#I think this is actually a brief but very genuine win

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

He fishes his jacket off the tile and deposits the earring into the pocket, leaves them both on the floor. Before he exits the bathroom, he studies his sterling reflection. He’s not who he once was. No Christ, no Jacob, no Jeremiah. And he shouldn’t be. Because he’s twenty-four karat, twinkling, not just otherworldly, unforgiving, untouchable, not just a god or a man—but a trophy at last.

actually, sometimes I really do feel bad for Harrison <3

[loonylupinblack3]

Overprotective

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, suggestions of violence occurring (nothing actually happens just very brief suggestion)

Summary: Going to the club and getting drunk without your overprotective boyfriend is never a good idea

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: posting bc of max's win in china

Max had always been protective of you. Since as long as you can remember Max had acted like your protector, stopping you from doing risky things and helping you when you did them anyway and hurt yourself.

You were childhood best friends, having known each other since you were five and he was six, brought together by a love of karting. As time passed and the two of you grew up, your relationship stayed strong, but changed. Feelings grew between the two of you, though it took until you were 21 before you two did anything about it.

So you were used to Max’s slightly overprotective tendencies. It was second nature to you, as familiar to you as breathing. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t get on your nerves from time to time, like tonight for instance. You were supposed to be going out with your girlfriends to a newly opened club, but Max was having some trouble letting you go.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw you enter the living room from his seat on the couch, eyes roaming your body. You were wearing a cliche club outfit; short black dress, heels, and bangles on your arm. You could see the appreciativeness in Max’s gaze, but also concern.

“You look nice,” he said, putting his phone down.

You smiled and gave a little spin. “Thank you. It’s the dress I got on Tuesday.”

Max stayed silent for a moment, considering what to say. “You look very beautiful, Schatz, don’t get me wrong…. But is that what you’re wearing out?”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

Max hesitated again. “It’s just… it’s not very restaurant friendly.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth. You had wondered briefly why Max had been so calm about you going clubbing, but you’d brushed it off thinking he just didn’t mind it. Now you knew it was because he didn’t actually know.

“Well, Max, that’s because we’re going clubbing, not to a restaurant,” you say slowly, waiting with baited breath for his reaction.

Max blinked, surprised. “You’re what?”

“We’re going clubbing….”

Max opened his mouth then closed it, clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You thought I knew you were going clubbing? Even though I didn’t say anything about it? Or warn you about drinking too much?”

You grimaced. “I know how it sounds but I genuinely didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

Max sighed. “I know, I trust you. I just don’t know if going clubbing is a good idea.”

“But it’s already been decided. And I got dressed up.”

You pouted slightly and Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. Me and the girls have sorted everything out.”

Max started. “You mean it’s just going to be you girls alone? What about Izzy’s boyfriend Liam? Or Kate’s boyfriend? They’re not going?”

“It’s a girls night,” you reminded him. “No boys allowed.”

“Schatz….” Max warned. “I don’t feel comfortable letting you go to the club alone.”

“I’m not going to be alone-”

“You’ll be with a group of girls, all of you vulnerable and easy to prey on,” Max said sternly. “I’m not trying to be mean, but without a man around you there are certain people who will take that as an opportunity to try and hurt you.”

You sighed. “I know Max, but we’re fine. We know one of the bartenders and he’s promised to keep an eye out for us, plus Liam will be driving us home so we have a ride. Seriously, you don’t need to worry.”

Max frowned, looking at your face for any trace of doubt. “I always worry about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max continued thinking before eventually conceding, walking up to you and wrapping you into a tight hug. “Be safe,” he murmured into your ear.

You returned the embrace. “I always am.”

You pulled back, still in Max’s arms, and he tugged down your dress with a slight scowl. “Too short.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye Max.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Max said, “and text me when you’re coming home.”

You nodded your head and hugged him goodbye once more before leaving the apartment and your boyfriend. You knew he was worried, knew he’d probably be worried for the rest of the night and wait up for you, which made you feel guilty. He hadn’t prepared for you to go out clubbing, completely different from a tame meal at some restaurant, and you knew he’d be agonising over it for the rest of the night.

All you could do was answer his texts and make sure he knew you were safe. 

Except things didn’t go to plan.

You arrived at the club and everything was fine. You looked around, taking pictures of the new place, and greeted your bartender friend. You ordered some drinks and stayed by the bar for a bit, talking and catching up, before one of your wilder friends, Lily, suggested shots and then dancing. You weren’t much of a shot person, mostly because you were a lightweight, and you hadn’t planned on getting too drunk tonight but everyone was egging you on, and you didn’t want to be left out so you agreed, the four of you slamming down tequila shots like you did in college.

Then it was off to the dance floor, you, Lily, Kate and Izzy forming your own circle, dancing and laughing with one another. And you were having fun. You were feeling happy, giddy, and the only thing that would make this night better would be to have Max by your side.

You stepped out of the dance circle, moving back to the bar as you took out your phone. Noticing the multiple texts from Max left unanswered you felt a pang of guilt, but it was distant compared to the excitement you felt.

y/n: maxieeeeeeee

maxie❤️: you okay?

y/n: im the bset y/n: i mss yoi y/n: u shoud come tothe club

maxie❤️: are you drunk??

y/n: jst a litttle bit

y/n: lily siad shots

maxie❤️: you did shots? are you okay?

y/n: im grate

y/n: u should cmoe hree

y/n: i wnna party wth yoou

maxie❤️: already on my way

If you were sober, you probably would have picked up on the annoyed/concerned tone Max’s text had, but you were not sober, so you texted him a ‘yaaaaayyyyy’ and turned your phone off, waiting for what you thought was going to be your party ready boyfriend.

Instead, after you’d had another shot with your friends and continued dancing, you found yourself face to face with your concerned and worried boyfriend.

“Maxie!” you slurred, throwing your arms around your boyfriend in a hug. “Come dance with me!”

Max chucked, trying not to show his concern, but his tight hold on your waist gave him away. You pulled back and looked at him. “You are going to dance with me, right?”

Max sighed, manoeuvring you so you were off the dance floor. You were almost too drunk to notice, just clinging onto your boyfriend. “I’m here to take you home.”

“But I don't want to go home. I’m happy here,” you whined like a child.

Max muttered under his breath, “did I or did I not tell you not to drink too much.”

You frowned at his bad attitude. “I just want to dance.”

He shot you a look. “You can dance at home where you're safe, not in a club full of strangers while drunk out of your mind.”

You pouted but your boyfriend had already made his decision, half dragging half carrying you to where he parked his car. You knew better than to fight Max when he was like this, even drunk, so you sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, glaring at the road ahead of you while silently cursing Max and his stupid overprotectiveness. 

Max glanced at you as he drove. “I can tell you’re upset with me.”

“I was having fun,” you complained, “and you took me away from it.”

Max sighed. “I’m sorry Schatz, I am, but I wasn’t comfortable letting you stay in a club full of strangers drunk without me.”

You pouted again. “So why didn’t you just stay at the club with me?”

Max laughed a bit. “Because I only enjoy clubs when I’m drunk, and the whole purpose of me being there would be watching you while you’re drunk, not the other way round.”

It made sense even to your drunk brain- sort of -so you dropped the subject, letting Max off the hook. Maybe you’d argue with him in the morning when you were sober and had a better grasp on reality, but as Max parked in your driveway and helped you out of the car, all you wanted to do was curl up with your boyfriend and go to sleep, which is exactly what you did.

Max helped you undress and got as much makeup off your face as he was able to with his limited skill set and then got you into bed, laying down beside you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest where you sighed into it, content.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.

Even drunk and half asleep, you still managed to reply, “I love you too.

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

-

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

-

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven.” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

[lauraneedstochill]

Can’t help falling in love

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

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

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

1.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

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

“...Whose eye?”

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

Aemond shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

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

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

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

3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am friendly enough!”

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

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

“You come bearing gifts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he should have.

5.

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

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

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

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

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

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

... 1.

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

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

And so he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

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

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

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

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

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

[neolxzr]

OK so heres some of my favorite things that were talked about during the enter the florpus commentary thing yesterday:

one of jhonen's favorite things in the whole movie is the writing in zim's kitchen that says "do anything is real?"

they clarified specifically that gir was not lying and he did in fact eat a baby at the crazy taco

gir smells REALLY bad. theres like rotting organic matter in his body at all times. he stinks

zim's human suit is made out of actual human skin

zim is acting drunk on nacho cheese during that scene in his house because richard horvitz recorded it while drunk

they planned to have this whole thing with tak's ship only agreeing to go to moo-ping 10 because it knows tak is there. they wouldve shown her in silhouette during that brief explosion and she wouldve stowed away on the ship without anyone knowing and then wouldve shown up towards the end of the movie, but they decided to cut it out

zim did not need to frame membrane for a crime in order to get him into space prison and likely just tossed the guards like 5 bucks for it. its a shady place. they did specify though that if he did frame him for something, it would have been jaywalking

they pointed out during that scene where zim is celebrating peace day on dib's lawn that zim's reaction to seeing dib was very much genuine and that's just how his brain works. he is genuinely surprised to see him pop out of his own house. (they also described his reaction as like "being surprised to see your best friend")

the ham joke was ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL to the film and at some point jhonen remembered it and was like GUYS. WE ALMOST FORGOT THE HAM

there was supposed to be this joke where it cuts to and from gaz and dib in tak's ship and they would've had to stop at like a warp station or something and theyd be waiting in a long queue of spaceships and the radio is broken in the ship so theyre stuck listening to that one song. then itd cut to them like totally braindead drooling from listening to it for so long. and then a little later itd cut back a FINAL time and theyd know all of the words and both be singing along to it. but this was also cut out so only the last bit remained

when asked "who would win: minimoose or mrs. bitters?" the answer was along the lines of "neither, i think all of us lose in that scenario"

the tallest are just two dudes who happen to be the same height and therefore have to share the same job. they are not brothers and they are also not gay lovers ("as much as you want them to be, they are not. there is no love in this universe")

skooge is in fact alive and lives in zim's basement. they wanted to keep the number of "hey remember this thing from the tv show!" moments to a minimum so he was not mentioned in the movie. but he is there

[smoothoper44tor]

Tortuous love

(🔖) Pairing: max verstappen x male! reader

(🔖) Summary: Mark is willing to give Max a love he has never experienced before.

(🔖) Genre: mostly fluff, angst

(🔖) Warning: jos verstappen, child abuse, daddy issues, jos verstappen again, English is not my first language

masterlist

   Can you blame Max for finding relive in tortuous love? That’s all his father has ever taught him. Now he’s looking for his rude, soul devouring, soul taking love in everyone, and when he finds that person he holds them deeply with his long arms filled with hate. 

He can’t love like a normal person, and he can’t give a healthy expression of his love to the persons that deserve it. That’s the most likely reason to why Max hated him at the begging. He was easy to love, he liked most of the things Max did or said, admired them even, and called him out respectfully when he did something he did not agree with, he was open about his feelings. Open. About his feelings. A true nightmare of a teammate if you had to ask him, especially after Daniel.

   “God, Max- you’re so fucking amazing” his rookie teammate was hugging him as if his life depended on it, his sweat and the champagne rushing against Mark's blue helmet. He had won, but the brunette finished fourth, the first loser to miss the podium.

Max didn't felt that as a win, his father made sure he knew finishing first was his duty. Mark sure felt that as a win; he was congratulating him, telling him how amazing he was, and genuinely feeling happy for him. Truly a nightmare.

   "Thanks" he murmured, before letting himself be dragged by the crowd of Red Bull employees.

   Months after that, as they were preparing for the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix, Mark had insisted in flying a couple of days early to enjoy the wonders of Italy. He had been trying to learn Italian for the last month, and Max can vividly remember the brunette hovering all over him with Italian catch-up lines.

When the brunette invited him to join his early flight he did, for some reason. He wasn't sure why he accepted, or why Mark invited him in the first place, but Max was happy about it. 

At least, until he founded out his teammate had also invited Lando. It was understandable, after all, you two started in f1 the very same year, and were also known for having a very deep, heart moving friendship. Max wished he hadn't felt as relieved as he did when he saw Carlos approaching with the papaya pilot. Carlos was never mentioned in the first place, but he was relieved the Spanish was there, hoping he would be enough to take Lando a bit away from Mark, so that way he wo- Wait, why the fuck did he wanted Mark’s attention in the first place?

   “Maxie” He was caught by the very one disturbing his mind. The brunette was giggling, his iPhone headphones hanging from his freckled neck. “You okay? You are not looking that good” Before Max could come with a cheap excuse, his teammate spoke again “I mean you do look good, you- shit! No. I didn’t mean it like- It’s not that I checked you out or anything, I just-" he was flustered, burning red colored all of his face. Max hadn’t even notice, been too focused on the other’s neck and the constellations forming there. 

   “It’s cool, I know what you meant” Mark sat next to him, hiding his face in between his hands. A brief smile danced in the blond face as he spoke again “I’m just thinking” Max leaned against the other, picking his shoulder “What are you listening?” The sudden, unexpected question seemed to erase every sight of blush. He jumped in his seat, practically throwing max one of the headphones in excitement.  

   Perhaps, Max had underestimated Mark’s abilities with language. When they arrived, he started speaking Italian more loosely than expected, not just catch-up lines, but actual sentences.

“You sound great” Max congratulated as the brunette handled him the ice cream he had just asked for. 

“Grazie mille, signori” Max giggled, provoking on the other a soft pink blush. Mark was quick to lace their arms together, as he guided the dutch to the McLaren drivers, that were rambling over their ice creams some meters above them.  

Max was still mad about his DNF in Belgium. He was demolished, not even the previous win in Germany was enough to make up for it. It was his duty after all, and every time he didn’t stand in the highest podium he was neglecting said duty. 

In Italy, he finished eighth. Mark made it to podium, third place. Max wanted to hug him and congratulate his job as much as the other always did. He even ignored his dad calling him out about today just to rush over Mark. They hugged, and it felt great, it compensated all the insults and daggers Jos throw at him later.

“You’re coming to the party, right?” Mark big chocolate eyes were begging him, with a puppy gesture. He was ignoring all the congratulations, all the pats in his shoulder, everything, just for Max. 

“Of course” He giggled, “Can’t miss your party”

Damn, maybe he should have missed the party. Max was blinded by the flashing lights and the stupidly loud music. Mark was nowhere to be seeing.

Daniel was the first person he bumped into. He was already tipsy, and offered the Dutch a shot of tequila. In a normal situation Max would have accepted it, hoping to easy his mind, but right now certain brunette who happened to be his teammate was the only thing occupying his mind, and the last he wanted was to kill that thought.

“Have you seen Mark?” His voice was came out a bit loud, hopping the Australian would hear him in between the nose. A subtle shade of red was covering his cheeks and the top of his ears.

“Markie?” Daniel screamed into him, making Max nod with discomfort. ”He was with Nando I think”

“Nando?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the mention of the Spanish man.

“No, wait. Not Nando, Lando!” Maybe Daniel had drink more than he thought in the first place. “I meant Lando! Yeah!” He screamed with a wide smile. Max gave the man a shy thanks, before starting his search for the other.

Mark was dancing with the other pilot, but soon left him when his eyes meet Max’s. Approaching him.

“You’re actually here” Max couldn’t bring himself to answer, too stunned by the way Mark’s big brown eyes seemed to shine. The man was truly beautiful.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” Max leaned into the other’s neck, almost brushing the freckles that adorned said skin with his lips. Mark shakes over the heat of Max breath hitting over him, gently rubbing the blond’s waist with his hand. He nodded, giving Lando a final look the dutch wasn’t able to describe. “It’s a great party” he said when they made it to the alley, his teammate’s hand was still in his waist, and Max was not going to be one to complain.

“You did well today. I’m not sure if I told you” Max got shy, again, when Mark mumbled his reassuring words. At this point Max found relieve in them, he no longer wanted to scream at him or punch him for them. Max had slowly come to terms with himself.

“I should be the one congratulating you” Max found himself leaning closer to the man, and the heat he emanated. “You did great Mark” His cocky grin expands at the dutch’s words.

“Thank you” Mark had his eyes glued at Max’s as they leaned closer. “Do I get a prize?” His other hand found the blond’s bareback as he still caressed his waist.

“For a third place?” Max mirrored the brunettes cocky gesture. They were centimetres apart, their breathings mixing in a heated sigh, battling to keep their hands for themselves.

“I did great, didn’t I?” Max leaned closer until there was no space left. He was kissing Mark, he was kissing the pink lips his found himself watching so often. Finally.

Mark pressed Max body against his, leaving no space between their bodies either. Right when the heat was emerging between them, Mark cracked a laugh, founding a confused pair of eyes locked at him. “That was great, like actually great”

[lilyslemonadestand]

Hi! Can I request tieflings with touch starved Tav? 💫

touch starved.

a/n: this probably /definitely/ should've been an actual fic. i like... mixed an actual plot with headcanons IDKKK i'm new alright. at least i finished a blog for once. pat me on the back for that! also, i've never written for any of them, so lmk if you have critiques!! AND LEAVE MORE TIEF BOYS ASK I AM OBSESSED. loved this request btw!!! hope i did it justice!

warnings: nothing this is so fluffy and innocent.

rolan.

• out of the three of the tieflings, he's definitely the most touch starved.

• i mean he's literally never been touched by anyone besides his siblings, and that's mostly just them smacking him.

• after a long day of getting your ass kicked /and maybe accidentally walking into your own moonbeam once/ you decided to visit sorcerer sundries alone to check up on your old friend.

• evidently, rolan had a equally horrible day. well, it was the same as usual, but rolan was more bitchy.

• when he saw you though, all of his irritation and annoyance flooded from his body, and it seemed like he completely lit up.

• "new bruise?" she asked, watching as the corner of his lips turned upwards. a genuine, non-snarky smile was rare from rolan. he rolled his amber eyes at you, nodding regardless.

• "new scar on your nose, hm?" rolan retorted, and your hand went up to rub at the bridge of your nose. you hadn't even realized that you'd been bleeding there. huh. at least it'd be a cool place for a scar.

• before either of you realized it, rolan's hands were clasped around one of yours, his thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. you froze. who even knew how long it'd been since you'd been touched like that--- if ever. even gale brushing shoulders with you made you tense up, let alone a touch by a really cute tiefling.

• he notices your reaction and can't help but laugh, making the tip of your ears flush pink, and you glared at him. rolan's freckled cheeks are just as warm as yours.

• "i've been worried about you, you know." he blurts out, and for a second he pictured cal and lia teasing him for hours on end. they all knew he liked tav, and had ever sense their brief encounter at the grove, her fierceness leaving him staring with wide eyes and a blushed face. ever since then, they never shut up about his little crush.

• "i know." you whispered, and you finally relaxed into his touch. rolan kept looking down at your shared hands. "but i'm not the one with fresh bruises."

• rolan clicked his tongue in annoyance, wishing he wasn't completely marked up by lorroakan, but he had no say in the matter. he figured you knew why he had these marks.

• "lorroakan isn't the best teacher in the world, i'll admit. don't worry about me though." rolan grumbled out. ah yes, this tone was the rolan she remembered. the grumpy one.

• your hands move to tuck a piece of hair behind his ears before brushing your knuckles gently across the fresh bruise on his jaw. rolan turned his gaze to the ground, and you heard him whining out some form of insult as your hand grazed his skin.

• "your skin's warm," you mumble regardless. "i could always kill him, y'know. well, i'm going to anyway. but i could speed it for you. and uhm--- i know a pretty decent wizard. gale, the one you met? much better than that asshole. he'd love to train you." you slightly ramble, and rolan watches as you fidget with your left hand, so he squeezes it gently. "i mean, i'd like you to... join too."

• "thank you, tav. i'll think about it." rolan's already made up his mind. he'd work for anyone as long as it wasn't lorroakan. he pressed a few kisses along your knuckles before dropping your hand.

• rolan can guess by the way you react to his touch that you're as touch starved as him and after that, it basically becomes a competition to see who can fluster each other more. /he does not win./

dammon.

• dammon is naturally very touchy. he talks with his hands and with his tail, so usually one of two will end up on the friends he talks to.

• with you, he's a little more shy, though. more careful, one could say. anytime you spoke, his sharp blue eyes were on yours, and he concentrated more on making sure he wasn't practically wagging his damn tail at you.

• today, you had your arms folded as you sat on one of the crates in the corner of his forge. dammon was finishing up a dagger for you, /his work too heavy for your liking, but you needed an excuse to talk to him, so you'd give them to astarion/ and you had been talking his ear off about your latest adventure.

• dammon didn't mind at all, humming in acknowledgement while he finished wiping the oil off of the blade.

• "here. crafted with love and care." the teifling teased, handing you your new weapon to inspect. and it was beautiful, perhaps one of the finest daggers you'd seen, with a lovely intricate design. dammon had made you plenty before, but each weapon and armor was just as beautiful. your eyes marveled at it, smiling before rummaging around your belt for your bag of coins.

• "it's lovely as always, dammon. thank you!" you beamed and you noticed his tail flicker from behind him. "and how much do i owe you again?"

• "you brought all the material's, my friend. and you brought me company today. how about you let me take you for a walk and we call it even?"

• his words felt like he'd just asked you on a date, but you jumped up from your place on the box, nodding enthusiastically.

• the heart of baldur's gate was much more relaxing in the evening. it wasn't god awfully hot, and the sky muted to a warm fuschia. and you couldn't help but admire the way dammon looked with his work sleeves rolled up, a content smile on his face as he led you through the streets.

•honestly, it was obvious to everyone besides you two that you two liked each other. dammon was oblivious, and, well... you just figured it wasn't safe enough to get into a relationship.

• little did you know, someone named karlach accidentally shared to dammon that you may have a thing for him.

• "so... are you going to continue that story about wyll?" dammon asked sweetly and you felt his tail move up towards the small of your back. like he was holding it while you two walked. at first you tried to ignore it, but the small act of touch made your face heat up.

• dammon must have noticed because he dropped his tail, instead moving to intertwine your fingers together.

• thankfully, the story of wyll was too good to keep quiet, so you were able to lean into his touch, dammon's eyes twinkling as you started to ramble on.

• also, once dammon notices just how touch starved you are, he will literally not be able to keep his hands off of you.

• massages, hand holding, wrapping his tail around your calf, rustling your hair when you say something silly--- definitely the touchiest out of the three.

zevlor.

• zevlor is also extremely touch starved, maybe more than rolan, he's just not as obvious. unlike the two younger boys, he feels like he's too old for feelings, especially for warriors like yourself.

• and unlike the two younger boys, zevlor's much better at hiding his feelings. his tail doesn't swing behind him, he doesn't flush like rolan, and he doesn't really speak on feelings like dammon.

• zevlor does admire you though, that much is obvious from his flaming rust eyes watching you carefully as you sneaked from conversation to conversation. you were strong and a leader just like him. it made you two have a lot in common.

• zevlor was tense when you approached him. most of the younger tieflings were laughing away, dancing even, all drunk as can be. the paladin had a chalice of wine in his hand, shoved forcefully by a certain large druid, but he had not yet even taken a sip. how could he? he had much on his mind.

• "drinking tonight?" you asked brightly, your smile enticing as you peered up at him while taking a swig of your own wine. your nose scrunched in disgust at the taste; tiefling wine wasn't most people's preferred choice for alcohol.

• zevlor chuckled and shook his head, tilting his glass slightly, so she could see that it was still full.

• "i've got too much to deal with--- tomorrow's trek will not be a simple task, tav." zevlor replied, setting down the glass on the table next to them.

• you frowned. that couldn't do. if you could relax, so could he. even leaders deserve their chance to have fun.

• "you deserve one good night of fun before tomorrow." you smiled. the teifling nodded his head slowly, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

• "that'd be nice... if i'm being honest. i just can't let them down." he mumbled, the stress from the journey showing in his face.

• "and look around zev. they're all drunk anyways. nobodies watching you tonight, so just relax."

• you were right. nobody was looking at either of them. most were drunk, and the ones that weren't were chatting away with halsin. it didn't take long for a small smile to creep up to his mouth. zevlor took the cup from her, and took a drink out of it. he mirrored her nose scrunch. wow. it really was cheap wine.

• with a fleeting moment of confidence, /or alcohol/ zevlor pulled you into a hug. at first, you didn't hug back. you were shocked. you hadn't had a hug in... what? weeks? months? years? and clearly, he hadn't either. you both seemed to really have needed it, too, because you instantly melted into his arms, and his grip only tightened. you could hear his heart thumping against his chest. yours was equally loud.

• "you've done great by them. i know you'll keep them safe. but in the meantime, you need to take care of yourself too."

• zevlor laughed against your hair, your encouraging words enough to make the old paladin's eyes water. he hadn't heard words as soft as yours in a very, very long time. and it was enough to keep him going.

• he wiped the forming tears quickly away with his sleeve, not wanting to burden you any further with his emotions.

• from then on, zevlor is very comfortable hugging you. whenever he sees you, whether it's in the mind flayer colony, in baldur's gate, or anywhere else, be prepared for a very bone crushing hug. when he feels fancy, he'll even spin you a little.

• all of his touch is very polite and romantic. you both deserve and need it.

[gabessquishytum]

They're using Hob's apartment building for a high fashion photo shoot.

Hob is fascinated by all the hot men and women traipsing around various open spaces of his building. And he may have tried shooting his shot with one or two (or three or four) of them.

Hob is fine with getting shot down by snobby hotness, nothing beats failure, but a try. And then he's sooo glad he was shot down, because the hotest man Hob has ever seen just joined the models and Hob would do anything for a minute of his attention.

Hob does not want to be a creep; so he asks around about the new guy (and while he was shot down for dates, the other models still like Hob enough to talk to him). Hob learns that the new guy is Dream, one of the top models in the world -- Hob knew he recognized him.

While trying to think up a non-creepy approach, the universe does him a solid --- Hob and pretty boy get stuck in the building's old elevator. Hob just back from in gym in his teeny shorts and tits out underarmor (Hob would have preferred to have been dressed in his professor's togs, but with the way Dream is staring,,,,maybe he's winning).

Hob is charming as he can be......and gets a perhaps when he asks pretty boy out. 😍🤩

Omg such a great meet-cute! I love the fact that Dream is the one who ends up staring and starstruck <3

Hob’s tits just really are that good, and Dream deigns to spend time with him for the rest of the shoot. Hob brings proper coffee down from his apartment, plus biscuits (his instinct to feed all these gorgeous but skinny models is definitely showing). Dream sits quietly in between sets while Hob chats about his work and the article he's hoping to get published.

As the shoot comes to an end, Dream seems genuinely bummed that he won't get to hang out with Hob any more (or maybe it's the good coffee that he'll miss). Either way he follows Hob up to his apartment on the last day, lingering in the hallway like he can't quite make up his mind...

He looks at Hob’s chest in his compression shirt and seems to make up his mind.

They don't actually have a date until breakfast the next day. Hob makes scrambled eggs and coffee and pinches himself repeatedly because Dream is sitting at his breakfast bar wearing one of Hob’s larger tank tops and some very tiny briefs. Dream’s pink lips are swollen with kissing, and when Hob looks down at himself he'll see the huge hickey on his left tit. A bold reminder of last night.

He is so glad he tried with Dream. And VERY thankful for his boobs <3

[roseharpermaxwell]

RWRB FirstPrince Sports (AU or Otherwise) Recs

Hockey, Lacrosse, Rugby - you name it, I'm here for it. Click below for some of my faves!

Born To Make History by @everwitch-magiks. T, 1.3k. This season, Henry has a new free skate. It's sassy, flirty, and actually genuinely fun, and somehow, it's taken him all the way to the Grand Prix Final. Still, even though Henry has perfected his lutz since his last competitive season, and gets that all too important second-half multiplier for every quad in his arsenal, he knows he isn't half as good as most of his competition. There's no way he's actually getting on the podium.

Except, one persistently curious and curiously attentive pair skater, with a distressingly attractive smile, gorgeous brown eyes and very interesting ambitions for the post-competition gala, seems to think otherwise.

'Coast-to-Coast' by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries. E, 1.3k. Lacrosse slang - when a player nearest their end-line takes the ball all the way down the field to the opposing team's end of the field.

Alex finds his old high school lacrosse jersey. Henry wears it.

The jersey is tight across Henry’s broad shoulders, the polymesh sleeves pulled by the tension, making Henry’s biceps pop, and if the hem didn’t reach the waistband of Alex’s underwear, it doesn’t stand a chance on Henry’s long torso. There’s at least two inches of skin visible between the top, and the band of Henry’s red D&G briefs - so selected tonight, because the red matches that in Alex’s high school logo on his chest. Henry looks sexy as hell, and he knows it.

i could be a better boyfriend by bananzie. T, 2.4k. It wasn't that Alex didn't like telling people about Henry—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that no one ever believed him when he did.

An AU in which Henry is one of England’s most famous rugby players, Alex met him during an exchange year, and they’re so in love it’s sickening, but no one believes him.

who are we to fight the alchemy by @coffeecatsme. T, 3.1k. INTERVIEWER: Kiss, marry, kill, between Taylor Swift, Beatrice Fox of the Tortured Poets, and Dua Lipa.

ALEX: Oh God, I’m gonna get so cancelled. Uh… Well, my sister would absolutely kill me if I killed Taylor Swift so I guess I gotta kiss her? I mean, she’s hot. And I guess I’m killing Dua Lipa? That leaves… Can I, like, take her brother instead of Beatrice Fox? He’s more my type.

Or, Cowboys star Alex crashes out of the closet in an interview. This is how everyone reacts.

Sets on the Beach by @happiness-of-the-pursuit. M, 3.6k. 95% of the able-bodied New York City queer population sign up to play intramural beach volleyball in the summer (this statistic is not supported by Nora). Unfortunately for Alex, this number includes Henry Fox and his very broad shoulders. Despite Henry’s unsportsmanlike recruiting and stupid genetic advantages, Alex is determined to take him (and the rest of Queerly the Best) down.

go the distance by @indomitable-love. T, 3.7k. His legs are like jello. He’s not entirely sure how he’s still upright. He’s running on fumes and the energy gel he’d been handed about forty minutes ago by one of the secret service as he’d passed by. Fumes, energy gel pouches, the roar of the crowd against New York streets, and pure adrenaline because he can see the finish line. He knows what’s there: June and Nora and Henry.

Henry. The reason Alex is doing this whole damn thing in the first place.

Alex decides to run a marathon. It's all Henry's fault, really.

Red, White & Navy Blue by @jedusaur. E, 4.4k. "Fine," says Alex. He clenches his jaw and his fists. "Great. Watch me. I'll bromance the shit out of the motherfucker." 

Twenty Seven Batters by @historicallysam. T, 4.6k. A ballplayer will refuse to stop playing because they want one more hit, steal, strikeout. One more homerun. One more win. So they get old and they lose their skill and embarrass themselves long after they should have hung up their spikes.

If that’s the rule, then Alexander Claremont-Diaz is the exception.

Because today, at age 38, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is six outs away from a perfect game.

Catch and Release by @welcometololaland. T, 4.8k. Henry isn't good at many things, but he is fairly good at rowing - something which is very deeply fine, until a transfer student from America turns up.

When Henry winds up being Alex's roommate on a training camp, they don't get off to a great start. Fortunately, their coach has other ideas.

A slice of the rowing AU involving midnight training sessions, extreme physical exertion and just a little bit of Only One Bed.

You Spin Me (Right Round) by @myheartalivewrites. E, 5.4k. “...he signs up for Henry’s evening class again, and if he comes in wearing a cropped sleeveless t-shirt with a bi pride flag on it and skintight burgundy leggings, well, that’s just a coincidence. He doesn’t necessarily mean anything by it.”

Henry is a spinning instructor and Alex is attending his first class after being ill. The whole thing is unexpectedly moving. And horny. Everyone is WAY TOO horny.

you know i love a london boy by @coffeecatsme.  T, 6.5k. “A very special friendship bracelet,” Bea corrects, with such a delight in her voice that Henry is immediately suspicious. He grabs the darn thing and twists it around, glittery beads shining under the lights of the room. A phone number, if Henry is counting them right. Despite himself, his heart skips a beat. “From the one and only Alexander Claremont-Diaz.” She grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet—the day she stops playing matchmaker for her brother will surely be a cold day in hell. The sole excitement of her life since she doesn’t do romance.

Henry twists the bracelet in his hands, counting the numbers again, and then looks up. “Who?”

Or, 5 times Alex and Henry keep their relationship a secret and 1 time they don't. 

let's get lost (and let the good times roll) by riversdeep. M, 6.5k. “Fuck, sorry,” The man says, distinctly American, holding a hand out to right Henry where he’s fallen. His face comes into view as Henry lets the man pull him up, worried eyes and furrowed brows, and he’s utterly mortified to realise that the man isn’t just any random man, he’s Alex Claremont-Diaz, June’s volleyball playing brother. Her very attractive, very concerned looking volleyball playing brother.

There's No Problem That San Diego Can't Solve by @historicallysam. T, 6.7k. Alex doesn’t even bother knocking; he simply twists the knob on the door and shoves it open. His eyes narrow as the door bangs against the wall and he sees Henry on the phone. Maybe (definitely) it’s rude but his blood is fucking boiling so he doesn’t really care.

Because I’m A Scoundrel by @inexplicablymine. E, 8.3k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has exactly thirty minutes to make himself look as slutty as possible for this Halloween Gala. At this very moment he looks a little bit like a sexed up pirate, but with the addition of his small black vest - rest in peace to the Patagonia packers and finance brethren- and a low slung belt with a “blaster,” a very sex-on-legs Han Solo is looking back at him.

Henry Fox, who is both a double scull rower with enough Olympic medals it would make anyone other than Alex sweat, and the definitive arch nemesis of Alex - is wearing a white sylvette Princess Leia costume, hugging his curves in all the right ways, the clingy fabric draping to the floor.

When you and your arch nemesis show up to the most important gala of the year in a couples costume you either play it up or shut it down. Alex has a decision to make, but the way that dress is hugging Henry’s ass isn’t making that decision any easier.

(la)cross(e) my heart by weather_stained. E, 8.6k. Alex is determined to start a lacrosse team at his college. It's his junior year, and he's closer than ever. That is, until he finds out someone else is trying to start a rugby team, and there's only enough funding for one additional sport.

Clubs Day comes around, and he finds that his rival is no other than the insufferable Henry Fox. Alex definitely doesn't spent more time staring at Henry instead of running his booth, but if he does, it doesn't mean he's obsessed with him or anything.

Thin Ice series by @priincebutt. E, 8.8k. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, charismatic center for the NHL's Dallas Stars, is completely and utterly smitten with the posh British librarian he met by complete accident. Tonight is the night, and he's got a plan to completely woo Henry and get his man.

Don't Quit It by @inexplicablymine. M, 9k. “And goddamn last but not least on my Hit It and Don’t Quit It list would be the Saracens rugby player Henry Fox. That man has great depths, and he could so easily plumb my depths, if you know what I’m saying. An all-around fantastic player, but also someone who is ridiculously smart off the field. And we all know by now that everyone on this list features my mile-wide competency kink. Henry, if you are seeing this, we could play around with some balls that aren’t just in play.”

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Alex has just accidentally outed himself to 6.7 million people. And according to the comments section, they seem to be all too aware.

Or... Announcing your crush via viral TikTok... that's one way to get his attention ;)

Puck It by @kiwiana-writes. E, 9.7k. “I’m English, dear,” Henry tells him, and fuck if the nickname isn’t doing something to Alex too. “Our national sport is rugby, and we play it with a lot less protective gear. Though,” he adds thoughtfully, “rugby players do wear mouth guards, which means they have the significant advantage of generally keeping all their teeth.”

“We wear mouth guards.” It’s a common misconception, and one that annoys the shit out of him. “And I’ve still got all my teeth. Wanna check?” 

Love-Love by @smc-27. T, 10k. “I hear Alex Claremont-Diaz is available,” she says, and while the idea is terribly appealing, he knows that it is incorrect.

“Alex is an incredible tennis player. If he wanted to pair up, I’d be open to that.”

It is not often Henry’s mouth gets him in trouble. Years of media training and growing up with a celebrity for a dad have left him very practiced in the subtle art of the spin.

Apparently the mere mention of Alex had all that leaving his head entirely.

lacrosse, my heart by indomitablelove. E, 10k. Logically, Henry should have known to expect this. He’s aware of how lacrosse works. Or, at least, he’s developed enough of an understanding of how lacrosse works through Alex. He’s seen photos of Alex in his lacrosse uniform before, and yet somehow that still doesn’t prepare him for the sight of seeing Alex actually playing lacrosse.

Alex returns to his high school to play a charity lacrosse match. Henry joins him and sees Alex play lacrosse for the first time.

You didn't tell me you play rugby by Moony_Reggie_stars_1003. E, 10k. Alex finds out that Henry plays rugby, and has some very specific feelings about it.

Tread Lightly by @smc-27. E, 11k. Alex notices this guy the moment he walks in. Which implies that he hasn’t noticed the guy before now, which isn’t true at all. He’s seen him around. He - like everyone else - has stared at the guy’s eyes and waist and thighs and fucking Disney prince swoopy hair.

Alex is really used to hitting on people and getting the outcome he wants.

Or: Lax bro Alex wants Henry

How to stay with you by lovergalore. E, 12k. Alex feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is essentially ever since he got his new roommate, Henry. Alex doesn’t have anything against his roommate—or his sexual proclivities; obviously, there’s nothing wrong with that, but it gets to a point where almost every other night Henry has a ‘friend’ over and Alex has to pull out his noise-canceling headphones to be able to endure another minute in their shared dorm.

CHECK(MATE) by ma_lark_ey. T, 14k. "It's such an unexpected pairing, a hockey player and a punk star. How'd you too meet?"

"Oh, well, it's really silly. It actually started when Alex's fans started..."

"I met Henry because my Tumblr followers started this elaborate hoax about us being best friends."

"And, let me guess, you ran with it?"

"Oh, June, you know I commit to a good bit."

Pumped by myheartalive. E, 22k. Recently moved to London, Alex meets Henry at a climbing wall, where accidental rudeness and misunderstandings keep them apart, until they don’t.

There's pining, there's climbing, there's stupid boys falling for each other, and smut towards the end.

Show Me What You’re Working With by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 23k. He doesn't want to think the words "monster cock" but frankly, it's too fucking late, because they're now living rent-free in his brain in twenty-foot high neon letters.

How does that even work? Do the women he sleeps with come out changed? Does he have the goddamn ER on alert every time he goes on a date?

Alex isn't into dick, except maybe he is, and maybe this one specifically. 

the winner takes it all by @dumbpeachjuice. E, 24k. In theory, this shouldn’t be a thing. Alex has spent his whole life around other cyclists, on the track and the road and off both, and he’s never had this sort of visceral reaction to any of them.

(Well. Kind of. Maybe he let his eyes linger on a teammate once or twice. But like—Alex is an athlete. He appreciates the human form.)

But the way the muscles in Henry Fox’s thighs stretch and ripple as he urges his bike up the mountain—

Yeah.

It’s a lot.

And if Alex weren’t so determined to steal that yellow jersey off his back he’d fall off his bike.

Made the Right Selection by clottedcreamfudge. E, 27k. "You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" Henry says curiously, and Alex cocks his head to the side; his hair falls into his eyes just a little but he doesn't bother to brush it aside. Henry's fingers itch to do it for him.

"I do when it's the actual answer," he says eventually, and Henry's face twists into a smile.

"Right," he says.

"Alex, come the fuck on," Nora calls over from where the squad has started to wander off into whatever day there is left. Henry suspects, looking at the sun, that there's rather a lot of it to go.

"See you later, H," Alex says with a grin, and then he's gone, leaving Henry with his helmet in his hand and his heart in his throat.

Alex is a cheerleader. That's the premise. 

catch my breath to breathe your name by goingmywaydoll. M, 29k. “So,” the person says without pause, “I heard you like soccer butts but not the people attached to them.”

Where Henry’s family owns a (fictional) football club and Alex is fresh from the States and the new star addition to the team and it's all entirely predictable.

Stupid Games, Stupid Prizes by JustAnotherWriter_93. E, 38k. The College AU where Alex is a football player, and Henry has had a secret crush on him for two years, attending every football game possible. Henry thinks that getting involved with Alex will be nothing but a disaster, Alex thinks that maybe he isn’t as straight as he thought, and they’re both a little bit right.

Faster, Higher, Stronger by everwitch. E, 64k. When Alex fails to qualify for the 2022 Winter Olympics, it’s all too easy to blame Henry Fox, the dual citizen who’d switched from Team GB to Team USA and snagged the last spot for men’s figure skating. After Alex is abruptly thrown back into the games, he forms an unexpectedly deep connection with Henry. But no athlete who aims for the top of the podium can afford any serious distractions. Will Alex be able to keep his flaring emotions in check and take home the Olympic gold medal he’s always aimed for?

Baseball Boyfriends series by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 121k. “It’s just — I’ve had such a hard time feeling like I really belonged. I think that’s what got me in the slump in the first place. But coming back here, seeing all the love I still got even though I’m not on the Rangers anymore… that really helped. And being on the Mets, being in New York — you helped with all of that. More than you’ll ever know.”

Or, Alex and Henry are dumb, horny disasters. With an added bonus of baseball.

A Sporting Chance series by clottedcreamfudge. E, 236k. "Marry Henry - destination wedding. Combine all of our names so paperwork is a fucking nightmare." Henry stares at him and Pez rolls the dice, and-

"Congratulations to Alex and Henry Claremont-Diaz-Fox-Mountchristen," he says with a bright grin, and Alex punches the air and makes a 'whooping' noise. "Your wedding is attended by the Beckhams, the President, and several key members of congress. Henry is very gentle on your wedding night." Henry is going to fucking kill Pez.

"Fucking sweet," Alex says, because Henry is apparently the only one here trying not to have a coronary about all of this.

It had just been a party game, except now Henry is in way over his head.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

[sscarletvenus]

Lookism JJK au, your thoughts?

HIIII VENVEN😁😁😁

also very disorganized and brief brainrot-esque parallels and thoughts about lookism x jjjk ahead (JUST FOR FUN. these are pixels and it's not that serious 😭) :

. yamazaki, kageroi, cheonliang are like the great clans. the provinces in south korea from where the four crews, allied, ansan public, etc. belong are like the various jujutsu tech schools.

. charles choi is a sorcerer who lives long enough to become a corrupt exploitative higher up.

. the workers orchestrate the culling games.

. gapryong as toji, geniuses, he who must not be named type character, dead in the first act, haunting the fuck out of the narrative, changing the trajectory of people's lives, phantom of the past and apparition of the future.

. gapryong also as toji because he is a broke deadbeat who is despised by his children!

. daniel park as yuuji itadori. little miss sunshine in a world full of horrors. being hunted for sport by those in power. the final piece in dismantling a corrupt system. emo boys estranged from their families are in love with them and would die for them. all they have ever loved keeps turning into stone. important familial ties that are the crux of their stories.

. jay as megumi fushiguro. deep suicidal ideation, has never won an idgaf war in the face of love, daddy ruined their life, sister genuinely cares but is ultimately powerless in reversing their fates, dripped TF out, actually very powerful, hated by their respective creators

. gun as gojo satoru. like the balance in the yakuza shifted after his birth. the power gun inherits is a burden to him but he also loves being the sole one to possess it.

. he and the world around him are separated by an impermeable barrier, the boundary between the weak and the strong. he enjoys enacting violence upon his enemies just for the thrill of fighting, just for the sake of knowing he is the strongest, and also since it is the only time he realises he exists as a real person. the strong existing on the pinnacle of a lonely mountain (throughout heaven and earth, i alone am the honored one)

. he has great, unparalleled power, but can hardly connect with others. he isn't treated as a teenager when he's young, and he's hardly seen as a mortal. he is treated with derision and resentment by almost everyone.

. gun as gojo also because of. eye horror. seeks a warrior's death as freedom and release from their solitude.

. jinyoung would probably be like choso. clear thinker who isn't very emotional until it involves their family. values family and brotherhood a lot. capable of cruelty and profound vengefulness, but also monstrous indifference towards what isn't important to them. is a parental figure toward a younger child whom they care a lot about.

. goo and kinji hakari. a very self-absorbed individual who doesn't confirm to societal morals and traditions. doesn't perceive isolation that comes from being powerful. doesn't suffer from loneliness. has a strong mindset and clear goals. living their best life. very questionable allies.

. also would love to parallel gun and goo with hakari and sukuna, respectively. hakari spares his opponents while sukuna destroys them. gun nurtures talents while goo uproots them.

. gitae is also like sukuna, if you think about it. selfish, cold-hearted, immoral, and exceptionally sadistic. has committed parricide. wants an younger relative dead. eyes with such lunacy, you will only see them in eastern european snuff films.

. james lee and kenjaku, because identity theft is a competition and they are winning. impossible to tell their real age. act as a perfect foil to the main character and their ideals. slay, but traumatizing.

. GETO AND JAKE. HEAR ME OUT. pleasepleaseplease. firstly because MOTHER. secondly, there is a certain darkness and fluidity about the way they're written.

. family-oriented and self-sacrificial. empathetic and charming. entire friend group in love with them. graceful and gentle. REEK OF YIN SYMBOLISM. unhealthy coping mechanisms to their respective situations, and have a tendency to isolate themselves. very insane psychotic mentally disturbed but those details are somehow ALWAYS overlooked and oversimplified. very gnc coded. a reason behind their downfall and unravelling is the existence of a very powerful man, and their damning association with said man. did i mention being irrevocably in love with their best friend?

. jake's big deal and suguru's cult.... hmmm... i feel like the possibility of all those possibilities being possible is just another possibility that can possibly happen!!! influential girlbosses that people folk to!

. samuel is so naoya-esque. obsessed with powerful men who don't know don't gaf about him. my fav delulu.

. mary as yuki!!!!! perhaps stronger than the one considered to be the strongest...

. ELI AS YUUTA-[i get dragged from the podium and thrown in quicksand]

. jichang being very very nanami coded not only because of the aesthetic but also because the impact of their death on the main character...

. VASCO AND TODO. literally the realest people around the main character (not elaborating further)

. vin and maki. their metamorphosis from a bug being trampled upon to venomous insects, catalyzed by the injustice and abuse suffered by the people closest to them, horrible family, physical appearance portrayed as an element of monstrosity,

. LMFAO JAY BEING INUMAKI TYPE OF CURSE USER IS A VERY REAL POSSIBILITY TOO

. johan and kashimo because of the nuclear hazard levels of crumpled receipt wet sock energy

. the shaman(shinmyung cheon) as naobita zenin. the REAL naoya would definitely be taejin!

. so that makes samuel higuruma. impeccable dilf divorced dad of three vibes radiated by these two.

. LUA IS SO VERY NOBARA CODED. YOU WON’T GET IT BUT I DO.

. jiho's presence in this au would be like riko's or junpei's. definitely not comparing him to riko. NEVER. just the way his existence wreaks irreversible damage to the main characters. also the transformation into a monster bit for junpei??? THAT'S juvie jiho. jake takes his darkness as a catalyst for hate and revenge. he toys with jiho and feeds his hatred... he doesn't complete his metamorphosis quite because jiho is weak, and that's his tragedy!!!

. this is so badly written im ctfu but if you read up to this point thank you!!!! much appreciated

[doodlesdreaming]

Shin Megami Log 4(After Game Thoughts)

Finished SMT V during Christmas, and I have THOUGHTS.

I'm gonna put all that under the 'Read More' bit, so if any of you are interested in this game, then scroll past and no peeking.

Right then, final thoughts:

Brief history lesson first, I knew very little about the SMT series or the spin-offs like Persona. Of course, with how incredibly successful Persona 5 is, it's hard to miss any sort of info. But even then, my knowledge of the entire franchise was very limited. All I know is that it's basically the "Dark Souls" of RPGs with character driven stories that have of ingredients than a Final Fantasy title. At least, that was the vibe I was getting.

But even then, I never have been interested enough to want to give any of the games a try. I did get Persona Q2 back when I first heard of the 3DS dying out, but it mostly because I didn't want a Persona game with Joker's face on it to be forever lost. Weird I know, but that was my train of thought, at the time. But after clearing the first boss(and realizing that prior knowledge of Persona 5's story is an absolute must) I got bored and haven't touched the game since.

Fast forward a few years later, when Shin Megami Tensei Nocturne was announced with a HD port to current gen consoles. I was genuinely excited by the announcement. This meant that if I ever decided to give Nocturne a try, it'll be alot easier for me to do so now. Then after that came the biggest surprise of all; Shin Megami Tensei V.

Now this....this caught my attention. Though I can't really explain why. Was it the character designs? The gorgeous looking world? "D" all of the above? All I can say is that something 'clicked' and I was very interested. Even though it would take two years later until I actually got it.

And I'm so glad I did.

I was invested right from the start. From the silent "show don't tell" protagonist, all the way to Lufcier himself, the story, even with its swiss cheese holes in plot at some points, had me hooked from start to finish. The combat never got boring. I was constantly thinking of strategies and building up my demons that suited my needs and my playstyle. The world was incredibly fun to explore, even though the lighting choices, in some areas, made my eyes strain a bit. It would take me up til the big boss of the area for me to finally adjust.

And the bread and butter of it all, The Law and Chaos mechanics. A stable, I've come to understand, in the SMT series. Yet an important take away from all this is that nothing is as black and white as it seems on the surface. SMT is a franchise that makes you think. It makes you question yourselves and you inner most thoughts. And SMT V had me rolling in so many thoughts, that when I reached the 'alignment lock' of the game, I had to take a break because I was starting to get overwhelmed.

Of course, this could very well be a really weird quirk of mine. But when I get into a really good story, I REALLY get into it. And the choices I make would impact the ending I would get.

By all accounts, the Law ending would naturally mean the good ending, right? Well sure...if you can live with a Law that discriminates all other forms of thinking(a.e. free will), will not hesitate to punish they see as 'unfit' and the willingness to become corrupt yourself, just to prove a point. Sure. Law is the way to go.

The Chaos ending usually entails victory for the bad guys. And yet, there really isn't a clear "villain" in this case, other then the absolute obvious ones(f you Lamau). In Chaos, there is diversity, the freedom to choice your fate, to be yourself. And yet with so many possibilities, there will be disagreements, arguments of what is right and wrong, and power competing against power. No one really wins, and there is constant strife. But hope is just as abundant, with the capability that anything is possible.

The Neutral ending is well...the Neutral ending. You don't pick a side. You're that little kid that asks, "Why not both?" A balance of law and chaos. So understandably this would the best choice. Yes...except the neutral path follows a man who has been brought down low by both law and chaos. He lost everything precious to him, to the point where he belittles his fellow man if they show any sort of weakness. So the solution? Make humanity the leading power of the universe, but take away every viture and sin that exists in the heart and soul. And by extension, all the angels and demons in existence. Never to be even a story told by campfire light because it would never be allowed to cross through the mind. Humans would be free of woe and fear, and grow abundant in their everyday lives. But will it truly last?

You could probably guess which ending I ended up getting. And quite honestly, I'm satisfied with it. Plus it lines up perfectly with my ever growing headcanons of the Nahobino. So I'm taking it as a win.

I honestly can not recommend SMT V, especially if you're like me who enjoys a good rpg that I can sink my teeth into. It has it flaws, yes. But they feel so small that it doesn't really bother me. Some of them I can just 'fix' with good old imagination. And it's definitely inspired me to play Nocturne next, for sure. But first, I want to see if I can beat the Demi Fiend himself in combat....

There's so much more I'd like to talk about, but I think I rambled long enough.

The main takeaway? I LOVE THIS GAME. Definitely gonna be alot of fanart for sure. And I'm gonna get my hands on some merch when I can. It probably won't exceed my growing Darksiders collection, but it might come close in time, lol.

The other main takeaway from all this is that I get it now. I get the appeal and why this series is standing as strong as it is. HEE-HO!!!

[capn-twitchery]

do you have any tips for drawing expressions? it’s one thing that I always notice about your art, I love how expressive your characters are.

thank you so much!! it really means a ton bc expressions are one of the things i've focused & worked the hardest on over the years :D ♥

which ALSO MEANS--HA, YOU ACTIVATED MY SPECIAL INTEREST TRAP CARD i am now going to talk at you all for far too long about it >:) buckle up!

prefacing this by saying i Love animation, this makes me biased as hell with where i get my sources + how i study art. anyway!

i think my biggest #1 tip is don't be afraid to get goofy with it--characters don't have to look cool and stoic all the time, they can be silly! if an expression reads better, but looks a little off-model, do it anyway! make that guy look weird!

i draw little thumbnail expressions a Lot, whether for actual art or for just fun doodling. i don't have any recent ones to hand-- but here's some from a while ago. they help a ton to figure out what works quickly without worrying about actual facial features

they also help to see if i can push an expression further, it's easier to test out weird things on a tiny round doodle and then translate that into an actual drawing later on. pushing expressions To The Limits is a really good exercise in itself!

gonna put the rest under the cut bc it's getting long & i have a lot more to say

ok this in itself is a whole topic i can go on about for hours, but i'll try to keep it semi brief--i Love considering how different characters would show emotions! how one character would express sadness, how that would be different to another, how one character would smile vs. another, stuff like that!

related, giving characters individual expression quirks. twitch's :3 mouth & lazy lidded eyes if you could see them anyway & Very Smug Eyebrows, while grace has heavy low eyebrows & sad puppy eyes & usually looks at least 10% unsure at all times. it makes every single twitch smile look slightly not genuine and makes grace look. well. you know. the quirks are really fun to think of, and it makes drawing expressions feel a lot more fun when you personalise them!!

expressions can be easier to think of when you put characters in scenarios & consider how they'd react. it can also help to think of the character Moving/talking, instead of as a static image. mini comics or just adding dialogue to art helps a lot with this, i've only just started doing it and i'm having a blast!!

ok this one is weird and hard to explain and might only be applicable to me bc i can't see images in my brain-- but i'll throw it out there just in case! lots of artists make faces in the mirror to reference their own expressions, but it's never worked for me

i Do still act stuff out in my brain & make faces irl, but instead of doing it in the mirror, i just make the expression & consider how my face is moving in Words? ok for example This Comic, last panel for twitch--i'd run through the dialogue in my head and move around how i feel like they would, and list it off in Words--raised eyebrows, closed eyes, tilted head, etc etc. then i have a framework to base the expression on! and i don't need to stare into my own face in the mirror for reference. no mirror needed at all, actually. win/win. i do this for body language too

(yes this makes you look insane btw. sorry. if you do it too long best case scenario you get very dextrous eyebrows and worst case scenario you might start making cartoon character faces irl (or both) (i'm both))

not sure how much it helps specifically with expressions outside of animation, but it's a fun exercise--learning the limits of a character's face, animation calls it squash & stretch. drawing a face in the two most extreme states. so on character expression sheets you'll see weird faces like this⤵️ that's what that is

another exercise, i always have a ton of art saved that i like the expressions of. usually a lot of concept art for films. i'll do studies of them & redraw them, and/or take ocs and redraw them with those expressions! it's a great way to look at how other artists do stuff and yoink bits you like.

you'll hear this a lot if you look up Any art tips, but references & studies are great. i get a lot of inspo from disney concept art bc their artists are very talented people, but currently i hope disney studios' own hubris eats it alive. i want to see mickey mouse buried in a hole, the rat bastard. anyway some places i personally take inspiration from:

i look at a lot of animation concept art, some good sources are characterdesignreferences, livinglineslibrary, there's pdfs of animation art books all over the place too.

specific concept artists i like are jin kim & shiyoon kim !! they do Great expressions.

outside of film industry, tealin and tracy butler of lackadaisy cats are some inspirations! tracy butler has a great expressions tutorial here

if you find this stuff interesting & like reading, the illusion of life by ollie johnston & frank thomas is an incredible insight into the thought process behind stuff like this! there's a pdf here, unfortunately just a scanned copy but worth a read if you like this stuff!! specifically chapters 'character development', 'animating expressions & dialogue', and 'acting & emotions'

sorry that was an essay and a half but hopefully it was a little bit helpful!! i always love talking about this stuff so if you want anything clarified/just wanna talk about it more i am Always ready to go off >:3

[dangerouslyknown]

A fellow Kizaru lover 👀👀👀 Yessss- so I have a request you don't have to if you don't wanna. So- Kizaru with a lover who is also a Admarl... But is a big workaholic. Enough so that one day he just keeps her in bed and refuses to let her leave because she hasn't been home or been able to spend time with him for days. XD Love your writing!!

"Your only priority"

(Kizaru x Reader)

Word count: 1196 Characters/pairing: Kizaru/Borsalino x workaholic gn!reader A/N: Love the request and I appreciate you sending it <3 Warnings/tags: Dominant Kizaru, no NSFW but some things might count as suggestive

You flip over on the double bed, sleeping restlessly until the alarm goes off. It takes you a moment to burst awake. You can’t be late for work.

Before getting up, you notice how there is no one on the other side of the bed. Still sleepy, your hand wanders and searches for him in the empty sheets. Usually Borsalino was still sleeping beside you and you usually woke up before him. A yawn escaped your mouth as you muttered his name.

“Borsalino..?”

Before you could process that there was no immediate reply you heard familiar footsteps coming closer and the bedroom door opened. You opened your eyes completely, seeing the tall man closing the door behind him as he advanced further in the room.

“Morning, sleepyhead~” He says, sounding genuine and warm. Then he creeps closer to you with fast moments and sits on the bed next to you. Your lips curve into a slight smile as he does so. You feel his hand stroking your arm.

“I need to get ready for work, Bors.” You say to him, letting out a yawn again and lifting your body to get up.

Suddenly the look in his eyes changed and you felt him grip on your wrists, pinning you down. You give him a confused look as he stares at you, his eyes quite intimidating. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, trying to challenge his strength by pushing against him. You are both strong admirals of the Marines, but there is no denying he is even stronger than you. You could still hold up a fight against him pretty well, but what comes to pure strength, he wins by far.

He gives you a smirk, leaning closer to you, still pinning you down. He shares a real close proximity with you right now. You smell his breath, which has a hint of the scent of coffee in it.

“What... am I doing?” He repeats your question, raising his other eyebrow. “What are you doing? You haven’t been home at all recently.” He adds, keeping eye contact with you and your heartbeat rises.

“I have an important job and I need to work a lot.” You state, trying to convince him to let go. He keeps looking at you, leaning a little closer.

“Is that so? Well~ So do I and I have time to be home. Why don’t you?” He says, his voice still sounding intimidating. Your convincement didn’t seem to work. You look away from him for a brief moment, trying to come up with something to say. You take a quick glance at the alarm clock, getting worried you will actually be late. He notices your reaction.

“You never have time to be with me.” He speaks up again, a certain blame on his voice. It makes you feel a sting in your heart, but you try to brush it off by smiling softly.

“I still love you. Besides, work is very important to me and you know it.” You explain, hoping for him to understand. And he does seem understanding, but just for a mere split second. 

“Would you go as far as to say that work is your top priority, huh~?” His grip on your wrists tighten up.

“I… I suppose it sounds bad when you say it like that. But yes.” You say, hesitating. You feel  nervous as you have no idea what exactly he is thinking about right now.

He replies to your words with a stern look. He didn’t seem to approve of what you were saying at all. It didn’t ease your nervousness.

“I should be your top priority. Your only priority.” He scolds you with the dragging tone of his. Your heart skips a beat as you lock eye contact with him. He is not playing games with you. He seems almost serious, which is rare for him.

You couldn’t say anything to him as you were stunned.

“You are on the top of my list, trust me. I will spend time with you when I have a day off.” You say, raising your voice. He leans onward towards you, getting even closer.

“Why not have a day off today, then? Hmm~” He whispered in your ear, expecting a reaction. He lifts his head to take a look at your face. You look even more stunned, avoiding eye contact. The situation and your reaction cause a chuckle to escape his lips. He finds this amusing despite the hint of seriousness he gives off. After chuckling he quickly returns to having a daunting look. His gaze feels demanding, desiring for an answer.

“I can’t, Borsalino. I have an important meeting today and-” You began to insist him to let you go, but he cut you off.

“I am not taking no for an answer.” He threatened, grinning at you. His grin implies that he isn’t actually threatening you, but he does possess dominance in this situation. You slowly start to accept your fate.

“Okay. I will take a day off today…” You finally agreed doubtfully. He smiles upon hearing that, all the fainting intimidation away.

“Good. Excellent~” he murmured, loosening his grip, tilting his head with a relaxed look on his face. Your nervousness eased out. He pulls away from being so close to you, giving you some room to breathe.

You take a sitting position on the bed, taking a deep breath through your nose, having him in your sight. He smiled at you with his lazy smile which was his trademark. At the same time, there is a rather expecting look on his face. You take a glance in his eyes, catching on what he means.

He purses his lips a bit, then allows a grin to spread across his face once again. You understood the assignment and moved closer to him, placing a quick kiss on his lips. He seems to be overjoyed by it.

“It has been a while since we kissed. Thank you~” He bubbles with happiness and squints his eyes. Embarrassed, your cheeks gain a slight blush. He is right. It has been a while. This kind of brought you back to earth if you could say so. You seriously couldn’t remember the last time you had spent quality time with Borsalino and it makes you almost upset. The corner of your mouth turns downwards, but he seems to notice this as he re-opened his eyes.

He reached out his hand towards you, placing it on your cheek and holding it there. He caressed your chin with his thumb.

“Oh, don’t be sad. We have the whole day to ourselves.”

“Right~?” He adds to what he said previously and smiles at you. You look at him almost sheepishly, but you cheer up immediately. His hand on your cheek and his soft smile on his face makes you feel calm and relaxed. No worries anymore. He seems happy that you cheered up.

“Come on, now. Let’s have fun!” He soothes, gaining his amused expression and tone back. He leans closer to you again, pressing his lips against your lips and giving you a proper kiss. It lifted up the mood even more so.

(This has quite some potential for a part 2 hmm?)

[inkedroplets]

ficwip 'hot'

Rich Girl With Issues

“I happened to run into Diana in the lobby,” Sam said. “Happy accident.” “Very happy,” Diana agreed. “I wanted to check in on you before I head back out on some League business. Helping out a team in Platinum Flats. Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. I was going to offer to bring you back a souvenir,” she joked. “But from how much better you’re looking since the last time I was here, you might be given the all clear to go home. How are you feeling?” “Bored,” Lena answered honestly. “But I should be given the all clear to go home soon.” Not one for superstitions, she still crossed the fingers on her left hand as she said it, thinking it couldn’t hurt. “You can’t be too bored,” Sam said. She pointed to the empty Noonan’s cup on the bedside tray. “Kara’s been by, I see…” “Kara’s here everyday,” Lena said and felt a hot flush suffuse her face. “I tried to tell her that she doesn’t need to visit everyday but it was hard enough just to convince her to go back to work.” For as true as that was, Lena was still pleased that Kara insisted on visiting her everyday. Both before she headed into work and before she headed out on patrol as well as the many nights where Lena would hear a light tapping at her window and Kara would insist on spending another night curled up on a rollaway cot that the nurses had wheeled in one day.  

One Night Stand in Gotham

“I just think it’s funny,” Nia said, once more in outright defiance of what should have been an awkward silence. Lena said nothing, pretending to be too preoccupied with reading the altimeter to hear her. Not at all interested in what exactly Nia found funny. “Because she’s a reporter,” Nia said cheerfully, either not noticing or not caring that Lena had no desire to participate in the conversation.  “Do you have a thing for reporters?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious. “No,” Lena said, too incensed to keep pretending not to hear her. She glanced back and saw the wide grin that Nia was sporting and turned back around.  “She happened to be a reporter. Do you think that’s relevant to the problem at hand?” she asked, sounding more like her mother than she would ever admit to herself or anyone else. “Not at all,” Nia said, shaking her head, looking at her doe-eyed. This was followed by another brief silence that was broken all too soon by Nia, still sounding just as curious as ever. “Or maybe you just have a thing for hot, morally ambiguous women.” She was nodding sagely when Lena turned back around slowly to look at her. “We all have our kryptonite. It’s less fun when it’s actually kryptonite though. Funny isn’t it? Or is that more ironic?” Should have taken a portal, Lena thought.

Nature Always Wins

There were some days when it was almost too easy to forget that Lena was no longer living in Metropolis. The view from her office in National City was nearly identical to the one in Metropolis (save the golden globe atop The Daily Planet building). She still worked too late and slept too little. Her penthouse still felt more like a hotel room than a home and, of course, there were seemingly no shortage of people looking to kill her.  When Lena felt the first tremor her first thought was that it must be an earthquake before remembering that National City didn’t have them. She looked up from her work, still more puzzled than alarmed when the second tremor hit and the things on her desk began to dance.  “Miss Luthor!” Jess burst into her office on the heels of another tremor. She listed to one side like a drunk trying in vain to walk a straight line and just barely managed to get her feet back under her. “What’s going on?” “No idea,” Lena said, although she had plenty of theories. The floor shook and the sound of breaking glass and panic came floating up from the floors below. Her mug of hot coffee that she had placed precariously close to the edge of her desk jittered and tumbled off, the handle shattering as it fell to the floor. That was my favorite mug…

Suicide Squad Fic

“Any other pressing questions before you get started?” Waller asked, her tone making it clear that it would be very wise indeed to say no. “I have one,” Harley said sweetly, ignoring the warning look that Bloodsport flashed her. This was followed by a radio silence so long that Lena was convinced that Waller had simply cut the connection early, which made it all the more surprising when she answered a moment later. “Yes, Harley?” “Oh!” Harley said, sounding just as surprised as everyone else that Waller had indulged her. “I was just wondering if it’s always this fucking hot in Markovia?” She looked skyward for a moment, giving the sun the middle finger. “Ma’am,” she added as an afterthought. “Manners,” she whispered to Lena, grinning widely at her. 

I never know who to tag so I'll poke @eqt-95 again

[caffeineandkerosene]

On the importance of Rin in Shiki's route

Long post ahead. It's Togainu no Chi, specifically Shiki's route, so trigger warning for like, all of that. I'm writing this because I've seen so many people say things along the lines of Shiki just.... having no interest in Rin as a person/feeling no connection to him whatsoever and that is just blatantly canonically untrue, for reasons I hope to convey with all these screenshots lol, so let's get into it!

Alright, before I dive into the first "Rin scene" in Shiki's route (which is when Shiki rapes Akira after killing Rin, just so you know), I want to start with an examination of their relationship pre-canon. We don't really know too much about their childhood besides the fact that Rin adored Shiki and Shiki was distant. There's two pieces of official art for them as kids, one super young pic where Shiki looks remarkably happy as far as Shiki expressions are concerned, and another one of them older where Shiki definitely looks more disconnected and like he doesn't want to be there lol. So in other words we pretty much don't know anything for sure about their dynamic back then besides the little info we get in Rin's route.

At some point after WWIII ended and Rin and Shiki were put with their new "parents" (again, no canon information for what their new parents were like as far as I'm aware), Shiki left to work as a mercenary while Rin led Pes I Koshka, and his team was involved in so much shady violent shit that Shiki was hired to assassinate them.

Now the thing about this is, if Shiki genuinely did not care about Rin in any way, shape, or form, why would he not have killed Rin during this? Rin is literally their leader; to do a thorough job, Rin would certainly be part of the carnage here, but he isn't. Shiki involving Rin in the deaths of his friends + Kazui is not ever explained either, but I really doubt it was necessary for him to get that info out of Rin. Given how ridiculously talented Shiki is, I seriously doubt it wouldn't have been child's play for him to find the base all on his own. I won't go into my theories on WHY Shiki decided to do things this way because I'm intending for this to be canon analysis instead of a headcanon post, but I think it's very important to note that Shiki made the choice to 1. not kill Rin and 2. make him complicit in the deaths of his friends.

So from then on, we get to the actual start of TnC. Another thing I think is interesting to note here is that the only people who are actually defiant towards Shiki are Nano, Rin, and Akira-- Shiki talks about how everyone else is too afraid to look him in the eye and face their powerlessness. Nano is obviously NOT powerless; Rin and Akira are the two people who (most of the time, with the only exception being Rin's ending after Akira gives him a reason to live) can not win against Shiki but will fight him regardless. Shiki never explicitly says anything about this in regards to Rin instead of Akira (I mean, it's Shiki, he barely tells us anything about his thoughts) but again, I really doubt the fact that Rin is willing to face death with him wouldn't be noted by Shiki.

Alright, now that that's out of the way, let's get on to the real content given to us about Shiki's feelings towards Rin. I'm going to give as many screenshots as possible so you don't have to fact check me for accuracy lol. For a brief context refresher, Akira was left alone in the apartment for a few days and made a half-assed attempt at escape but stopped outside the door when Shiki finally came back. So Shiki rapes him of course lol but anyway here:

One thing to note (that I am going to provide additional screenshots for ofc) is that every single time during this scene Akira starts to notice something is off about Shiki, he deliberately does something to shift Akira's attention away from it (by stripping him naked here). The sex hasn't even started and Akira can already tell Shiki is different from how he usually is.

Thematically, Shiki killing Rin is the point of no-return; I will elaborate, but killing Rin seals Shiki's fate: he will either give into the violent ideals that led to him killing Rin and make the whole world suffer for it, or he will give into the despair of the utter pointlessness of it all (the death of ego). We can already see it here in Shiki's loss of interest in rape/conquest; Shiki will never admit it to anyone, but killing Rin did not actually feel good, even if he's supposed to be relishing destroying the weak.

Yeah yeah okay so. This is the part where the music changes to the sad angsty ambience. Yet again, Shiki has done something to distract Akira from noticing what's wrong with him and it's also the first time he's ever been anything approaching "intimate" with Akira; up until now, he's never done anything tender, but Rin's death has shaken him up to the point where he is actually displaying vulnerability.

Literally complete whiplash compared to how Akira has been treated by Shiki up to this point, and even if Akira will never figure it out, we, the readers, have the context to know this is because Shiki killing Rin fucked him up.

Yeah... He's looking at the night sky, you know, the thing Rin was passionate about that Shiki used to ruin his life... We are never going to be explicitly told the inner workings of Shiki's mind and extremely repressed emotions, but this really seems to indicate guilt and remorse. At the very least, he is thinking about Rin.

Again. If Rin is just some rando to Shiki, why would he keep his stilettos. Shiki has killed countless people and simply does not care enough about any of them to keep mementos. But he takes Rin's weapons. And of course he's not going to talk about it with Akira, the entire point is that Shiki views emotions as weakness and by destroying Rin's life/killing Rin, Shiki can overcome his pathetic ties to humanity and become the ultimate weapon. Oh boy.

I'm not going to get into Nano much because this is about Shiki and Rin specifically, and since Shiki isn't going to tell us anything about what's going on in his head, the next time Rin is going to be brought up is during the final confrontation. So here's some context (we're at the point where Nano is offering Shiki his blood)

and this is Shiki's response:

I lack the know-how to include his voice over but he sounds more genuinely upset here than at literally ANY OTHER POINT IN THE ENTIRE VN. If you don't believe me, open up your copy and skip to this scene because Istg it's there, Shiki is NOT fucking happy about the fact that he killed Rin oh my god.

And then we get this. I swear, I obviously can't see inside Nano's head either, but to me, part of the reason Nano KNOWS Shiki has lost (besides Nano's clear power advantage) is Shiki's admission of his own pain, of the extreme lengths he went to to try to prove he doesn't feel anything (and yet, he clearly still does).

I'm just going to spam screenshots so you don't think I'm making shit up about what happens here lol:

Literally. This. Nano KNOWS he's lost and all of these recent screenshots since Rin's death was mentioned were in order, I didn't leave anything out, so it's pretty much right after Shiki's feelings about killing Rin were revealed that Nano knows Shiki has lost-- he will win this half-assed excuse for a fight and he will become a shell of a person.

I'm not going to go into Shiki's other endings because I think that would be more headcanon than canon analysis, and I think Rin's feelings for Shiki in Rin's route are muuuuch more obvious than Shiki's, at least in the sense that people acknowledge the importance of Shiki when analyzing Rin but... don't seem to pick up on that mutual importance displayed in Shiki's route. I might do another essay on Rin's route at some point, but one thing I do want to point out here is Shiki giving Rin a weapon to fight with in the end-- he really could have just killed a weaponless Rin with no hesitation but he didn't, he gave Rin a weapon that Rin literally killed him with. Can't really analyze that without going into headcanon territory again, but I think mentioning that is something Shiki canonically did for Rin is extremely important.

Alright, so that's everything I've got for today. I am totally willing to engage with any counter analyses you might have as long as they're like, arguments made in good faith and not just character bashing or ad hominem attacks. Regardless, thank you for reading this to the end and I hope I was able to convey the significance of Rin in Shiki's route even if just a little.

[acacia-may]

Acacia's Definitive Defense of Langris x Finesse

No one asked about this pairing, but I'm going to ramble about them anyway... especially since I realized I don't think I've ever actually written a proper post about them as this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year (A/N: Yikes! Sorry friends. I completely forgot I wrote this until today when I tried to find that post I was absolutely certain I had made about Langris x Finesse only to find it buried in my unposted drafts 😅🙈 But I'm posting it now to coincide with the ship ask game so it kind of works...? Maybe? I have no excuses...).

Anyways, dear goodness do I have thoughts about this ship. I’m not sure I can even wrangle them all, but I am going to try my best.

I’m sure it’s pretty clear from my blog that I have a deep love for my spatial mage boys and want good things for them which is one of the main reasons why I have a lot of concerns about the whole House Vaude soap opera. A friend of mine (irl) and I once discussed that plotline for literally 6 hours so I could go on and on about this for ages, but I have tried my best to be brief. That didn't really happen so I apologize in advance for all of the rambling.

I've tried to keep the focus of this post on Langris and Finesse's relationship, so please check out this post if you want to hear my many thoughts on the House Vaude succession drama as whole and in general. To keep things organized, I've divided this discussion into 2 main subsections for clarity under the cut!

(Warnings: Black Clover spoilers and discussion of some heavier topics such as childhood trauma and abuse. Arranged marriage is also mentioned)

Why I Think Langris and Finesse Genuinely Love Each Other (not necessarily in a romantic way but definitely in a selfless care and concern kind of way)

One of my most basic premises for my personal interpretation of Langris' character really comes down to the fact that I think what Langris actually wants more than anything else is unconditional love and to be accepted for who he is (rather than what he does/his accomplishments). He wants to have people who love him, a family—but he'd never admit this because he is convinced he'll never get it. He is convinced that love needs to be earned and he can't earn it, and his relationship with Lady Finesse is a perfect example of this, I think.

It hurts Langris that she is just the kindest person ever and she doesn't like/love him (or such is the reality in Langris' mind anyway given the fact that he has carried around that one time she complimented Finral as "she hates me" for literal years in the canon. But I digress). Langris doesn't like games he can't see a possibility of winning. He closes himself off from love and building meaningful relationships because he doesn't think he'll "win" people's love in the end. He's very cynical and jaded in this way, but more than that, he's wounded. It comes from a place of being denied love without strings attached, without conditions for his entire life and of being told his by his parents that love has to be earned and being convinced that he can't earn it, that nothing he does will ever be good enough and that he will never deserve the love he so desperately craves. And in that way, it comes from a fear of being hurt and rejected. When you care about someone, you give them the power to hurt you—and Langris doesn't want that kind of vulnerability. So I think he just completely counts himself out of the running when it comes to Finesse and defers to his brother—assuming (probably correctly) that she’d choose Finral if she was given a choice between the two of them.

All of that said, he can't quite stop himself from caring for her with a genuine love and respect (not necessarily in a romantic sense but he does care for her)—it’s just sealed off somewhere and not something he really thinks about or allows himself to feel (let alone label) until his brother "declaring war" on him brings all of that to the surface and he kind of has to reconcile how much he wants to be the Head of House Vaude (what he’s worked for his entire life) with how much he wants Lady Finesse to be happy. I love how in that scene there is actually a moment (at least in the anime) in which "the camera" turns and we're watching the scene unfold from Langris' eyes/perspective immediately before he gets involved and tells Finral to clean up his act.

(A/N: If you listen very carefully you can hear the sound of Langris' entire world falling apart...)

Okay, bad jokes aside, this is a huge moment for Langris. It takes him all of five seconds to decide that Lady Finesse's happiness is far more important to him than House Vaude, than his title, his future, his own dreams and aspirations that he has worked for literally his entire life and, ultimately, is more important than everything he has looked to for his own self-worth and fulfillment up unto that point (which causes him to have a bit of an existential crisis as he tries to figure out who he is without those things, without being the next Head of House Vaude, but I digress again). It is an incredible act of love to set aside what someone wants for themselves in order to make another person happy—to choose what is best for another person even at great personal sacrifice. Regardless of how you want to qualify that love (romantic or platonic), it does not diminish the gravity of Langris' sacrifice and the willingness he shows to choose Finesse's happiness over the things that are (seemingly) the most important to him in the world.

Up until this point, Langris is this incredibly goal-oriented character who is set on becoming the best, the strongest, and eventually the head of House Vaude which comes off as self-interested and a little ruthless in his willingness to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals, but suddenly, here he is, ready to give all of that up so that Lady Finesse can have the chance to be happy. It's almost like he is saying (honestly, far louder and clearer than any words possibly could), "I love you more than all of that."

Why else would he be helping his brother take over as heir to House Vaude when that actually seems to be something Langris wants for himself? (I know the poll I ran examined some different ideas and interpretations but that's always been my personal take on it). It’s almost like in that moment, Langris has realized that he can’t make Lady Finesse happy (even if he wants to), but he thinks that Finral can so he wants to make Finral into the best he can be for her.

Once Langris is reasonably sure that Finral is at a place that he can make Finesse happy and has become a man "worthy of her," I could definitely see him stepping aside so that his brother could take over their House and marry her—purely out of concern for Finesse’s happiness, and there is something incredibly selfless and very beautiful about that.

I think Finesse's side of things is much more practical. The fact of the matter is that Finesse is royalty in a medieval society where she will inevitably be married off for a political alliance and/or to produce children, and she has probably always known that she needs to marry out of duty/responsibility, so I can’t really see her as that much of a hopeless romantic given the circumstances. If she allows herself anything, it is the hope that she will get to spend her life with someone who does care for her and who she can be content with. I don't think throughout most of Finesse's life and certainly not throughout this whole arranged marriage business that anyone has ever really asked her what she wanted or ever really cared about her wishes before, but Langris seems to have a genuine interest in her wishes and her happiness more so than anyone else. And I think she does care for him (again, not necessarily in a romantic way but it is a genuine care and concern of at least friendship).

As I discussed in this post, when Langris has all that elf-business and the King threatens to dissolve the betrothal and punish the Vaudes, it is Finesse who comes to their defense rather than taking what is quite possibly her only chance at an "out." And it is an informed, free choice on her part. I love her line in the English dub that she "knows Lord Langris and has no misgivings about him" and therefore essentially begs her uncle not to "judge him too harshly." I think there is something very strong and very courageous in her decision to believe in the good in Langris even when he is at his worst, and her concern is truly and completely focused on what is best for him. I'm especially thinking of that moment when she begs him to stop before he does something he will regret. She's worried about him: his hurt and his guilt. She really wants what's best for him, and it's this love for him and this belief in him that really brings out the best in Langris.

My absolute favorite thing about this ship (besides how selfless they are towards each other) is really that Finesse has this way of bringing out this softer, gentler side of Langris that, I think, very few people have actually seen. Langris himself is so insistent on hiding this (probably a learned response from growing up in an environment where any hint of emotion and any sensitivity is viewed as a weakness), but really he has such a deep capacity for love and given the opportunity would be fiercely loyal.

Langris may not care about a lot of people, but the ones he chooses to care about he will love forever. He's just such a tsun about it, I think, so it can be very hard for anyone (and especially for those with preconceived notions of him as a snotty stick-in-the-mud) to see that he's really very sweet and awkward as heck about his feelings. Langris' love might be quiet—it's not very flashy and usually shows itself in doing little, everyday things for the people he loves—but still waters run very, very deep and he has shown that he would do just about anything to protect the people he loves most and make them happy, no matter what that means for himself. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that he would die for Finesse if it came down to it.

Ultimately, I can imagine a lot of different outcomes for this relationship (some of which never, ever cross over into that romantic place). I really just want them both to be happy whether that means they end up together or not, but yes, I could see them happy with each other in a romantic sense under very specific circumstances since they do have such a selfless love for each other (but I think that is probably a discussion for another time because this is already super, super long so I'm cutting myself off in favor of the next section...).

Why I personally think Langris rather than Finral is better suited for Finesse

As much I don't like pitting ships against each other, I don't think it's avoidable in this case since she is going to be in arranged marriage with one of them. To paraphrase a favorite musical of mine, it's not a matter of "if" but which one. And I think it's best for me to just start off by saying that while I do genuinely like and appreciate Finesse and Finral as a ship as well, I personally think that Langris and Finesse are better suited for one another in the long term.

I will admit upfront that this is in part because of my own personal experiences of having a chronic illness (and needless to say that is a personal bias that colors my opinions, so please just keep that in mind), but I think it's important to talk about the fact that Finesse is chronically ill because it's not something I've ever really seen discussed when talking about ships for her and I really think it should be taken into account. Like Finesse, I have been sick for most of my life, and I can really relate to the kind of difficulties and limitations that Finesse likely experiences due to being chronically ill and the realities of the less active and much more slower-paced life she would lead and, by proxy, the life anyone who married her would have to lead. Again, I am not saying that I don’t like or couldn’t imagine her & Finral together (I do genuinely like that ship too), but I almost think Langris is better suited for her in that he actually wants (or seems to want) the slower-paced life they’d probably have together. For instance, there are likely to be frequent situations that would arise in which Finesse is too ill or too tired to go out and her husband would then be “forced” to stay home with her. With Langris, I think, there would never really need to be much of that feeling of guilt on Finesse’s part or the fear that she is taking away something from Langris or being a burden, because Langris isn’t super sociable and would just want to stay home anyway. In fact, let’s be honest here, he’d probably, actually feel kind of relieved that he has gotten out of unwanted socializing. Whereas Finral is a much more lively and sociable person (rather than an "old soul" like Langris), and though Finral would never, ever want Finesse to feel like a burden or to feel guilty about being sick, I could imagine there is more of that feeling (at least from Finesse’s side) that he has given up a lot more to be with her since his active social life would drastically change as soon as they married.

There's also the matter of the panic Finral would probably have whenever Finesse was ill or having a flare of symptoms. Of course, Langris would be worried as well, but I think because of his personality, he is better able to shelve that and help in a crisis rather than Finral who gets really worked up and then just sort of shuts down. Obviously this is something that can be learned over time, but I just worry that it would be a constant source of stress for Finral which would ultimately make Finesse very worried about him and upset that he is upset on her account. I think Finesse would have a lot of fear that the life she could give a lively, busy, & social person like Finral would be holding him back in some way. The question there is really: will what Finral wants out of life ever gel with the limitations Finesse has to live with? Whereas I don't think that question is as much of an issue with Langris since he is an old soul and incredibly steady, very unlike his more restless, adventurous, and high-energy brother.

I think Langris and Finesse are alike in this way. Though they have many differences in their personalities (and a really nice balance there), they have a lot of similarities in worldview and their attitudes towards life and their life goals—being more traditional, formal, and proper ‘old souls.' Whereas I think she and Finral have more similarities in personality (despite him being much more lively), they’re both incredibly kind, gentle & easy-going people who aren’t particularly ambitious and often make decisions based on what will make other people happy and "keep the peace." But worldview wise he seems much more modern and less traditional than her which I could see causing some tensions since I think they want different things out of life, in a way. It’s almost more important to be alike in life goals/worldview than personality, I think.

I also think Finesse and Langris share common interests and genuinely enjoy each other's company (as we get these glimpses of in the anime where they're just having a quiet, comfortable tea parties together for instance). Even if it started off as an obligation to spend time together because of this arranged marriage they were going to be in, I like to think that eventually Langris and Finesse actually became fairly good friends and came to genuinely enjoy each other's company. I guess it’s a bit unfair to Finral to bring this up since we haven’t seen him spend a lot of time with Finesse so we can't say that they don’t enjoy each other’s company but I just don’t see them having the same shared interests that she would have with Langris.

There is a lot more I could say about these two and their relationship, but I think that's enough ramblings for now. If you read this all the way through to the end, bless you. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Cheers!! 💖