows how.

Not to mention how feral gets over kids!!

Wolf life is all about the pack and the family structure. Pups are integral to the pack's survival and future. Eliot doesn't have kids of his own. But that doesn't stop his instincts from blaring every time he interacts with a kid, be it on the con or off. He takes time out every time to help that kid in an attempt to calm the raging storm of instincts inside his body.

Eliot needs to feed others It's another werewolf instinct that rears its head when they're in the safety of their headquarters (ahem den). Protecting the team/pack from physical threats is just one aspect of taking care of them. Feeding them is the other major one.

None of these idiots can cook to save their lives - except Nate, but he's also drowning his liver 90% of the time, so Eliot has to compensate for that, too. The team can't operate at full capacity if they're not consuming good nutrition. So Eliot makes sure to feed them.

His humanity recognises that these are independent people - coworkers - and he can't control every meal of every day. But he can cook for them, once a week or once a job, which is just enough to satisfy his instincts that he's doing his part to care for them. Plus they love his cooking, and the praise he gets from it is an unexpected but pleasant bonus.

Eliot and team sports/kitchens This ties in with my first point about Eliot needing a pack, but all the times we see Eliot go super hard and get absorbed in the role he's playing are when he's on a team sport or he's in the kitchen. Both of these fulfill super important instincts for him - being in a team/pack and providing food for others.

Think about The Tap-Out Job. Eliot's playing a fighter but he's not pretending to be on a team. He doesn't get over-invested in the role. But what about when he's a baseball player? A hockey player? He falls into those roles hard because he's working with another team again, and this little werewolf is built for that environment. Same in The French Connection: the kitchen becomes his den, the students are his pack mates, and he goes hard at investing in them and protecting them. Never mind the personal aspect of Toby.

Same for episodes like The Fairy Godparents Job when we get a scene of Eliot teaching a bunch of girls self-defence. Team setting + protecting kids = happy werewolf instincts.

So, werewolf headcanons? I have a lot of different origin theories but the main one I like for Eliot is:

he became a werewolf either for a covert military op, or was bitten by Moreau (choose your own angst flavour)

if it was for the military, they were trying to engineer supersoldiers and he was deemed a failure; he has werewolf instincts all the time but only has enhanced strength, healing, etc on full moons

if it was bitten by Moreau, there's a psychic-style bond linking them, which is why he was so loyal to Moreau for so long, and also why he is so reluctant to go after Moreau

(wow this is too different theories already and i said this was my 'main one' whoops)

Eliot can only shift easily on the full moon; shifting outside of a full moon can only be caused by extreme stress and is ridiculously painful

he suffers an insanely high prey drive all the time and is so strict about his control because he doesn't actually wanna rip out the throat of Random Guard #3

he used to chain himself up for full moons so he didn't hurt anyone, but since the team found out about him, Hardison and Parker have taken it upon themselves to 'puppy-sit' him every full moon

this involves no chains but an obscene amount of dog chew toys. Eliot is never impressed. He also never chases or chews the toys. The video evidence Hardison has was obviously doctored.

Hardison and Parker found out the truth when a con went sideways and Eliot was trapped in a room with them during the full moon

he was terrified he was going to kill them - or worse, bite them - but his instincts recognised them as pack so instead he just tried to wrestle with them all night

Hardison had a major freak out when he discovered Eliot was a werewolf - it's one thing to be obsessed with sci-fi/fantasy, it's another thing entirely to see your best friend transform before your eyes

Parker was not even remotely phased, being all like, "pfft of course werewolves are real, I thought you knew that Hardison, you talk about your elves and orcs all the time!"

"Woman that is completely different and you know it!"

"What else do you think is fake? The tooth fairy?? Ha!"

Eliot is Done With Their Shenanigans

Parker only ever refers to Eliot as Sparky when he's in his wolf form

Sophie didn't actually know about werewolves before the reveal but she pretends that she did

Nate knew about werewolves before Eliot, he just chooses to pretend that they're Not A Thing

werewolves generally don't make good hitters, because the constant exposure to violence ramps up their hunting instincts aka they find it hard not to kill

of course, this doesn't matter if you're someone like Moreau who specifically wants killing machines and thus turns his top hitters into werewolves, to ensure loyalty and enhance his strength

the only other werewolf hitter not under Moreau's control that Eliot knows is Quinn, who most certainly did not pull his werewolf strength punches when they tousled in The First David Job

Quinn doesn't have a pack (werewolf or otherwise) and genuinely doesn't seem phased by this, which pisses off Eliot to no end

however, after they work together in The Last Dam Job, Quinn deems himself Eliot's Best Werewolf Bud and keeps popping up randomly to hang out on full moons, etc

Parker and Hardison are a bit weirded out (and a little jealous) of Quinn's attention initially, but soon get over that when they discover that two werewolves on a full moon absolutely play for hours like 6 month old puppies - especially with the tug rope

Eliot is Extremely Susceptible to belly rubs even in his human form, which is half the reason he pushes people out of his personal space a lot - his reputation would never survive anyone finding out

of course the entire team figures it out and take to ambushing him with belly rubs whenever he's being stubborn or annoying

belly rubs are also the only way he will relax enough when he's injured so they can treat his wounds

despite the incessant dog jokes, the ever-growing pile of dog toys, and the bowls labelled with "Sparky" and cartoon bone symbols ... Eliot absolutely adores the pack he's found himself in and wouldn't change them for the world

One of these days I will sit down and write a thousand fics for werewolf!Eliot! Till then, I'll just keep churning out the headcanons ;)

[the-hidden-pages]

Kinktober Day 1 - Dirty Talk - Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Disclaimers: I’ve never done a Kinktober. These pieces are rushed. As a result they may be poorly written and OOC. Apologies in advance.

Summary: On a job, through an earpiece, Tangerine learns how easily influenced you are by his words. 

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty Talk, no actual smut though.

There was the odd job that The Twins would be assigned that they couldn’t do alone.

Specifically, any infiltration that required a woman’s touch, or a job that required 3 parties. Not to mention, the odd time where one of the twins were ill or recovering from a wound.

The Twins may be some of the bests in the business, but even they had to outsource sometimes, all for the sake of a job well done.

So, on those rare occasions, The Twins would outsource to you.

The third fruit, Lemon would excitedly say.

You were quite endeared to The Twins – a fact that was rather dangerous, given your respective lines of work. But the moment you met the pair, your heart warmed as you listened to Lemon excitedly talk over his brother.

“I’m not quite sure who you are yet – could be a Daisy, sweet and reliable that one…”    

 “Lemon.”

“Or an Annie, can’t forget about her.”

“Lemon.”

“Mind, there’s no reason you couldn’t be a male train – sexist of me, I’m sorry bruv –“

“Lemon!” Tangerine snapped, whacking his arm.

“Oi! What, mate?”

“Much as I’d love to go on about which fuckin’ Thomas the Train she is, we have precious little time before she needs to make a move. So –“

“It’s Thomas the Tank Engine,” you interject.

Tangerine paused for a moment before turning to you, eyes widened ever-so-slightly.

“What?”

“It’s not Thomas the Train, it’s Thomas the Tank.”

Lemon laughed excitedly as Tangerine attempted to collect himself.

“It doesn’t bloody matter, does it? Now, did you read the briefing I sent ya?”

“Oh, was I supposed to? I thought you’d just explain on the way.”

A heavy silence hung over the group.

“We should call her Lime.”

“Lemon!”

Despite the annoyance that radiated off of Tangerine in that moment, a strange partnership had formed. You and Lemon got along swimmingly, and you thrived on getting under Tangerine’s skin.

A completely healthy office relationship, you would chuckle to yourself.

Eventually, the boys called on you for help again.

Lemon was slowed down – after taking a couple of bullets to the leg, he was wrapped up and loopy on morphine. This didn’t stop Tangerine from accepting the next call that came in.

“It’s just a small job,” Tangerine explained you over the phone. “You’ll meet me in a small hotel. I’ll give you some equipment, you’ll pose as some rich man’s wife and go collect the briefcase that we need.  Easy.”

“And how do we know that they’ll believe I’m this rich man’s wife.”

“Mother of all coincidences, you look like the few photos that exist of her. The job was made for you love, and it’d be helping me and Lemon out a bunch.”

You paused.

“You’ll get a cut of the profits too, obviously.”

“No, of course,” you snap out of your stupor. “When do you need me?”

“I’ll get you a plane ticket to Monaco for tomorrow morning. Thanks, love.”

There it was again; you note as you hang up your phone.

The use of ‘love’.

You weren’t immune to Tangerine’s charms. Sure, he was a bit rough around the engines, swore like a sailor, and frequently let his anger take over. But he was also incredibly sweet when he needed to be, and wonderful at talking his way out of situation.

He was also wonderful at talking you in to situations.

At some point, your endearment to the twins had grown. You weren’t sure when you had begun to see Lemon as a brother, or when your crush on Tangerine had developed, but it had. Before you would carefully plan out when you were helping The Twins, rejecting several of their job offers if something better was on the horizon, or if their success wasn’t in your best interest.

And now you were hopping on a plane to Monaco, without a second thought.

When you arrived in the hotel, Tangerine was already waiting for you. He stood by the window in the same impeccable blue pinstriped suit he wore when he met you, typing away on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“How’s Lemon?” you question, setting your small suitcase down near the bed.

There’s only one bed, you notice. In your mind’s eye you shrug – a problem for later.

“He’s already trying to get up and about, even though he fuckin’ can’t move his leg and he’s textin’ like a fuckin’ 12 year old who jus’ opened their first bottle of tequila.”

His accent always gets thicker when he’s angry. It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

“12 seems a bit young for tequila. Mind, I started on rum when I was 14.”

Tangerine just sniffs, continuing to type what you now know is a long, angry scolding.

“And if I recall,” you wander over to the bed as you speak, poking through the supplies on it. “Trying to get you to sit still after you’ve been wounded is always a futile task too. You’re no better.”

That finally caused him to look up, glaring for a moment before he slid his phone into his pocket with a huff.

“Right then. Shall we?”

“Are you going to explain what this is about? You didn’t even send a briefing this time.”

“Not like you bloody well read ‘em, do ya now?”

You grin. “No, I guess I don’t.”

He strides towards you, picking a medium sized box off the bed and passing it to you. “Exactly. Go change, and I’ll explain after.”

You reach for the box, but when you go to pull away, you find Tangerine holding it too tightly.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, confused.

“It’s good to see you, love. Really.”

It takes every ounce of control you have to not wildly blush or stutter. Instead, you reach out to grab his arm lightly.

“Good to see you too, T.”

Taking the box, you make your way to the bathroom and quickly begin to undress. As you remove the lid, you can’t help but marvel at the dress inside.

Your job was so cool.

The silk was cool to the touch, and the deep blue dress would serve to highlight every curve you had. The matching silver heels and jewelry in the box served to add an extra layer of elegance to the ensemble.

Exiting the bathroom, you felt powerful, unstoppable. Your mind kept flashing back to James Bond movies, where the women were always goddesses, perfection.

And the way Tangerine’s eyes traversed your body only made you feel ten times stronger.

“Will I do?” you question, noticing the way he swallowed thickly.

“Quite nicely, love.”

He turned around to busy himself with the remaining items on the bed – a gun and a thigh holster for protection, a small purse, and –

“An earpiece, so I can fill you in as we go. Less conspicuous than having your phone to your ear all night.”

“Wow, you really are accepting that I don’t do my research beforehand.”

You take it, inserting it in your ear and hiding it with a few strands of hair.

Tangerine watches quietly as you slide the gun holster up your thigh, ensuring everything was tightly fastened and slipping a small pistol into it.

“Good. Now, here’s the plan…”

“This is a stupid plan,” you mutter, walking through the double doors to the blinding lights and deafening sounds of the casino.

“It’s a perfect plan love, come on now,” Tangerine muttered back.

If you weren’t as stressed, you might’ve shuddered at that. It was bad enough when he called you love, but when he did it right in your ear, you were just about done for.

Damn earpiece.

“Right, because I’m a dead ringer for some mobster’s wife, so I can march right up and –“

“How can I help you miss?”

At the counter, a cheerful bartender smiled at you.

“Yes. My husband sent me to collect a case. It should be waiting under the name Maroni.”

“Yes of course. It’ll just be a moment; can I get you a drink while you wait?”

“Gin martini, please.”

You sit up on a bar stool, crossing your legs. Within seconds a drink is in your hand, and you smile graciously.

Your smile fades quickly, however. “I feel like everyone can tell I’m a fraud,” you mumble into your drink.

Tangerine is quick to answer. “How do you mean?”

“They’re staring. They can tell.”            “Love, if they could tell there’d be guns pulled on ya in 5 seconds flat. They’re lookin’ at ya cause you’re gorgeous.”

“You think?”

“I think if you weren’t posing as the wife of a dangerous man, you’d have ‘em lined up trying to get the chance to rip that dress off of ya.”

You chuckle into your drink.

“Something funny, love?”

“No, it’s just. You can’t be whispering compliments into my ear when I’m supposed to be keeping a straight face. It’s not going to go well.”

You can hear a laugh. “No? You don’t want to hear that you’re a vision? That if I didn’t know better, I’d be one of them men lining up for a chance to even talk to ya?”

“Only if you mean it,” you tease lightly, taking another sip and scanning the room.

“Of course I mean it, darling.”

You feel your thighs inadvertently clench at the change in pet name.

“And what would you do? If we were strangers, meeting in a place like this.”

“I thought you wanted to focus on the job.”

“The job’ll get done. This’ll just make it way more fun.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line.

“You going to seduce me, Tangerine?”

“You want me to? Want me to whisper dirty little words in your ear until you’re fucking dripping for me, so I can pin you to the door the minute you’re back in this room with me?”

Fuck.

“Do your worst,” you mutter, finishing off your drink and smiling to the bartender.

“It’ll just be a moment more, ma’am. Another drink for your wait?”

“Please.”

Tangerine pipes up. “You really think you’re gonna last with this game, love? You think I don’t notice the way you blush anytime I call you love or darling?”

You feel your heart drop, but before you can respond he’s speaking again.

“Did you think I wasn’t interested? That I didn’t want to steal you away like one of my trinkets the minute I saw you?”

Your chest fills with hope as the bartender brings your second drink.

“I get so turned on every time I see you, love. And seeing you walking out of our bathroom dressed like that, I nearly didn’t let you leave the room. I could’a dropped to my knees then and there, let you make a real mess of my face. I’d eat you out ‘till you were crying for me to stop, love, you looked like a goddess, begging to be worshipped.”

You clear your throat and take a large swig of your drink, desperate to clear the lump that had formed.

“You flustered already, darlin’? Cause I’m not even done, not even close. See, once I hold you, love you, worship you properly, well…then I planned to ruin you, see. I plan to force you on your knees, watch you look up at me all pretty, tears running while you choke on me. I plan to hold you down and use you like a toy, make up for all the times you drove me insane on our jobs.”

“Miss? The case,”

You inhale sharply, smiling apologetically at the bartender who’s holding the case out for you.

“Sorry, I was in my own world. Everything is here?”

“Everything is there, as requested Mrs. Maroni.”

“Wonderful.”

You open your small clutch purse, pulling out a small wad of cash.

“For the service.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you do,” Tangerine starts speaking again as you stand. Your face flushes as you notice the wetness between your thighs, and you pray it’s not visible on your dress. “I’ll give you so much pleasure you’re begging me to stop, love. Now we just got to get you home.”

“To a hotel room with one bed. What a coincidence.”

“A happy accident. But all I could think about when I saw was if I’d get lucky enough to have you in it.”

“Follow through on your words and you just might. Where’s my getaway car?”

“There ought to be a black Jaguar not too far from the exit.”

“Got it.”

“Do you remember that job the three of us took? Lemon was transporting the target in a different car, you and me were on the road. Took all my effort not to bring my hand up that gorgeous thigh of yours, slip a finger into that warm cunt, touch you until you were crying for me to pull over and fuck ya over the hood.”

“Shame you didn’t.”

“Oh, I plan to make up for lost time, love, don’t you worry. I’ll worship you like a queen, and when I’m done I’ll break you like a slut. And you’re gonna take every minute of it like a good little girl, tellin’ me how good I’m fuckin’ ya, that you don’t want anyone else. Can you do that for me, love?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think Voldemort's sexuality is?

Well, it could honestly be anything since we don't really know. Like, you can headcanon away pretty securely here because Voldemort's romantic endeavors aren't something that's explored in the books. (I do not count Cursed Child as canon)

I'm not very fussed about whether he's attracted to men, women, both, or neither, I think the more interesting question here is how Tom Riddle/Voldemort views sex and romance. In connection with himself, that is.

Because Tom is interesting in that respect, he's both incredibly distrusting and doesn't allow himself to get too attached, but at the same time, he is desperate for a real human connection and understanding. This kinda leads me to believe Tom likes the idea of romance but thinks himself incapable of it (whether he's aro or not, doesn't actually matter, it's more about what he thinks about it). I think Tom/Voldemort is likely to convince himself he is above plebian things such as romantic attachment and love, not because he doesn't want it (he does, even if he won't say it) but because he fears he's incapable of it. I think he would like the concept of someone who is his, but he also never really saw a good healthy relationship, and his views on what a romance is are a little skewed. But because of his fear that he can't experience these feelings — this sort of attachment — he would convince himself it isn't a weakness or failure on his part, but a strength. He doesn't need to busy himself with such frivolous pursuits.

I think sex is actually something Tom/Voldemort would find easier to be interested in. Sex is a physical need, it's about practicality. Viewing sex in this cold and logical way is something Tom would have an easier time getting behind. He knows how to deal with things people need and want. So, I think a purely physical relationship without the romantic side would be easier for Tom to rationalize and keep his act with. Because real romance requires emotional vulnerability, which... yeah, Voldemort's not great at that.

With a romantic relationship (if he were to have one), I think he would get sentimental, but he's going to be really weird about it. I mean, full-on control freak, obsessive Voldemort. It's not going to be pretty and very few partners are probably going to be able to handle it. I also don't see Tom/Voldemort allowing himself emotional vulnerability, it'll take a while to wear him down, but beneath all his walls, he really does want human connection. And once he has one, I imagine he'd be pretty damn possessive and protective of it.

Tom is not really about give-and-take relationships, though, it's his way or the highway, which doesn't really work in a healthy relationship. He likes to have control over everything. He would want to continue his academic magical pursuits and he wouldn't allow a relationship to get in his way, but he would also be very protective of this one real connection and wouldn't let anything get in its way. I think Tom would love a lot of attention from his partner, honestly. I think he'd thrive on being the most important person for someone.

Basically, Tom Riddle/Voldemort isn't dating material for a healthy human being, but I think that's obvious.

[riddle-me-ri]

Riddler boys with an s/o in college who is really smart, but has anxiety and feels like a total screw up and a failure. And reader just wants Riddler to comfort them and help to stop the feelings of drowning and pressure. No, I’m not projecting, and you can’t prove that I am.

a/n: You can’t hide from me anon, I know when someone is projecting when I see it. Especially because I do it too! And this is the exact type of feelings and thoughts that I deal with on a regular basis both when I was in college and even now out of school. So if it helps, I’m projecting too lmao, also although I love him I skipped hush (dcau) eddie cause again, I felt these get a wee repetitive lmao

The Riddlers with an Anxious College Student S/O

Arkhamverse Riddler:

First of all, he’s like…the last person to go to for comfort.

Not only because he’s busy but…he rarely handles his own emotions in a healthy way…

But no matter how much he ignores you…it’s distracting having you all fidgety and self-loathing…

Edward will give you something to do to try and take your mind off of it. 

Yes, that’s right…he’s allowing you to help him…

To be in his workshop, with him, quite a privilege really! You’ll probably learn much more from him than any college course!

Almost tries to talk you out of college altogether. 

You know he’s trying and it does mean a lot to know he trusts you enough to be in his workshop. 

Besides…if the Riddler himself trusts you and thinks you’re smart enough…then you must be!

Reevesverse/Dano Riddler: 

Ah, yeah…he recalled not having the best time in college either. 

Edward went in and got out doing the bare minimum just so he could get a decent job

(so much for that, he bemoans)

You’re so much more than any institution, or grades, or anything like that. 

You’re brilliant, intuitive, and perceptive!

He’s quick to comfort you although you may need to tell him how. 

He’ll offer to hold you and rock you back and forth while rubbing your back

Or he’ll let you bend his ear and just vent your emotions and frustrations, he’s learned that sometimes helps. 

Whatever you need him to do, he’ll do it. 

Gotham Riddler: 

Oh gosh, oh dear…

Unlike Dano Riddler, I have a feeling this Eddie absolutely thrived at university. 

Atleast the educational aspects anyhow. 

But he’s familiar with the feeling of not being good enough, no matter how hard you try. 

He takes you in his arms and begins whispering sweet affirmations in your ear. 

You’re enough, you’re more than enough. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him.

Perhaps you’re just burned out, he notices the bags under your eyes. 

And if you’re struggling you can always come to him for help, regardless of the subject. 

Edward knows how amazing you are, but even amazing people need help every once in awhile. 

BTAS Riddler:

Edward is instantly there for you. 

He holds your hands or shoulders and rubs them with his hands, trying to soothe your nerves. 

He hates to see you this upset, but he can understand reaching a boiling point with your own emotions. 

Eddie lets you let it all out, all your anxieties.

He will likely ask you what you need, if you need advice, comfort, or just his presence. 

He will gladly oblige to whatever you choose. 

Like Gotham Riddler, he’ll offer to help you with your school work

He’ll comfort you with kisses and embraces.

He will sit by your side until you’ve calmed down and will be ready with something to take your mind off your anxieties.  

Zero Year/Cappullo Riddler: 

Again, not exactly the first guy I’d go to for comfort or reassurance. 

Edward will just shrug, not entirely sure why you care what your professors or peers think. 

If anyone’s thoughts should count, it’s his. 

You should feel worthy of yourself because he tolerates you…

That’s him being nice, I told you he’s not the best at this. 

Ed gets confused when you don’t continue the bait to banter. 

He sighs when he sees the absolutely crestfallen look on your face. 

It takes everything he can, but he tells you that you’re special…to him especially…

It takes a certain someone to put up with him, your tenacity, your brightness…that’s all you. 

TWOJAR Riddler: 

Edward honestly doesn’t understand why you choose to go anyway. 

You could easily learn whatever you need to know from him, instead of some dull professor. 

He thinks it’s strange that you let something trivial as school get to you, it’s not like it’s going to last forever, unless you insist of going to get a better degree. 

He tries, he honestly does, but again he just doesn’t understand the big deal. 

You’re clearly smart, you got into that school anyway, and you impress him time and time again. 

Him, you know, The Riddler? You have nothing to prove…this pressure you feel from school is temporary. 

Edward isn’t the best with words of comfort, but somehow the effort he tried to put in is enough to make you feel a little better. 

Gotham City Sirens Riddler: 

Edward was curious why your mind seemed to be somewhere else. 

You also began second-guessing yourself, which wasn’t like you. 

When you admit your insecurities and how you’ve been struggling with your self-worth from college. 

Edward’s perplexed. Really? College courses? 

Why do you care? College is a means to an end. 

You’re obviously really intelligent, almost on par with him.

You often helped him think outside of the box on his more obscure cases.

He didn’t just allow anyone to be his assistant, or to aid him on cases. 

Maybe, he should tell you that more often, but when he tells you it definitely makes you feel warm inside. 

Telltale Riddler: 

Likely frowned upon you attending a university anyway.

But I can see this Edward using it as a means to distract you from interfering with his work.

Also another Ed not to go to for comfort, lmao. 

Doesn’t understand why you put so much pressure on yourself when it’s not necessary. 

Especially for some meager classes. 

He leaves you alone to grovel for a bit, assuming it will pass eventually like such emotions do…

But he realizes that your moping silence is more distracting than when you’re trying to get his attention with affection. 

Edward reassures you that you’re just enough how you are, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be with him now would you?

The comment surprises you, but makes you perk up nonetheless.

Young Justice Riddler: 

Bless him, Eddie gets upset because you’re upset. 

Man is panicking slightly but tries his best to hold it together. 

When you let him in on the growing, heavy pressure building up, and how you feel like a failure…

Eddie’s heart cracks for you. You can’t be serious?

You’re more than enough, you’re not a failure, are you kidding? You’re the glue that holds the team together! You have the best plans!

Screw that school, they’re not worth your attention! 

B-But maybe, you could also be burned out? It’s been a while but, he’s been to school…

Edward nervously offers to help you with your school work, but enforces that it doesn’t have to be like a date or anything. 

His endearing comments and efforts are enough to ease your insecurities, especially in favor to help him with his.

[p-redux]

The haters already have their knives out and are salivating like starving wolves, they want TCND to really really suck and Sam to be particularly bad. They are such a sorry twisted coven of witches. I hope the show rocks and Sam is great.

What they don't get is IT DOESN'T MATTER. Sam Roland Heughan was born under a lucky star, and his Samshine has not dimmed in all these YEARS, no matter what has happened.

Sam has an established fan base due to Outlander and they're not going anywhere, family and long term friends who love him, his pick of women to date, he's healthy, looks amazing, has all his charities that are thriving, and his liquor business that's taking off. He's been smart enough to branch out and diversify. So, any failures in any of his endeavors will just be a blip on the radar. He's got too many things going for him. He's set.

So, whether The Couple Next Door does well or not is irrelevant...Samshine always comes out shining. He just does. 🤷‍♀️