Tumgik
#LOVE ME AN UNBOTHERED KING
eddievedders · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Jason Sudeikis during MJ Delaney's acceptance speech.
679 notes · View notes
deepseagraveyard · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
ba dum tss 🥁❄️
477 notes · View notes
imdamagecontrol · 2 months
Note
Just want you to know that the :) from “Tell him I said Hi :)” is haunting me.
Never in my life has a :) felt so menacing and I cannot stop thinking about it. James. F Potter certified menace indeed, and he’s actually so insane for sending that.
(Benjy is simply not occupying people’s thoughts like this, and I admire Regs strength because that text would have made me insane.)
no bc their dinner in ch 2 is the in-person embodiment of that ":)" too like if they were texting rather than having dinner everything james says would end with that menacing ass ":)"
34 notes · View notes
jrueships · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
THEYRE BESTIES!!!!!!!!
18 notes · View notes
jinhyun · 5 months
Note
Maknaes cursing was so fun. Like let's put the youth to do it. Pretty sure everybody is a bit afraid of those two. (Like the time binnie asked innie what he is up to tomorrow after they sang baby shark at the backstage of an event and innie just "😌I got my final exams😌" and binnie decided then and there that maknae is dangerous.)
-🦭
I'M JUST SEEING THIS BUT NO THEY WEREN'T SAYING SHIT AFTER ALL I'M DEVASTATED
7 notes · View notes
nylwnder · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
how can i be normal about this absolute idiot???
16 notes · View notes
dutybcrne · 4 months
Text
It’s always so fun to explore genderbends for how the story gets affected
#//Yes; this is abt me mulling over Fem!Kaveh again jdnfnf#☆ ┆ ( .ooc. );#//Like#//Make hkvh both gals and ofc; it’s basically the same. but Yuri#//Which for me personally? I find it Good Shit. Always love a good wlw; ESP with their dynamic#//Plus it’d make the whole of the archon quest so much funnier/better for me for various reason djbfb#//Then the mixed ones is so good too!#//Fem!Haitham & Kaveh? Girlboss and sad wet cat man#//Fem!Kaveh and Haitham? Girlfailure and Unbothered King#//In both of those cases; Kaveh having an Extra incentive to keep their cohabitation a secret#//In the first; bc he won’t want anyone talking bad abt Haitham bc he’s living with her#//Won’t allow it; Refuses to increase the chance for any rumors to bother her. Would FIGHT if anybody talks smack#//Even if she prolly doesn’t Care abt any rumors anyways. he’s Deffo head over heels partly bc of that side of her#//And bc she’s just so Cool. Strong stoic lady; badass in all she does. always has been; always will be. how can he NOT admire her?#//Deffo buys her unprompted gifts in gratitude & they bicker over his mora use lol. he deffo complains less over the housework#//Instead; takes over more of it so she can focus on her duties and have more free time for herself; out of personal feelings#//with Fem!Kav? Kav is worried abt her AND his rep. She’s already in debt and in a mess as Is#//But roping Haitham into the mess of the rumors and what could result from them? She worries how he’d react#//Either favorably or not. Bc that is a Lot to deal with either way#//Doesn’t know if it’s be worse for him to kick her out over them. bc she’d DIE if he tried ‘taking responsibility’ otherwise hfbfb#//Esp since he takes care of a Lot for her as IS. It’s embarrassing depending on him so much; feels it’d only make him resent her in the en#//It embarrasing in every version; tbh; but Fem!Kav would find it more frustrating in particular#//Esp depending on her needs and how the clients treat her. Op; that’s going into a Serious topic#//Ahhh; but that’s PART of the charm of the gender ends and stuff!#//Prolly not for a little post like this tho nfnf. Better save THAT for a verse write up#//Which there WILL be; mark my words; bc Fem!Kaveh has a GRIP on me#//Her and other lil bends my brain has been toying with hdbdbdb
2 notes · View notes
mazojo · 2 years
Text
I think we should ban takemichi from assisting any sort of event or festival
2 notes · View notes
robert-deniro · 1 year
Note
So I've been following the awards season because I'm a huge Colin fan and I feel like it's rightfully his time to get appreciated not merely by people who are most likely found on festival circuits. The thing on the other hand about following it is seeing Brendan Fraser, who is a likable guy, except he stars in a movie that you dislike. Do you have a way to work around feeling iffy over that or pretty much just the Academy going for either fatsuit actors or biopic actors?
okay so i wanted to wait until i had watched the whale before answering this ask and now that i watched it last night. here we go,,,
like yeah i get it colin NOW getting all the awards buzz is something that should have happened years ago for other other films he's done (still mad about him not getting ANYTHING for saving mr banks lol) but yeah, brendan fraser in the whale was also really, REALLY good and i'm glad that he's also in the conversation for all of it.
as for the film itself, i don't really know how i feel about it. i don't hate it as much as most people i've seen do but i didn't love it either, again, as most people i've seen do (and yeah i was pretty much the only person in the cinema last night who wasn't sobbing lmao even my friend who i watched it with was emotional for a long time after the film). there were definitely some things i disliked and i can see why people hate the film, but the way and i guess the only motivation to watch it in the first place was for the performances. brendan and hong chau were so so SO good in the film, the only reason why i liked it so much was because of the emotion and depth and humanity they brought to it. and i know it's not easy but that's how i like to look at it. if brendan DOES ones end up winning that award over colin i actually won't be mad because for me it was a really good performance (inspite of the fat suit which i also get is problematic but for the weight gain his character is supposed to have i am glad brendan didn't go to that extent of gaining it himself).
and also ngl i genuinely couldn't care much about the oscars lmao like yeah awards buzz is cool and ngl i will be thrilled if colin does end up winning (the idea of which i still find hilarious) because awards aren't an indicator of a good performance to me, but that buzz does help actors in their career so i'm glad that brendan gets to partake in it. plus it only lasts for some time so no big deal i think?
that being said i am definitely mad about gary oldman winning an oscar for darkest hour, a role where he was pretty much covered in prosthetics and wearing a fatsuit as well i think?, because there really wasn't anything remarkable about it. i like gary oldman, i think he's had brilliant performances over his career and tbh should have gotten that stupid award ages ago for pretty much anything but darkest hour lmao so I'd say just look try focusing on whether the absence of the fatsuit and prosthetics impact how you feel about the performance (eg. again colin in the batman - covered in prosthetics and fatsuit but if they weren't there i'd still like him as the penguin because he's just fuckin funny and brilliant)
0 notes
astonmartinii · 8 days
Text
it must be a sign | oscar piastri social media au
pairing: oscar piastri x fem deaf! red bull engineer!reader
when the two most unbothered people in the paddock combine their joint powers to be the it couple
request sent by the lovely @bibissparkles xx
author's note: heyyy so many of you won't know but i am actually deaf - i am 50% deaf in both ears and wear hearing aids so i love requests like this! (all i do most of this stuff as a deaf person, turning off your hearing aids >)
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 302,446 others
yourusername: you can't complain about the dutch national anthem when you can just turn your hearing aids off
view all comments
user1: the way max's engineer is as sick of that damn song as us
user2: turning off her hearing aids makes how bored she looks during podiums make sense
yourusername: it was a banger during the mercedes dominance but would it kill someone to play the australian anthem
danielricciardo: i knew you missed me
yourusername: sure, jan.
user3: her and max signing slay to each other will always be so personal to me
maxverstappen1: gonna pretend you didn't just say that
yourusername: boo hoo babe, you gotta lose something sometimes
user4: babe? are the flowers from max?
maxverstappen1: would rather choke on my own spit and fall into a pit of snakes, hope this helps ❤️
yourusername: rude! i wouldn't want flowers from you either :(
user5: i swear we get into this argument every weekend, i think people will still assume they're together until their married to other people
liamlawson30: stop using me as a messenger pigeon please and thank you
yourusername: but i thought red bull gave you wings?
liamlawson30: do not use a pr answer against me 🤨
yourusername: no comment
liamlawson30: choke.
yourusername: idk what's going on in the red bull junior academy but spit in helmut's coffee not mine
user6: y/n consistently giving all the red bull guys shit is my favourite thing ever
user7: the amount of times the sky broadcast has caught her waving them off or taking her hearing aids out lol
Tumblr media
oscarpiastri
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by yourusername, landonorris and 782,309 others
oscarpiastri: switched four tyres for two this weekend
view all comments
user11: you can't distract us with your slutty bike pics WHO THE FUCK IS THAT
landonorris: A WOMAN? A WOMAN? IS THAT A WOMAN OSCAR JACK PIASTRI?
oscarpiastri: yeah i'm pretty sure
landonorris: don't play smart with me buster - why was i not informed?
oscarpiastri: i don't ask to be informed of every time you get rejected in the instagram dms
landonorris: FAKE NEWS
oscarpiastri: okay buddy
user12: i be seeing the sign language book, oscar you are so real for that
user13: that's my king, i need a oscar and y/n link up in the paddock - my unbothered queens
user14: she's in the likes !!!!!!
logansargent: oh we've entered the soft launch phase i see
oscarpiastri: and what?
logansargent: someone is feeling defensive this morning, dude i won't tell i've already kept it a secret for so long
landonorris: HE KNOWS? DOES BEING YOUR TEAMMATE MEAN NOTHING?
oscarpiastri: he's my childhood best friend?
logansargent: there's levels to this game norris
landonorris: @oscarpiastri consider yourself UNDER SURVEILLANCE
oscarpiastri: okay girly
user15: oscar has the patience of a saint, the mystery gal may want to rethink it before having to deal with them all
Tumblr media
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 381,044 others
yourusername: unrelaxed, unbothered, moisturised ✨
view all comments
user18: queen SHIT THAT AIN'T SHIT
user19: but this mystery man IS
maxverstappen1: yeah sorry about that... but at least boyfy has made his instagram debut?
yourusername: about time, he's too sexy to gatekeep
maxverstappen1: well i'm not going to agree out of respect for you
yourusername: so you don't think he's sexy? i might not be able to hear but HE CAN MAX BE NICE
maxverstappen1: first of all it's a text, second of all i've been way too nice to him
yourusername: he beat you in padel fair and square you're just SHIT AT IT ❤️
maxverstappen1: you know that's a sore subject WHY WOULD YOU BRING IT UP
user20: my queen was really like you wanna tell me to fuck off? oh here's my sexy boyfriend
user21: jos verstappen really didn't know who he was tangling with that gal may be chill but she doesn't take shit
user22: she's like a female version of oscar lol
user23: i knew there was a reason i liked her
this comment was liked by yourusername
danielricciardo: why am i left out of everything these days?
yourusername: snooze you lose
danielricciardo: I AM AWAKE REPLY TO MY TEXTS
danielricciardo: I JUST SAW YOU PUT YOUR PHONE ON DO NOT DISTURB
yourusername: protecting my peace
danielricciardo: i'm on to you buster
Tumblr media
oscarpiastri
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,209,455 others
tagged: yourusername
oscarpiastri: overjoyed to get my first (proper) win in formula one and even more overjoyed to have my amazing girlfriend (and even better engineer) up on the podium with me
view all comments
user27: so this was the special occasion?
user28: so this is why she said she wanted the australian national anthem over the dutch one?
user29: this is now my roman empire
yourusername: babe is so fucking good and i'm so fucking proud
oscarpiastri: i'm so glad to have been able to share this moment with you
yourusername: you deserve this and more, i love you
oscarpiastri: i love you too xx
user30: wait so oscar knows so much more sign language than i thought
user31: he looked so excited and even mark knows some
logansargent: he forced (we were happy to do so) me, mark and his family to learn as soon as he secured the date lol
oscarpiastri: and now we're all so cool because of it
logansargent: cool and able to chat shit without people knowing what we're saying
yourusername: best bit about it tbf (everyone please learn, it's a beautiful language)
landonorris: I KNEW IT
oscarpiastri: no you didn't
landonorris: no i didn't :( i'm hurt
oscarpiastri: if it's any consolation, we didn't tell many people, max and logan are exceptions
landonorris: WHY WAS I NOT AN EXCEPTION???
yourusername: boo hoo
landonorris: i'm not gonna say anything back to that you kinda scare me
yourusername: good ❤️
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by fernandoalo_oficial, oscarpiastri and 529,778 others
tagged: maxverstappen1 & oscarpiastri
yourusername: me and a racewinner (and our world champion third wheel)
view all comments
user32: fave trio in the paddock no competition
logansargent: logan erasure
yourusername: we love you logan, sunday roast at mine this weekend ❤️
logansargent: SCORE
user33: every time you post there's a new plushie
yourusername: we usually get one to commemorate a big weekend and we both got one for osc's first win
user34: that's so FUCKING CUTE
oscarpiastri: it's all fun and games until you don't fit in the bed because y/n feels too bad to put any of them on the floor
yourusername: they have FEELINGS OSCAR
oscarpiastri: she cried one time when max set off the smoke alarm cooking breakfast and the bed alarm shook so bad that all of them were thrown to the floor
yourusername: it was HARROWING but it also did wake me up so at least we know it works
maxverstappen1: actually my favourite couple to third wheel, but enjoy it while it's here osc, i won't lose again
yourusername: yeah sorry osc it's actually my job to help max win so you're gonna have to wait for him to retire if i have anything to do with it
oscarpiastri: not even for me :(
yourusername: sorry not sorry (i'm really sorry, i love you so much)
oscarpiastri: i love you too even if you won't sabotage max for my race :(
maxverstappen1: okay i know i said you guys are cute but that's enough for today
yourusername: we ARE cute thank you
oscarpiastri: the CUTEST
Tumblr media
fin.
note: heheheheh i hope you enjoyed this, i love requests like this xx also on the comment about the bed alarm i had one in uni halls and when the alarm went off that baby SHOOK it was kinda scary
2K notes · View notes
anyaharveyii · 1 month
Text
someone pLEASE WRITE A FANFIC ABOUT THE BATFAM WATCHING THE LEGO BATMAN MOVIE IT'S NOT A WANT ITS A NEED I'M DEAD SERIOUS!!!
give me bruce barely holding his shit together when his kids start belting "CAUSE I'M A BILLIONAAAAAREEE" every time he walks into a room.
give me alfred sighing and shaking his head each time someone mutters "alfred-da-butt-ler" under their breath while passing him in the kitchen.
give me dick taking the RELENTLESS teasing for how his character was portrayed like the unbothered king he is and agreeing to wear a pair of googly-eye goggles on patrol for a week.
give me jason subconsciously healing some of his own trauma after watching the most ridiculous, unthreatening version of the joker to ever exist (no, bruce, it's not a solution, but it's a start).
give me barbara and bruce refusing to even look each other in the eyes for a solid week, because seriously WTF WAS THAT, and everyone finding their discomfort absolutely hilarious.
give me the batkids making a meme out of bruce by doing shit like hissing every time someone turns on the lights or working snake clown references into the most random conversations, and bruce getting up and exiting the room every. damn. time.
give me bruce pretending to hate the movie but secretly loving whenever one of his kids begs him to put it on during movie night, because it reminds him that in every universe (no matter how outrageous or ridiculous) he loves and is loved by his family.
1K notes · View notes
sweeterlovers · 3 months
Text
sweetest girl ✧ oscar piastri
pairings: oscar piastri x female student reader
summary: reader and oscar launch their relationship and everyone loves them!
face claim: lotta stichler
warnings: curse words
instagram
f1couples
Tumblr media
liked by landonorris and 24,661 others
f1couples mclaren driver oscar piastri seen walking with a girl in london. new wag?!??
view all 9,782 comments
user6 hold up ✋✋
user12 AWWWW
landonorris this you oscarpiastri ????
↳ oscarpiastri 👨‍🦯👨‍🦯👨‍🦯
↳ user09 LMFAOO
↳ user23 HE IS SO UNSERIOUS
user9 girlfriend effect is real
user167 WE NEED NAMES!!!!
↳ user66 someone needs to stalk rn
user871 booking a flight to london as we speak
↳ user11 can i join??
instagram
oscarpiastri
Tumblr media
liked by landonorris and 470,367 others
oscarpiastri resting & recharging 👍😄
view all 203,889 comments
user78 SHE IS SO PRETTY
user89 oscar tryna soft launch over here
user111 unbothered king 👨‍🦯👨‍🦯
↳ oscarpiastri what can i say ;)
↳ user111 IFNEBSBB OMG HE REPLIED
landonorris i want some pastries mr piastri
↳ oscarpiastri she says to come over
↳ landonorris driving as we speak
↳ yourusername put your phone down pls!! p.s don't get into an accident!!!
↳ user085 SHE IS SUCH A MOM
user099 living for them
instagram
f1couples
Tumblr media
liked by f1loverss and 67,661 others
f1couples here is some info on oscar piastri's rumored girlfriend: her name is your name & last name and her insta account is yourusername but it is a private account. she is a student at university of oxford and she is majoring in history and english literature. she is 21 years old and was born in london!
tagged oscarpiastri & yourusername
view all 23,459 comments
user67 SO SHE IS SMART!!
user0134 you would've thought he would go for some model or something not some normal college student...
↳ user13754 first of all what the fuck??? oscar isn't required to date a model and if they're happy they're happy. and so what if she is in college and isn't famouse, there isn't anything wrong with that.
↳ oscarpiastri ^^^^^
user23 she is so pretty!
user90 she looks so sweet!
↳ user3 literally! she looks like she would be the mom friend!!
↳ yourusername i try :))
↳ user3 OMG YOU REPLIED!! UR SO PRETTY AH
↳ yourusername thank you sm!! your so sweet 🤍🤍
user7 love them love them
yourusername omg how did you guys find all of this information about me 😅😅
instagram
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by oscarpiastri and 46 others
yourusername i have over 1,000 people requesting to follow me...not sure what to do so i went shopping!
view all 12 comments
yourfriend when in doubt shop it out 🙏
↳ yourusername my new motto!!!!!
oscarpiastri pretty girl 🤩
↳ yourusername 😚😚😚
↳ yourfriend btw she is giggling and blushing rn
↳ oscarpiastri is she now?
↳ yourusername no she is not 😅
↳ yourfriend LIAR
landonorris you should come to the race this weekend!!
↳ yourusername if i finish my work then maybeeee
↳ oscarpiastri PLEASEE COME
instagram stories
oscarpiastri
Tumblr media
oscarpiastri facetimes with my girl 💗💗
replies
yourusername ARE THOSE THE BOOKS ON MY WISHLIST??
↳ oscarpiastri maybeeee
user8 girlfriend effect is rea
landonorris since when do you read?
↳ oscarpiastri i don't they are for yourname
instagram
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by oscarpiastri and 43,662 others
yourusername back with pookie and we made cinnamon rolls 😊😊
view all 12,432 comments
user08 SHE MADE HER ACCOUNT PUBLIC!
user86 those cinnamon rolls look so good omg
↳ landonorris they taste like HEAVEN
oscarpiastri you are such a cinnamon roll :))
↳ yourusername no more cinnamon rolls for you then
↳ oscarpiastri NO IM SORRY PLS I LOVE U
↳ user8 cuties
instagram
oscarpiastri
Tumblr media
liked by yourusername and 665,679 others
oscarpiastri she's back 😚😚
view all 309,791 comments
user55 his instagram is slowly turning into a fan account for his gf and i love it
user997 he is such a book boyfriend
↳ yourusername that's what i'm saying !!!!!!
yourfriend you guys are so in love it's disgusting
↳ yourusername we love you too 💗
yourusername thank you to my mans 👏
↳ oscarpiastri thank u
user01 how did you guys meet??
↳ yourusername we met at a barnes and nobles!!
↳ user71 ROM COM CODED
↳ yourusername i love our meet cute ☺️
↳ oscarpiastri a what now?
↳ yourfriend educate yourself sir
instagram
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by landonorris and 67,889 others
yourusername you are the best thing that's ever been mine 💌💌💌
tagged oscarpiastri
view all 32,671 comments
oscarpiastri i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw you 🤍
↳ yourusername i don't wanna think of anything else now that i thought of you
landonorris my parents guys
↳ yourusername 👨‍👩‍👦👨‍👩‍👦
user019 they are my roman empire
↳ user08 if they ever break up i won't believe in love
↳ user86 i will not be a child of divorce 🤝
authors note: i love this smau sm!! might even do a part two because i love them 😊
1K notes · View notes
love-belle · 7 months
Text
if i held you back at least i held u close !!!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their post break-up era is them trying not to think about each other but failing.
or
for when you will never forget how london felt with them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
social media au // lewis hamilton x fem!reader
warnings - language
author's note - posting this right on midnight bc i will not update tomorrow buttttttt 3-5 works are in progress rn and yeah :) thank u sm for reading, i love you <3
≡;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe, danielricciardo and 2,729,257 others
yourusername london without u
comments are disabled for this post
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by pierregasly, f1updates, exwagsclub and 648 others
lewishamilton how is it in london?
62 comments
( 19 seconds ago )
username king if u wanna grovel use pictures of u looking serious and all business not where ur all sunshiney and giggling
this post has been deleted
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, landonorris and 799,627 others
lewishamilton how is it in london?
9,638 comments
username THE CAPTION
username no bc i think it's fucking HILARIOUS that lewis saw that one comment and decided to take their advice like lmao king shit 🔥🔥🔥
username i know he tryna stay unbothered but i also know he's sobbing while clutching his phone rn
username okay everyone saying he's unbothered but what if he's genuinely asking her ever think abt that 🙄🙄🙄🙄
-> username fr like he's trying to make small talk with his ex leave him alone
username AND IF I HELD U BACK AT LEAST I HELD U CLOSE OH MY GOD
-> username no bc this hits hard especially after y/n said that she felt like she HAD to be there at EVERY race and that was really messing with her shooting dates and her own career and life
-> username i miss their early days relationship sm :///
maxverstappen1 weather is shit. like you.
-> lewishamilton literally stop talking
-> maxverstappen1 okay stay mad because i chose sides in the divorce
-> lewishamilton LOOK AT HIM sebastianvettel
-> sebastianvettel max don't be mean to lewis
username max and lewis beefing in the comments under lewis' post which is about his ex (don't argue with me on this) is the most unexpected thing EVER
username max chose mom's side wow
-> username makes me wonder js how many friendships their break up ruined 💀💀💀
charles_leclerc where are you while i'm wondering will i ever see you again?
-> lewishamilton i'm in your living room
-> pierregasly those are lyrics sir hamilton
-> lewishamilton oh
-> username not lewis pretending he doesn't know every taylor song bc of y/n 😭😭😭
username i know he was gasping and clutching his chest while reading y/n's caption
username if 😭 i 😭 held 😭 u 😭 back 😭 at 😭 least 😭 i 😭 held 😭 u 😭 close 😭
-> username this has ruined me wtf
username i need my parents back for my mental stability i fear
username im fine!!!!!!! (i hope death takes me swiftly)
georgerussell63 it's bloody freezing, thank you for asking.
-> lewishamilton anytime man.
username need them to get back together magically or wtv
username im SOOO bothered about this i swear
username i will honestly never fall in love if THESE two didn't work out
2K notes · View notes
dreamermonica · 1 year
Text
“how much do you love me?”
in which you question the extent of their love out of the blue.
Tumblr media
—includes itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, barou shouei
—gender neutral reader, isagi is the only normal one AGAIN, trigger warning for kais*r himself, established relationships, fluff, crack, nagi’s got a bit too real for a sec, some swearing, yeah this is reminiscent of my most popular post on genshinblr what abt it😤
Tumblr media
SAE surprisingly ponders your question. years of your random questions getting ignored has its effects, and it is definitely the reason you're now staring at him like a madman, ready to catch his response in an instant. oh my, you think your heart isn't ready for this. what could your lovely and handsome boyfriend say that'll effectively swoop you off your fee—
“as much as one would love a rock, i guess.”
you whine as you throw your head back in frustration, sliding off the couch dramatically, earning him a scoff. “so mean! and unromantic too! pick a disability, not multiple!”
“well, you're as dumb as a rock. can't have too much in this world, unfortunately.”
a pout makes its way to your features, before suddenly switching into a suspicious frown when you see a small smile creeping on his face.
wait...you're as dumb as a rock?
“oh...?” your face immediately looks up at him. “and how much do you love this stupid rock exactly...?”
seeing that you finally caught on his antics, a heart-fluttering chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes shut in amusement as your heart beat quickens at the melodious sound.
“a lot—as in more than anything in this world.”
Tumblr media
RIN ignores you. acts like you never spoke in the first place. why? hah, his pride's too high for him to even properly answer that. even if he said something that's relatively joking or teasing, it'd be lying in a way, right? so what purpose would it solve in answering your question? exactly. none. so you get no response, whatsoever.
“rin-chan, answer my question, please?”
radio silence.
“rrrrrrrrrin. rinnnnnn. riiiiiiiiiiin. RIN!”
he still continues on walking, gaze still ahead whilst you struggle to waddle along with his wide strides, opting to grab his arms as to not get left behind.
“itoshi rin! just how much do you love m—”
he places his gloved hand flat against your face, shutting you up as he moves you away from his line of sight. his teal stare still bored and unbothered.
“any louder and you'll attract attention. i don't want paparazzi stuck to us for the rest of the day.”
you narrow your eyes at him as he practically drags you along, legs unable to keep up with his pace. “i don't see how that refrains you from answering my question, though.”
“i won't answer a question you already know the answer to, so shut up.”
you blink twice, swearing you just saw his cheeks go a bit red for a quick second. were you seeing things...?
Tumblr media
KAISER, the mischief, always has to edge you on for a bit before giving you what you want. (🤨📸) it's how he functions as a partner—never failing to be an infuriating piece of shit who gets on your nerves whenever he gets a chance. what makes you think now would be an exception?
“hmm...” he hums with that annoying curl of his lips once more, feigning thoughtfulness. “what do you think?”
“more than you love yourself?” you guess expectantly.
but with how he gasps dramatically at you, all your expectations of the narcissistic king drop like dead flies. your expression must’ve also dropped without you noticing, because now, your asshole of a boyfriend is cackling at you. you mercifully resist the urge to hit his annoyingly pretty face as you pout and face away from him with a huff.
“what’s with that glare? i didn’t mean it, you know.” yet he continues to snicker like a child.
“what did i even expect from you…" you sigh, visibly deflating in disappointment as you stand up to leave. “i’m an idiot.”
“yep, you are for even believing i’d—” wrapping his arms around your frame, he pulls you onto his lap with yet another shit-eating grin of his. “—let you go like that. now gimme a kiss, chuu—”
pushing away his exaggerated puckered lips from your face, still glaring at him. “what do you say first, my liebe?”
he chuckles, half of his face flat against your palm that’s pushing him away. “i’m very sorry. i love you more than anything. well, except my side chicks—” your glare turns into a scowl. “—just kidding! i love you, baby. so much that i’d give up anything in this world just to see you smile.”
removing your hand from his face, you finally let him attack you with his kisses.
Tumblr media
REO smugly raises his black card. well, it would’ve been a lot more cool and impressive if he didn’t practically jump out of the couch in his pajamas and full-on sprinted to his bedroom to fetch it. was he waiting for this question for a long time now?
“…what’s that have to do with—”
“i love you, as much as the amount within this baby right here. if not, then more!” he slaps the who-knows-how-much card onto the coffee table, gazing at you with excitement not much unlike a puppy waiting for the coos and praises of its owner after fetching them a stick.
adorable. so goddamn cute. ahhhhh. you want to rip your hair out.
“how long were you waiting for this moment…?” why does this scene seem so familiar?
"a long time. i saw this while reading one of the romance novels you had, and i just had to do it.” he smiles sheepishly at you. “was my excitement a dead giveaway or…?”
that explains the feeling of deja vu, then. you remember getting giddy over that specific scene. mindlessly, you snort at the fact that this man has more achievements than anyone you’ve ever known yet he’s still trying to impress you. jesus. he’s so…
you lean over to him, grasping his hand in your own. “you know, you look so kissable right now.”
he perks up immediately. “heh—then, don’t mind me if i do.”
Tumblr media
NAGI hums, animatedly tapping away at his game, not sparing you a glance. “would it be bad if i said that question’s a hassle?”
“…? why do you think so?”
“well…you’re only asking that because you want me to say something that’ll uh…make you blush or something right?” he starts, voice remaining bored as ever. “but if i don’t manage to, you’ll be dissatisfied or even use it as leverage to get mad at me to get my attention.”
you frown. “what are you—”
“i don’t mean it in a bad way.” he finally looks at you, a bold ‘victory!’ visible on his phone screen. “it’s not that i’m not willing to indulge you—it’s just that i don’t really know how to be romantic, and i also don’t wanna make you sad so…”
you blink when he performs a beckoning motion with his fingers, silently requesting for you to come near him.
complying with a raised brow, your confusion is immediately replaced by shock, and maybe a tad bit of warmth as the tall boy’s arm wrap themselves around your form, pulling you down with him with a small ‘oof’.
“n—nagi!?” you squirm.
“i love you a lot, [name].” he nuzzles his face onto your hair, his next words a bit muffled as they left his lips. “so don’t get mad at me, please?”
how in the world are you going to get mad at this goddamn sloth when he’s acting like this??
Tumblr media
ISAGI blinks. scanning your face for a moment for any uncertainty or insecurity that might’ve influenced your posed question. but when he finds none, redness takes control of his entire face like a infectious parasite.
“why do you want to know?” his voice is meek, most likely caught off guard by such a direct question.
“just curious.” you reply, smiling at the way he seems so wrapped up in your finger despite it being so loose. “you don’t have to answer though. it’s quite an open question—vague and has a lot of possible answers.”
he stares down at his palm, carefully planning out his next choice of words for your inquiry. he really wants to provide an answer, something that shows he’s completely confident in your relationship. but…
how much he loves you? how is he even going to start?
“i’m not really sure how to put it but,” he starts, determination on his expression as he turns to look at you. “i’m certain i love you a lot. not sure just how much exactly but…”
“if it could go by anything, i think about you so much that my first instinct in the morning is to grab my phone and text you a good morning,” he adds on while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “i-i don’t know. was that a good way of putting it? there’s also the fact that i always unconsciously brew two coffees even when we don’t live together, and oh! there’s also that time i—”
too caught up in his mind to recount the times his love had overshadowed his rationality and normalcy, he fails to see the lovestruck gaze given by a certain someone, completely and utterly in love with the man chatting away that you could probably see hearts in those [e/c] irises.
just wait till you start on sharing your side of the relationship.
Tumblr media
BACHIRA grins impishly as he takes out a ruler, pulling down an imaginary board from thin air whilst putting on some nerdy glasses from nowhere. he points the tip of the ruler on an equation, your face now deadpan.
what is he doing…?
“the formula for measuring my love for [name]! note; very easy!”
you snort at his antics, before deciding to play along as you nod for him to continue.
with his ever-present grin, he taps the board with his ruler, adjusting his glasses as if to catch your attention like a typical teacher. “now, [name], can you try to answer this equation for me? these glasses are kinda blurry.”
n-no teaching or guides at all? uhm, okay.
you suck in a breath, gazing at the imaginative board with an unperturbed focus.
[name]’s infinite beauty x [name]’s infinite kindess x [name]’s infinite funniness equals N…what are these variables?
this shouldn’t even be a working equation but if you’re playing with how bachira’s mind works, then…“infinite?”
“yes!" he swoops in lowly and sweeps you off your feet, a yelp escaping your lips as he lifts you up bridal style. “looks like i have to add [name]’s infinite smartness into the equation too, what do you say?”
“whatever you want. but i think i need to mention that infinity isn’t actually a number so i think you’ll have to make a different formula—”
“jokes on you, i won’t let the laws of math deter me from figuring out the estimate of my infinite love!”
Tumblr media
BAROU sneers. making quite an ugly face that forces you to be wary if he’s about to spit in your face or not.
“hah, when and where did you hear that i, the king, loved you, a mere peasant??”
raising a brow at him, you quickly throw a glance at the bouquet of flowers delicately placed onto a polishes and refined vase, the glint of its glassy appearance reminding you who it undoubtedly came from, and whom it was given to.
“at the front of that bakery you like, around 3pm on a sunday a few weeks ago, after i gave you flowers, you replied to my confession by saying—” you’re promptly cut off as an oven mitt is unceremoniously thrown at your face.
“what the hell?” he says breathlessly, letting out an unbelieving scoff as he crosses his arms. like a tsundere. “why do you even remember all that? creep.”
“well, you see, it was the first time king barou had bared his feelings towards me. an extremely rare moment, even though we’re basically dating right now.”
his eye twitches. “WHO THE HELL SAID WE WERE DATING?!”
“eh?” your sarcasm is immediately gone. “you said you loved me back, so i thought that—”
“is that why you’re always in my goddamn house unannounced??” he cuts you off, again.
“it’s kinda late to retract my view of our status now though. your sisters really like me as your lover for some reason.”
he responds with a groan, muttering something about how his soccer is now doomed by some outsider. silly king. he doesn’t even notice that he could always kick you out, yet simply chooses not to.
Tumblr media
no i didn’t add a part where they’d explicitly have to theoretically choose between you or soccer because lets be fr they’d all choose to kick a ball forever over some head
its 3am rn (no beta we die like men) so if theres a few typos or pronoun and grammatical errors that ive missed, please do tell me!
7K notes · View notes
jrueships · 2 years
Text
if jaren didn't know jp was newly living as a switch... he knows now <3
5 notes · View notes
Text
jorraeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 1: Affliction
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
Tumblr media
Chapter 1 │Chapter 2  (In Progress!)
Tumblr media
Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You struggle.
Hello! Welcome back, all! This instalment is going to be a journey for Reader. A bunch of bad shit has happened in her life. It's about time she begins facing all that, you know? Not all of it will be heavy, but there will be some psychological fuckery and an opportunity to delve into the layers of the relationship I've spent time developing. My intention is to have this function similar to little slut, in that it's a series of one-shots set chronologically. Each will be a self-contained 'highlight' that is set during the six years Daemon is exiled on Dragonstone. This instalment will cover babies, healing, pregnancy, relationship development, funny hijinks, dragons and smut! Always smut.
EDIT: I am dumb-dumb and forgot to thank @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing and giving this her necessary stamp of approval and being the bestest biffle EVA, as well as @spoolofblack for reassuring me that Daemon is NOT too OOC here and cheering me on through the AO3 tagging journey. Thanks be!
Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of post-partum depressive states, lite smut, lactation and lactation kink.
Tumblr media
“Thus was Prince Daemon banished from his brother the King’s city, and with him his niece and newborn heirs. Exile had long favoured the rogue, and this latest decree brought forth a period of quiet on the isle of Dragonstone, the years bringing forth further progeny to strengthen his House’s line. Together with the Princess Rhaenyra, Daemon and his wife presided over the Targaryen stronghold for several years before circumstances would take them once more to King’s Landing.”
- ‘Fire & Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn
Tumblr media Tumblr media
He is staring again.
You do your best to pay it no mind, though the weight of his eyes upon you is heavy, nonetheless. An onlooker may well assume his focus is on the scene in its entirety—upon the babes propped on pillows before you, their grasping fists skating across dragonscale as they grunt and babble, reptilian rumbles filling the void between sounds—but you know better. Your husband has not been the same since… since that night. You cannot blame him, though it vexes you so.
One of the dragons—the creature with scales of amethyst glittering even in low light—hisses in outrage as Aelys takes hold of his tail, curling around himself with teeth bared as if to warn your daughter of the fate that awaits her. No bite comes. Unbothered, she tries to tug her quarry to her face, and you can only presume the intent is to explore this new surface with gnashing gums.
“Let go, my lovely,” you tell her as your fingers work to free the beast of its skin-and-bone shackles. The babe’s grip is surprisingly firm. “Azorion has done naught to deserve such untoward treatment.”
“Did it not shit in the cradle this morning?” comes Daemon’s idle question from the desk.
When you glance over, you find he has made himself busy once more, appearing for all the world as though he is deep in his papers. You suspect otherwise.
“He is only small,” you say by way of response. Aelys’s face flushes with the threat of tears when her clasp is finally released, so you slip your own digits into hers to placate her. The other dragon, the long-limbed and sun-hued Valnissar, presses its snout against her neck as if to soothe her temper. “He cannot help it.”
Azorion scrabbles back to Rhaenar’s side, huffing indignantly even while burrowing into the boy’s side, leaching his body warmth. Rhaenar’s eyelids begin to droop, the comforting mass of his future mount an unwavering reassurance, while the steadiness of Valnissar’s even breaths along her flesh ease Aelys into a state of calm.
“If it can eat unaided, it can shit in a place that is not where my children sleep.”
The creature seems to rouse at the mention of his earlier mishap; you pat him reassuringly. “He will learn.”
Daemon grunts, summarily ending the conversation.
This is how most of your interactions proceed as of late: a vague, uninterested query, an overly polite response, a terse conclusion, and two evidently discontented persons not quite certain how to bridge the divide that has risen between them. And there is a divide, you are sure of it—why else does the man who is never without a word to spare suddenly bereft of speech in your presence?
The only thing that eases your mind is the knowledge that, for all his recalcitrance, there is no love lost. His hands still linger—on your back, your waist, thoughtless touches that settle hot and heavy and remind you of his solidness. He smiles still, amused by the sing-song lilt of your voice as you coo down at the twins, laughs when they babble back in mimicry of true dialogue. At night, his arms are encompassing, almost too tight, the clutch of one upon that which they fear to lose most. His body speaks the words his lips cannot, laying bare the desperate frustration—the fear, the anger, the worry—that he has carried since the night you had fallen under the spell of old magic, the night you had woken your children’s mounts from their eggshell prisons and called them forth with fire and blood.
Daemon is not the only one who ruminates upon it. You yourself remember it in pieces, flashes of memory that you cannot make whole. The heat of the hearth. A glow, orange, red, yellow. Stinging upon your hands, and the iron tang of blood upon the air. It is as though it occurred to another being—like you had watched rather than been part of it all. There is little wonder that the sight must have made him so uneasy.
You startle when your uncle abruptly stands, rolling his neck to dispel any latent discomfort from remaining in a static position for so long. He falters, appears to decide on something unknown to all but his own mind, then moves toward the rug where you have arranged your babes and their dragons.
Crouching down beside you, his hand reaches forth to cup the round softness of Rhaenar’s head as he murmurs, “I’ll be back later.”
“Before supper?” you ask just as quietly.
He makes a vague noise of assent, smiling absently when Aelys jams her fist in her mouth and babbles to herself, drooling all the while. Valnissar perks up at the sight of his second-favourite person in the world, chittering excitedly as he makes a concerted attempt at climbing up Daemon’s leg. Daemon hisses, extricating the spindly creature’s claws and placing him on his shoulder. Valnissar flaps his wings and promptly tries to weave his way into your uncle’s hair. Your nostrils flare in amusement.
Daemon does not look at you, but you do not mind; you understand the draw of the twins and their young mounts all too well.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
At that, he turns further into you, his gaze finally lifting to find your face. From the corner of your eye, you see the looming shadow that forms whenever he allows his thoughts to consume him. It casts his features into darkness, the heavy set of his brow wrinkling inward as disquietude metamorphoses him. But the tale enacted through his expression is mitigated by the press of his other hand against the small of your back, achingly tender even in its firmness.
“To the Dragonmont.”
You nod. “Ah.”
He will not tell you yet, but you suspect he is looking for answers. The last great repository of Old Valyria is bound to provide at least some insight, though part of you—a large part—is too afraid to seek them yourself. You worry what you will find if you should search through the ancient texts of your people, what they might say of those with the power to hold fire in their hands without fear of burning. It is not something you have ever heard of. If House Targaryen could claim such a feat, it would not be a secret. What does it mean? You know not.
And so, you make no protest when his thumb strokes against Aelys’s cheek in parting, when he unceremoniously drops her dragon to the floor beside her and ignores the protesting squawks to lean in and kiss your cheek, muttering his goodbyes as he rises to leave. You do not turn around, but you know his routine well enough by now.
A clatter by the bed, and Dark Sister is retrieved—scabbard and all—to be fastened at his waist. A scrape, the chair at the desk being pushed back in. A pause. He takes one final look at you all, wife and children and dragons laid about by the hearth in seeming bliss. You feel his stare as it rests on you and you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, footsteps echoing, then fading, fading. The imprint of his lips and his touch remains, an unsettling reminder of all that has been left unspoken.
You dispel such thoughts with a sigh. As worrying as Daemon’s behaviour has become, it is by no means your first priority now that you are a mother.
Looking down at them, you wonder if you will ever get used to the idea, to the fact that these two little beings grew in your belly until they were ready to come into the world, and now they are here and they are yours. ‘Mother’ means the woman through whom your very existence came to be, the name Aemma spoken in hushed whispers and always carrying with it the trace of unending grief. ‘Mother’ means Alicent, the girl-turned-Queen who birthed your brothers and sweet Helaena, who gave you little Daeron to love in place of all you had once been without. ‘Mother’ means Rhaenyra, your staunchly devoted sister who had in part raised you, who even now rears kind, intelligent sons who are more than deserving of the legacy she will one day leave them. You find it entirely strange that a word representing these women—such forces in your life, for good or otherwise—is a word that applies to you.
Motherhood is strange, foreign in a way you do not feel you can overcome by consulting dusty tomes in companionship with Ser Lysan, the manner in which you have familiarised yourself with all foreign things in summers past. This feeling has crept into the crevices of your mind in barely perceptible pulses, slow and unassuming with every new thing you learn about these wonderful, terrifying beings your body created, with every new feat they achieve as they grow and adapt to their environment. At times, when you are alone, you worry you will be no good at it. How can you possibly fare well at such a monumental task without a mother to guide you? What if you make a mistake?
What if your babes—who you know you love more than anything in the world, more than you ever thought anyone could ever feel in their beating hearts, so strong it is almost sickening—come to know of your inadequacy and loathe you for it?
Tumblr media
“What seems to be the issue, Princess?”
Gerardys’s hands are folded together before him, his expression as kind and reassuring as always. You wish you truly were reassured, or the too-hot, roiling sensation of your gut might not be quite so pronounced.
There are many responses you could give. The fact that your husband is ill at ease with you for reasons you cannot risk explaining, lest the entire Realm learn through whispers and tales of Valyrian blood magic and some concealed devilry that ought to be put to the sword. That your doubts about how suitable you are as a mother are rising with every second of every hour that you are left to tend your children, feelings that must be wholly unnatural to a woman or otherwise, would you not have heard of such a thing spoken in your many years among the ladies at court? Or perhaps that the woman whom you would prefer to speak to of this matter is in King’s Landing to fetch fresh supplies at this very moment, leaving you no alternative but to be in the maester’s solar instead.
No. None of the answers to his question that come immediately to mind are appropriate here, and nor are they the true reason for your visit. Thus, you brush them aside and take a deep breath.
“I… I have some—concerns.” At his encouraging nod, you add, “About my… supply. For the babes.”
“Ah.” You are glad he seems to have interpreted your hedging correctly; he clears his throat. “I am a physician,” he reminds you, though his tone is by no means judgemental. For all Daemon’s dislike of him, such gentility is why you believe him to be one of the best practitioners in his field, and certainly preferable to Mellos. “While I—understand the indelicacy of the subject matter, I am afraid you are going to need to elaborate, your Highness.”
“Oh. Of course.” You glance away, discomfited. “I… wish to feed the twins myself. By myself. But I”—you gesture weakly to your chest—“my milk has not come in as much as I had hoped it would… by now…”
Rhaenyra has never had this problem, you think. You cannot help it. It was not so long ago that the merest mention of a babe had been enough to wet the fabrics of her gown, never mind that Joff had had the luxury of choice in his supply. Your sister had in fact bemoaned the stubbornness of her body in refusing to dry up—she never let her sons latch for longer than a moon’s turn after each birth, preferring to, as she said, “keep her tits from turning to suckling udders”, long-teated and all. Jealousy is the sin of the vain and impious, but your beating heart thrums with it even so.
Gerardys frowns. “Forgive me—but I was certain that a wet nurse had been requisitioned for them?”
“Yes. But I would—I would prefer to feed them on my own.”
It is not as though you dislike Freda. While she is certainly loud and bawdy and oft far too inappropriate for company, she cares a great deal for Rhaenar and Aelys. You see it in the readiness of her smiles at them, how she cradles them as if they are the most delicate beings in the universe, the way she praises them so effusively for the most base and vulgar of actions—“I’ve never seen a shit so splendid, your Highness, never did I once! A talented little fellow is our little prince, he is!”—but it is not the same. You are their mother, not she. Freda’s presence is not just expected, but required to ensure both your babes have full bellies. It does little to ease your lack of surety.
Though you can tell that Gerardys is perplexed by your insistence, he stares past you thoughtfully, his eyes squinting in his concentration.
“It is not uncommon,” he says slowly, “for a woman with two nursing babes to produce an insufficient volume to accommodate them both. ‘Tis why wet nurses are so popular!”
“I know. I would just… I want to do it.” You wonder if you sound as exposed as you feel. “I am their mother. I should feed them.”
Your words seem to matter not, for the maester is already muttering to himself and rifling through the cabinet by the door, low tones interspersed with the soft clinking of glass vials being shifted about.
“If you insist, Princess,” he says absently, humming under his breath as he balances on tiptoe to reach his higher shelving. After a moment of silence, a noise of muted triumph. “Ah—here it is.”
What he presses into your hands is not an ampoule of some sort, but a plain pouch of hemp and string. The contents within shift about readily, though it prickles when you squeeze too firmly, like dried herbs.
 “Thistle tea.” Gerardys watches as you inspect his offering. “Steep for half an hour, strain. Consume plain, no milk or honey. One cup a day, no more or less.”
“How long will it take to work?”
“You ought to begin seeing an increase in production within a sennight. If you can encourage the babes to latch more frequently, you’ll have better results.” At your enquiring look, he elaborates. “The more often the breast is drained, the quicker it refills and thus the more milk you will produce.”
You colour at his use of such a word, not entirely accustomed to speaking so plainly of something so long viewed as unseemly with another man. It is scarcely tolerable even with your ladies. “You have my thanks, Maester Gerardys.”
“Of course, Princess. But remember—do not exceed more than a cup a day!”
You take his advice to heart over the next few days, exhorting the serving staff to ensure you are delivered of a cup brewed to the maester’s specifications each morning. It tastes unremarkable, a leafy bitterness so often customary of herbal tinctures and tonics, though you think you might find it more palatable with the addition of such ingredients as the ones expressly forbidden to you. The very worst of the flavour collects at the bottom of the cup, forcing you to steel yourself to stomach the sharp-tasting dregs and cleanse your palate with fresh water. You bear it silently, praying that you will soon see the benefits promised to you.
But, after a sennight passes, there is no change.
At least, you think there is no change. Rhaenar is not one for fuss and fuddle, and the one time Aelys is not so is in the hours following feeding, her belly full and warm and leading to an easy, calm drowse—but after letting them latch for half an hour, neither babe is sufficiently serene to suggest that the tea has done its duty. Rhaenar kicks and grizzles, mouthing vainly at your nipple as though you are concealing some previously stored contents still within your breast, while Aelys progresses to full, drawn-out wails. Freda watches on, wringing her hands as the twins caterwaul. The front of her dress is stained, sympathetic leakage in response to the veracity of their cries.
Perhaps it is this fact that finally breaks you.
All at once, you no longer feel saddened or confused, concerned or unsure. You are angry. Why should she—a woman who had neither carried nor shared blood with them—get to give your boy and your girl the sustenance so essential to them? What does she possess that you do not? Why have the gods forsaken you? If they have built the womanly form to bear and nurse her children, then you ought to be able to carry out your duty as intended. Not Freda. Why are they taunting you with such a poisonous reminder of your own failure?
 “Your Highness—”
“No!” Your rebuke is sharp and swift, punctuated further by what you can only assume is a truly withering glare. “Leave us!”
“But the little pr—”
“I said get out!”
The shrillness of your voice only serves to further upset the babes. They both scream, red-faced and baying, and there is a strange sort of harmony to it that might even sound beautiful were it not so devastating. The noise is such that it sets off the panicked shrieking of Azorion and Valnissar, creating a truly chaotic calamity of sound that makes it terribly hard to think rationally. Or think at all.
You bar the room, refusing to allow Jeyne or Bethany entry. You do not need their aid. It is only morning, your thoughts whirl frenetically. Plenty of time to prove that the wet nurse is not necessary.
All manner of people come to your door as the moments—or maybe minutes, or perhaps hours, you cannot tell—pass, no doubt drawn by the crying and the screeching and your stubborn resistance to letting anyone assist you. Ser Lorent raps on the door, earnest calls of “Your Highness? Is everything well?” readily enough ignored and, when that fails, the kindly queries of the maester beseeching you to let him in “for fear there is something wrong, Princess, please let us help you” also dismissed, or rather more truthfully, not quite heard through the thicket of your growing panic. You do your best to disregard anything outside your chambers, your frantic focus centred wholly on giving Rhaenar and Aelys the care they need from their mother—and their mother alone.
But no matter the hymns you sing or the steadiness of your rocking, no matter how perfect your bouncing walk to soothe them or your murmured exhortations to please, please calm down, they will not be assuaged.
You forget what silence is like. Surely you have never been without the sound of bawling infants? The intensity of it reshapes memory, blocks out any sense of rationality or level-headedness. Your own despair rises the longer the babes sob, their sorrowful scrunched-up faces all but proclaiming aloud that you cannot do this.
Your mind rebels. What was I thinking? They hate me. They hate me. I’ve ruined them. I could not give them milk, and now I cannot even stop their tears. I am a terrible mother. A failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
The hatchling dragons, emblematic of their future riders’ dispositions as is the norm, only serve to intensify the battle between your spirit and your fear. They feel as Rhaenar and Aelys feel, only they have sharp claws and sharp teeth and the mobility fresh out of the egg to express their feelings in a way the twins cannot. You cannot fend off their snapping jaws and high-pitched snarls and tend to the twins at the same time. The situation quickly becomes untenable, though you have not the presence of mind nor good sense to discern this.
“Daor,” you snap as Valnissar nips at your exposed wrist. No.
At this age, the bite stings only a little, drawing a thin well of blood to the surface of your skin. You push the dragon away, doggedly continuing to try and force Aelys’s mouth to your breast. They feel heavier again, a sure sign that there is milk enough to quell the babes’ despondency. If only they would stop crying.
You sit upright on the bed, the curve of one foot pinning Azorion to the mattress below you. He hisses indignantly but makes no attempt to shift, resigned to being trapped for as long as you deem it necessary. Positioned perfectly against the cushion provided for precisely this purpose are your boy and girl, heads perfectly aligned to take to each breast, reclined so that their tiny bodies extend below each of your arms and your hands are free to cup their heads just right. Exactly how Ūlla taught you. So why—why—are they refusing to latch?
“Please,” you find yourself whimpering, the sound lost beneath the piercing howls. At this point, they have both become as distressed as each other, never looking more identical than they do with the same flushed flesh and misery-streaked cheeks, near to seizing with the force of their sobs. You try to bring their mouths to each nipple again, but all they do is cry and cry and cry, faces turning away. “Please, it’s right here. Mama has your milk right here, please please please…”
Valnissar tries to climb over your arm to sit on Aelys. You shrug the beast off, and he tumbles to the bed in a tangle of wings. He screeches, teeth bared, and you can just tell he is about to strike at you again.
You push him away.
“Leave me be!” you say, louder and steadily more overwhelmed, your attention wavering between creature and child. Pressing the babes to your breasts does nothing to persuade them to take from you, but what else can you do? “Please drink. For me? For Mama?”
More wailing. Their fists clench, their forms shuddering.
Useless. It is useless. I am useless.
“Why won’t you have your milk?” you ask, and you think you are calm and measured but really you are starting to sob yourself, a discordant symphony of despair. “Why won’t you just accept it? Please, please, I promise it’s good enough…”
Still, tears. And the dam breaks.
They hate me. They hate me. They hate me. It is like a metronome pulsing through your veins in time with the wrenching heaves of your chest, your lungs trying and failing to force in air. The babes cry, you cry, the dragons clamour, the room feels too full—of sound, of air, of heat—and you are so terribly close to screaming at everything to shut the fuck up because you cannot do this, you cannot do this, why did you ever think you could do—
The passageway at the opposite end of the chamber bursts open. You hear it, but you cannot see through the film of your own tears.
“What the fuck’s going on here?”
Normally, Daemon’s voice—even panicked as he is currently—is enough to reassure you. But it only makes you weep more. Here is your husband, arrived to see how poor a wife he has chosen, how poor a mama you make. Here is Rhaenar and Aelys’s father, arrived to see how enormous your incompetence is, how completely and utterly you have failed to do even the simplest of things. The shame of it is enough to send you spiralling.
You do not remember what follows very clearly.
Fingers fumbling to lace up the ties loosened on your bodice. Hands laid upon the babes, the span of palm large and rough enough to disturb their vocalisations, to ease them to a slightly duller caterwauling. You clutch them tighter to you, unable to even look up to see the owner of those hands, but you are not strong enough to resist the determined reach of those arms to pluck each infant in turn from you. A part of you is relieved. They are passed off with murmurs, man and woman’s voices exchanging in low tones. You vaguely recognise them through the fog of misery. The person before you stands, another taking their place. The steady touch of someone with skin that carries the scent of medicinal herbs feels your forehead, turns your head from side to side, presses clinically at the fullness of your chest. Then, the mattress rises, the weight dissipating, and you are alone.
It takes several long moments to realise that the noise—the babes and the dragons—has stopped entirely. That they are no longer present, no doubt escorted to safety far, far away from you. It ought to be enough to torment you to madness, the final step in this harrowing reprieve from reason, but your tears have fled too. All that is left is bone deep, heavy exhaustion and a full-bodied dispiritedness that makes you sink into the pillows behind you, slide down enough to turn to your side and ignore whoever is talking, shut your eyes and block everything out.
You let the darkness swallow you whole.
Tumblr media
Of course he is here when you awake.
You do not know if you really expected otherwise. He has dragged a chair from the table by the balcony next to the bed, and he ought to appear more comfortable—slouched carelessly as he is, leg slung over the other in the assured manner that all men who are confident in their right to take up such space are—but his expression suggests otherwise. Not angry, no, but certainly serious; a pensiveness that comes from prolonged periods of introspection. His eyes seem far away. In fact, his entire self seems far from where he sits, as though his body has travelled back to the Keep but his mind is still in the Dragonmont.
Where he has been for days and days, you think bitterly. Reading thousand-year-old texts instead of being here.
His hands are clasped and resting under his chin, his elbows on the armrests. He seems tired. You regret the ire of your thoughts. It is not as though he has gone out of his way to avoid you, truly. He is here when you need him.
You do not realise he has become aware of your return to consciousness until you hear your name softly spoken.
“Rūhossa zaldrīzessē mazumbillā ilzi. Pōnta biktomy kisittaksi,” is the first thing he says. The babes and dragons are in the nursery. They were fed by the wet nurse.
The silence, previously unnoticed, registers at the same time as your relief. They are safe. They are far away from you. It is likely for the best, even though your breasts feel uncomfortably full.
Daemon shifts from the seat to the bed, staring down at you with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. His movements are relaxed, almost calculated, as one who is wary of spooking an injured animal. You think that if he had failed to glean some sort of response from whomever followed him into the room earlier, he would not be quite so calm.
For a moment, you are half-convinced he is about to reprimand you—until he strokes your jaw, brushes a stray tendril of hair from your face. Your heart skips a beat. His touch is kind.
After an indeterminate period of silence, the question eventually comes.
“Skorion massitas?” What happened? His tone is low, measured.
You sit up, making room for yourself by wiggling back against the pillows. Really, you are stalling. How does one go about explaining that they had taken leave of their senses?
“Ūī ūndetā, gōntō daor?” you ultimately choose to say. You saw, did you not? It sounds dull and lifeless even to your ears. “Se avy qubykto massinoti biktys ivestretos.” And the wet nurse must have told you of earlier events.
His responding look is unimpressed. Normally, you would expect him to have yelled by this point. Whatever it is that he has been told—whatever it is that you must have looked like here, near to yelling at your own infant children and sobbing with your breasts bared to the room and two small dragons buzzing about like particularly persistent insects—it is enough to stay his temper for the time being. Still, you do not believe his patience will hold for long.
You sigh, shuddering out an unsteady breath.
Even though the spell of hysteria has broken, it takes a moment or two to gather yourself. Daemon grasps your arms, erring on the cusp of too-tight to be solely encouraging, but it grounds you enough to attempt to explain what it is he stumbled upon before.
Your jumbled thoughts stream out unorganised, and you are only really half-aware of what exactly it is you convey through hiccuped breaths and shaking shoulders. Failure. Disgrace. Cannot even feed my own children. Useless. Bit by bit, it comes forth, juddered and broken, and you cannot even tell what language you are speaking in, or if you are dipping in and out of your native tongue and your learned one without a presence of mind to control it. As you speak, Daemon’s face morphs, knitted brows relaxing and mouth easing from its hard line into the gentlest of frowns. And then, you are silent. You wait for the death knell of judgement.
It never comes.
His hands slide lower, capturing your own and lacing fingers with you. He stares down at this joining, turning your wrist over as though he is marvelling at the disparity in size, in smoothness.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It is low, strangely hurt.
Your heart thuds uneasily. This is not how you expected him to react at all. “I—I don’t know.”
He swallows, and again you are unsure if he is holding back anger or if he genuinely has none. The calloused pad of his finger strokes a line down the centre of your palm, eliciting an instinctive shiver from you.
“Gerardys said you went to see him. That you were in low spirits. Irritable. Fixed on this idea of nursing the babes by yourself.” He glances up, his lips twitching like he is reluctant to voice his next words. “He says… sometimes there is an—affliction—of the mind. It happens to new mothers.”
“You think I’m mad?” You try to pull your hand away, but he holds on.
Scoffing lightly, he says, “Maegor was mad, you silly girl. You are young. Frightened. A great deal has happened to you since we wed.”
His jaw tenses, no doubt recollecting those memories. The wedding night. The fight. Laena. Driftmark. Larys. Alicent. Father.
He sighs. “And I… I have not helped.”
Your mouth parts in protest. “I am happy with you,” you say stubbornly. “If you had not protected me—”
“And where have I been since the eve you hatched the twins’ dragons?” He turns from you, resting his elbows on his knees to rake his hands through his hair. “Hiding in the fucking Dragonmont. Like a coward.”
“You aren’t a coward. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”
He laughs, short and sharp. It is an ugly sound. “Yes. So brave am I, I ran away and left my young wife alone to care for my children. I’m such a craven”—he lifts his head to look at you once more—“that I found it easier to let this happen instead of admitting how deeply that night unsettled me.”
An understatement, to be sure. You do not think ‘unsettled’ is sufficient enough to capture how either of you feel.
“It isn’t your fault,” you settle on telling him. “I should have just been able to nurse Rhaenar and Aelys without crying like a child—”
“You were overwhelmed. Worried. Thinking that not having enough milk means you’re somehow not fit to be their mother. What utter shit.”
“I cannot even feed them. How am I supposed to raise them?” Your voice is abnormally high and thready. You hear it, though it does not register as abnormal until Daemon’s expression stops you in your tracks. You shake your head, trying to stave off the tremble in your lower lip. “You don’t understand. I want—I need to be—enough for them.”
I don’t remember my mother, you want to say. I only remember ’Nyra and Alicent and Father. None of them were enough. None of them were able to make me feel less alone.
How am I supposed to stop Rhaenar and Aelys from being broken in the same way I was? Who do I turn to? What do I do? How can I protect them when I could not even protect myself?
When Daemon’s touch returns, it is unimaginably delicate, nearly tentative. He cups your cheek, tilts your head so your eyes can meet.
“You are enough,” he says. “How can you think otherwise? To love them is to be enough.”
A part of you wants to heed his words, to allow him to soothe your worries as he is so often able to do. Your thoughts, self-loathing as they are, continue to press against your will and shake the firmness of your resolve. “But—”
“Ah-ah. Remember our vows, sweetling.” His lip quirks, finding fondness in memory. “Did you not promise to obey me in all things?”
You nod tentatively.
He hums. “Obey me now, then. Cast those foolish notions from your mind and listen to your uncle, hm?”
You do not think you can agree so easily as he expects. This is a war in your head that he cannot help you wage through a simple command. But you want to believe that it could be as uncomplicated as he has made it.
“Alright,” you say. “I’ll try.”
His answering embrace feels like a port in the midst of a harrowing storm. When the world around you is careening wildly, uncontrolled and unstable, you know that he will bring you back to safe shores. He would fight those waves off himself if he could. You press your nose to his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him—smokeleatherspice—and, for a time, everything feels just a little less terrifying.
Tumblr media
“See? They’re fine,” Daemon says. “A night away has done no harm.”
The babes are well-settled in the nursery, placid and rested and bright-eyed. Rhaenar grips onto your thumb in welcome, while Aelys kicks her legs and squeals when she sees you above her. Though you are glad for it—glad that you had not ruined them in your desperate madness—there is a part of you that wishes they had not clearly been so manageable without you.
You eye the sleeping forms of Azorion and Valnissar, coiled faithfully by the sides of each of your children. The Keeper loiters near the window, watching on.
Freda nods hastily. “They have been fed and bathed, Princess, all ready for sleep. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
She clearly thinks this ought to ease your mind. If anything, it only serves to disappoint you. Not only had you missed out—you despise missing anything they do, any part of their life—but now there is no recourse for the ache in your chest. Even thinking of it is enough to make your nipples itch, your breasts throb. You pray that the front of your gown remains dry.
You turn toward the other occupant in the room. “And the dragons?”
The Keeper is here primarily for Tyraxes and Skyfrost, the respective future mounts of little Joff and Corwyn, given that the nurses brought in to care for the babes are not equipped to raise creatures so dangerous as the ones claimed by your House. Today, though, he is responsible for four of them. If the look upon his face and the sweat glistening on his brow is any indication, doubling his responsibilities has caused a great deal of stress, indeed.
“The elder two have been separated from the hatchlings,” he says, stepping forward jerkily. It is as though his limbs are fastened upon strings controlled by some higher being—a human marionette. The effect is startling. “The younger pair have been… spirited, though they are resting for the time being.”
Daemon snorts, shaking his head. “Of course they have. At least they don’t breathe fucking fire yet.”
“Fucky.”
Your husband’s head whips over to the rug by the table, where Corwyn and Joff happily toddle about on unsteady legs. Corwyn is looking straight towards Daemon, smiling and mashing his gums on what seems to be a wooden knight.
Like most of the children in your family, he appears to have developed a liking for the man. Mealtimes now often involve the boy stumbling to Daemon’s side to pass him whatever object he has deemed necessary to be kept in your uncle’s possession, wide amethyst eyes peering expectantly upward until the doll or block or carved figure is taken from his hands. Daemon will roll his eyes, thank him and pat him on his head of dark curls, the act inciting a squeal and babble before the child waddles back to his evening playtime.
At the abrupt cessation of conversation, Corwyn removes the figure from his mouth and speaks once again. “Fucky.”
“Shit,” Daemon murmurs.  You strike his arm reflexively, but it is too late.
Corwyn laughs as he wanders back to Joff. “Shit. Shit. Shit-it-it-it-it-it…”
“Daemon!” you hiss, torn between irritation and a bizarre sort of amusement.
He shrugs. “Oh well. Nothing can be done now. It could be worse, sweetling. He could have walked in on us fu—”
“Rhaenyra will want your head on a pike for this,” you say hastily, in part to avoid scandalised stares from the attending staff and also to prevent Corwyn from repeating what his cousin has accidentally taught him. No doubt your little nephew will learn it from his half-brother, too.
“Perhaps we’d best depart for the evening, then”—Daemon’s hand is insistent on your elbow, a leading force that beckons you to follow—“lest you lose your husband to your sister’s temper.”
“That would be your own fault,” you say absent-mindedly.
You are unable to tear yourself away from Rhaenar and Aelys just yet. They are calm, yes, but this is not where they sleep, where they belong. You do not know if you can bear the sight of the empty cradle in your chambers or the absence of the sounds they make together with their dragons.
“Must they remain here?” you ask, more a whisper than a genuine plea.
“They are safe here.” Daemon reaches forth to let Aelys grasp his finger, an involuntary action since the babe had fallen into a doze during your visit, no doubt lulled by the sound of your voices. She is the more difficult of the pair to settle; you know Rhaenar will follow easily enough. “You ought to take respite from each other, if only for a night.”
His words are gentle, but the expression on his face reminds you of earlier. Obey me now. Cast those foolish notions from your mind. Listen to your uncle. You hear it as though it has been spoken aloud once again. Even so, the pulsing discomfort in your breasts stays your obedience.
“If I could just—”
 “No. We’re leaving. You need to rest.” It is firmer this time, louder and more decisive. He is not persuading you—he is telling you.
With a sigh of defeat, you lean down and kiss each babe farewell, doing your best to quell the unreasonable instinct to cry at the thought of goodbye. Daemon offers his own departing caresses and steers you determinedly out of the room. The walk is silent, though the heat of his arm against your palm is comforting in its own way.
Your chest begins to truly ache, a sensation beyond simple fullness. The dress you wear feels too tight, too restrictive, and you are forced to concentrate on pushing each breath up and out to avoid friction between skin and fabric. The smallest degree of stimulation is enough to bring your milk forth.
The irony, you think in despair. No milk when the babes need it—and now, when they are full and slumbering, my supply is as bountiful as it ever has been. How cruel, the gods are!
When you are finally back in your chambers, you barely notice Jeyne and Bethany’s attempts at greeting, their offers of assistance, their gentle repositioning and the tugging of the laces at your back. All you are focused on as the gown loosens and spills to the ground is how you will relieve yourself of the weight in your breasts without bringing too much attention to yourself. Daemon is fascinated by the prospect, true, but given the strife you have caused… you know not how any complaint of it would be perceived. Perhaps he would finally be angered by your outburst? Perhaps he would be disappointed that you had been so juvenile that you could not even take control over your own body, decide that you did not need the milk and thus ought to have been able to will it away. You have been lucky thus far. It is not likely that fortune will continue to favour you today.
You resolve to dispose of the excess in the privy. It ought to be relatively simple—your uncle is hardly one to accompany you to such a place. ‘Tis certain that the notion of wasting it, especially when your goal is to increase its yield, is disheartening, but what else can you do?
If only Daemon was less observant.
“You’ve been far too quiet,” he says after your ladies exit, tossing his shirt rather carelessly over the desk and the papers covering it. His eyes trail you assessingly, and for a moment you are worried that he can tell. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” You try to avoid glancing down at your chest. It would not do to give anything away. “I just—I need to use the privy.”
“No, you don’t.” He kicks his boots to the side, fingers working at the ties of his breeches. “It’s not shameful enough to explain the look on your face. Try again.”
“I’m not ashamed!” you say hotly, spine straightening in your affront.
It is the wrong move. Your nipples brush against the weave of your shift, the sensitivity amplified near to pain. You wince, shoulders curling inward and cringing away from the clothing you wear. As a warrior trained to spot the smallest of discrepancies, Daemon’s gaze falls down.
And there—he has it. You know he knows.
“Ah.” His nostrils flare, visage contorting slyly. “Uncomfortable, talītsos?”
Your breath hitches. It would be barely perceptible to any other, but not him. His gaze drifts between your line of sight and the curve of your breasts beneath the thin layer that separates your flesh from the cool air of the room, almost as though he cannot resist the temptation to look.
“I—they did not feed,” you say quietly, resisting the desire to squirm uncomfortably at the intensity directed straight toward you. “If I get rid of it before it overflows, I’ll make even more. That’s what Gerardys says. I should—”
“You should take off that shift.” Daemon’s breeches drop to the floor, discarded easily as he kneels upon the mattress and shuffles into his desired position, reclining like a king against the pillows. He bares himself proudly, arrogantly, the rosy flush of his cock not quite pronounced enough for arousal. His hand extends in invitation, mocking little smirk gracing the line of his lips at the hesitation he can so clearly read. “You’ll not be wasting such a bounty on a hole built to shit in.”
You sway, dubiously convinced. “It’s for the babes, though.”
“The babes are sleeping. Your husband is not—and he is ravenous, sweet girl.” A shiver travels up your spine from the gravelled timbre of his voice, the shadowed fire in his stare. His fingers flex in your direction, beckoning. “Come here.”
The pause you take before you heed his directive to tug open the ties at your neck and shrug the shapeless sleepwear off your form is not borne of any insecurity. You are not unhappy with your body. Naturally, there have been changes: wider hips, softer belly, skin etched with silvery webs across your middle, your thighs, the tops of your breasts. Though you cannot see it, you are sure that the opening from which your children were birthed has been altered irrevocably, too. You are proud of these differences. They mark the finality of your girlhood and the beginning of life as a woman. They are reminders of the lives you have brought into the world. And, like the burns that mottle much of your uncle’s upper body, they proclaim to all who see them that you too are a victor of glorious battle, all the more unique in that the war you had waged was one of life, not death.
No. You pause because you know Daemon, know what he is like. His appetites. His perversions. In any other state—at any other time—you would happily indulge his lusts. But not only is your body not ready to accept him, you do not even think you are capable of experiencing desire at present.
Even so, you step forward, bear the manner in which he leers, take his hand, and allow him to do with you as he will. There is comfort in giving yourself up.
He lays you out next to him, propping himself on his side so that he looms over you. The ends of his hair tickle against your cheek, bringing forth an immediate smile. It is matched by his own answering grin as he dips down to kiss you, and this you have missed. What surprises you is that it is not a kiss of need, but one of softness, fragile as the wings of a butterfly. You exchange breaths as you exchange yourselves in the union of lips.
“Let me help you,” he murmurs against you, the words passed forth to collect on the tip of your tongue. “Let me make it better.”
You nod, tipping your chin back as he presses his mouth to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, sensual in his languorousness. It is like he carries no purpose other than to let you feel your own body again through his touch. The imprints of cooling damp left behind ground you, remind you of how it felt when you had first come alive under him, around him. When he reaches his target, you expect a shift in his demeanour—but he continues just as gently to take your right nipple between his lips and suckle as weakly as any infant might.
One, two, three pulls, and the relief is near instant. Daemon makes a low noise as your milk lets down, melting to your contours as his arms clasp you tightly against him. The sound of him taking sustenance from you is one of the few things you can hear in the relative silence of evening, carrying with it a peace of its own.
He is able to tell when to switch before even you, shifting swiftly and easily to your left to repeat the slow, tender drags that ease the discomfort and loosen the tight, full sensation weighing you down. The only attempt he makes at receiving his own satisfaction is to rut lightly against your thigh, aimless and lethargic, a base urge to self-soothe in moments of calm. You close your eyes, cradling his head to your chest and mindlessly dragging the tangles from his hair.
In seconds, minutes, hours—you know not—his movements come to a gradual halt. His cock remains hard against your skin, though he allows himself to deliver one final, lush glide of tongue along the fount from which he had supped before pillowing his head on the emptied swell of your breast. Together, you indulge in the serenity.
Eventually, you are driven to speak, though you are loath to disturb the mood that has befallen the room. “Thank you,” you whisper.
His palms are warm pressed to the dip above your rear, tightening there as his ears register your voice. Otherwise, he does not move.
“I should be thanking you, sweetling,” he says, each word spoken with a gravity that conveys more than just the simplicity of the statement itself.
Vulnerability is difficult for your uncle, and you have learned all the ways in which he reveals the parts of himself too damaged by the world to readily expose. It is second nature to understand what he means to tell you, what he means to thank you for. Your children. Your life here. You. It is gratefulness, protection, apology, love all rolled into one.
You smile.
‘Tis true that nothing has been resolved. You have not succeeded in nursing the babes by yourself. You have not banished the sickening feeling that churns in the pit of your stomach, a constant reminder of the doubts that plague you. You have not spoken properly of the fire and blood of Azorion and Valnissar’s hatching.
But you have begun on the necessary paths to each. Every journey, however great or small, must start somewhere, after all. And—perhaps most importantly—there is not a single malady that cannot be eased, at least for a time, by the strength of Daemon’s devotion to you.
As you crane your neck to proffer a kiss of your own to the top of your husband’s head, you know that whatever future awaits you is one you can face.
I can do this. I can do this. For the first time in days, you believe it.
Tumblr media
Read on AO3:
Tumblr media
Taglist (😭 thank you!):
Now in the comments!
To be on the taglist:
Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!
550 notes · View notes