#a certain flair for the dramatic

[winepresswrath]

djenks does not feel like he's writing specifically for my 17 year old self the way tamsyn muir or nd stevenson do but he does fall into the category of writers i trust to mostly share my sensibilities and interests and have something interesting to say about the project of being a person. tbh while i think it is actively good and healthy to read and watch things that are not the product of people who share my sensibilities and interests there is something really enjoyable about that trust fall. call it clown to clown communication or recognition of communal experiences in art but it's nice it's good. parasocial high fives all around.

[llycaons]

I love the word tumblrina. organically sprouted terminology

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Aegon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Aegon is completely in love with you but winning you over is not easy. But Aegon won't give up. Modern AU

Life at the Citadel University was as predictable as the seasons—at least for you. You were the Stark everyone expected you to be: diligent, focused, and entirely uninterested in the campus drama that seemed to follow certain students like a shadow. Chief among them was Aegon Targaryen, the spoiled rich kid who treated the university like his personal playground. Popular, charming, and utterly insufferable, Aegon was the kind of guy who had everything handed to him on a silver platter—and now, apparently, he wanted you.

You were in the middle of your usual routine—heading to class with a stack of books under your arm—when you first encountered Aegon in full pursuit mode. He was leaning against a tree just outside the lecture hall, looking like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. You knew better than to get involved in whatever scheme he had cooked up, but fate, or rather, Aegon’s persistence, had other plans.

"Y/N Stark," he drawled, flashing that annoyingly perfect smile of his. "I’ve been looking for you."

You didn’t even break your stride. "Aegon," you acknowledged with a curt nod, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you alone.

"How about dinner tonight?" he continued, falling into step beside you as if you’d agreed to this little walk. "I know a place with the best—"

"No," you cut him off without a second thought.

Aegon blinked, clearly not used to rejection. "No? Are you sure? Because—"

"Positive," you said, quickening your pace. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do."

Aegon stared after you, dumbfounded, as you disappeared into the lecture hall. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. But you’d underestimated the sheer force of will that was Aegon Targaryen.

Later that day, you retreated to your favorite corner of the library, hoping for some peace and quiet. The stacks were a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in your studies without distraction. But just as you settled in with a particularly dense tome on Northern history, there he was again.

"Y/N!" Aegon’s voice echoed through the quiet library, and you nearly jumped out of your seat. He strolled over to your table, completely oblivious to the glares from other students. "I knew I’d find you here."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Aegon, what do you want now?"

He plopped down in the chair across from you, his grin infuriatingly wide. "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favorite Stark."

"You don’t even know any other Starks," you muttered, returning your attention to your book.

Aegon leaned in closer, clearly not taking the hint. "I know the most important one. So, how about we ditch this place and—"

"Aegon Targaryen!" The sharp voice of the librarian cut through the air like a knife. She appeared out of nowhere, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Out. Now."

Aegon looked genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t considered that his antics might have consequences. "What? I wasn’t even being that loud!"

"Out!" the librarian repeated, pointing towards the exit.

With a dramatic sigh, Aegon stood up, but not before throwing you a wink. "I’ll see you around, Y/N."

You groaned as he left, wondering how long this was going to last.

The answer came sooner than expected.

The next morning, you were seated in a large lecture hall, ready for another hour of academic bliss. The professor was mid-sentence when the door to the classroom burst open, and in strolled Aegon, as if he owned the place.

The entire room fell silent, every eye turning to watch as he made his way down the aisle, heading straight for you. The professor paused, clearly irritated by the interruption, but Aegon paid him no mind.

"Y/N Stark!" Aegon’s voice rang out, full of theatrical flair. "I can’t go on like this. I’m in love with you!"

Your heart sank as every head in the room swiveled in your direction. Aegon wasn’t done yet.

"I’ve been trying to play it cool," he continued, ignoring the snickers and whispers that erupted around him, "but I can’t keep pretending. You’re the one, Y/N. You’re smart, beautiful, and you make my heart race like nothing else."

The professor cleared his throat, his patience clearly running thin. "Mr. Targaryen, this is a classroom, not a stage. Kindly leave before I have you removed."

But Aegon was undeterred. "Not until Y/N agrees to go on a date with me," he declared, dropping to one knee in the middle of the aisle. "Come on, Y/N. Just one date. I promise you won’t regret it."

You wanted to disappear into the floor. "Aegon, get up," you hissed, utterly mortified.

"Not until you say yes," he replied stubbornly, looking up at you with those maddeningly sincere eyes.

The class erupted into laughter, the professor sighed, and you could feel your face turning red. Finally, to your immense relief, the professor gestured towards the door. "Mr. Targaryen, out."

Aegon shot you one last pleading look before finally standing up and exiting the room, much to the amusement of your classmates.

You spent the rest of the lecture trying to focus, but your mind was still reeling from Aegon’s ridiculous display. By the time you returned to your dorm that evening, all you wanted was some peace and quiet. But when you opened the door, you were met with a sight that made your jaw drop.

Your room was filled—absolutely filled—with rare dusk blue roses. They were everywhere, covering every surface, their delicate petals casting a soft glow in the dim light. There was no mistaking the signature touch of a Targaryen. On your bed was a single note, written in Aegon’s unmistakable scrawl: "For my Winter Rose."

You groaned, half-amused, half-exasperated. How could someone be so impossibly stubborn?

The next morning, you walked into your first class, hoping for some normalcy. But as you took your usual seat, you noticed something that made you do a double-take. Sitting right next to you, with a triumphant grin on his face, was Aegon.

The entire room went silent. Even the professor seemed momentarily stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

"Aegon," you said slowly, "what are you doing here?"

"Attending class," he replied cheerfully, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And just so you know, we’re going on a date by the end of the month. Though, I’m really aiming for the end of the week."

You stared at him, utterly baffled. "You’ve never attended a class in your life."

"First time for everything," he said, still grinning. "Besides, I’ve been told by my mother that I need to know you better and know what you like and don't like before I take you out on a date. And what better way to do that than by sitting next to you?"

The professor finally found his voice. "Mr. Targaryen," he said, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of authority, "I expect you to remain quiet and focused during this lecture."

"Of course, professor," Aegon replied with a seriousness that was completely at odds with his usual demeanor.

As the lecture began, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Aegon, who was actually—shockingly—taking notes. You couldn’t tell if he was actually understanding anything, but the effort was there, and it was both baffling and amusing.

When the class ended, Aegon turned to you with that same determined look. "So, what do you say? End of the week?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at your lips. "We’ll see, Aegon. We’ll see."

He grinned, clearly taking that as a victory, and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to Aegon Targaryen than met the eye.

[felixknow]

Pathetic!

han x reader/ (afab but one comment could be read as amab), friends to lovers, teasing, mutual pining/lust, blowjob, premature ejac., pathetic!han, loser!han and confident but simp!reader, 3k

Based on how Han... Adjusts... Himself...

Your friend Jisung has a… peculiar habit. 

You first noticed it when you agreed to a silly dinner party with your old trainee friends. Everyone decided to dress up in their prettiest dresses and most handsome suits to go to McDonalds at 10 p.m. and even though the food was greasy and near-tasteless, the company of your friends made it one of your favorite meals you’d ever had.

It was when everyone was cleaning up and getting ready to leave that you first noticed Han’s odd habit.

You were the last two to get up from the table. Most of your friends had already drifted toward the trash cans and the exit, and as you stood you watched as Han, who was not paying attention to you, unabashedly grabbed his penis through his pants and manually readjusted it.

Your eyes widened and you turned on your heel away from him, shocked but vowing to yourself that you’d never tell a soul you saw it, and sure you’d never see it again.

Until the next time it happened.

And the next.

And the next.

Considering the years you’ve spent in this friendship, it feels odd that you’ve only noticed this habit recently, but maybe he’s having some sort of issue, perhaps? Maybe his shaving routine has changed, maybe he’s wearing new underwear, maybe he caught something-- you don’t know and it doesn’t feel like your business at first. Or at the second, or third, or fourth occurrence.

It’s when you start to catch onto what makes him adjust himself so blatantly that you realize that it is your business. In fact, it starts to feel like it’s because of you.

There’s the time in the pool with your friends where you watch him off to the side in the shallow end readjust himself after you finish a splashing war with two of your friends, which somehow manages to nearly knock your top off.

There’s the summer sleepover where your tank top was lower cut than you intended, and through the glow of the firepit you could just make out the shape of Han squirming, his hand firmly latched between his thighs for a few moments.

There’s the time you and several of your mutual friends attend a SKZ fan meeting to support your favorite superstar, and sitting on stage Han tries his best to be casual as he adjusts himself moments after excitedly waving to your group, but boy is it obvious to your trained eye.

Almost every time you’ve seen Han in the past few months, there’s been a moment when his hand inevitably ends up wrapped around his cock, despite his pants being in the way.

It always comes after the lingering looks. It happens after the slight flick of his tongue across his lips. The prolonged eye contact. The rosiness of his cheeks when you come too close. The dramatic flair of him draping himself across you, or the grabby hands as he asks you to cuddle with him, or the feather-light touches on your back or your hip as he passes you in a narrow space.

There are two things you’re certain of at this point in your friendship:

Han Jisung is attracted to you, and you are so, so attracted to him.

Once this becomes fact in your mind, the game begins.

How long does it take to get Hanji to touch himself?

On some nights, it’s hours. On some, it’s minutes. Once it was even the very first thing he did when you walked in the room (maybe because you’d spent the previous night partying with him and may have drunkenly danced with him one too many times, or maybe it was because you’d texted him that morning that you’d had fun with him and want to go dancing with him again, or maybe it was because it was another movie night and you’d come in short pajama shorts and a t-shirt with a “fashionable” rip across your chest).

The second phase of the game starts after that night.

When will Hanji notice that I’m trying to bother him on purpose?

(The answer is “not until you tell him outright,” but we’ll get there.)

You have fun playing with him. At first it’s acting like you didn’t realize he was behind you, so you back up until your butt touches his hip or his crotch. Then it’s accidentally sitting so close that you nearly sit on his lap. One time it’s having “accidentally” put on too much perfume before getting in the car with Hannie after he offered to drive you to your friend’s place for dinner. Another it’s wearing a white top on a day when you know it’ll be rainy, and “accidentally” forgetting your umbrella so you show up to Han’s apartment with a mostly see-through top.

Each time you catch it, either from the corner of your eye or while outright staring at him. His hand goes down while he’s either looking away or trying to act casual. He grabs his penis through his pants so fully that you can see the complete outline of it as he shifts it to the side or pushes it down or otherwise readjusts.

It makes you wet, being so close yet so far from seeing it. Sometimes when he grabs it you swear you can see the defined tip or the swell of his balls pressing on the fabric as well, but it’s over as quickly as it began. Sometimes just the press of his hand down on his lap like a nervous little virgin unsure of how to control himself turns you on so bad that you’re squirming in your seat.

Oh, god how you’d fuck him. How you’d wreck his entire world. If only he wasn’t so god damned oblivious.

No matter how many times you try to catch his eye and pointedly look down to his crotch, or how many times you pull your top lower while directly in his line of sight, or even shake your ass when you know he’s watching-- he says nothing. He does nothing.

You know he notices. Oh, how he notices. His face turns red. He pulls a pillow into his lap. His voice cracks. He can’t make eye contact with you. He stutters. He stares at your chest when he thinks you aren’t looking.

And he wants, oh he wants so bad.

It finally comes to a head on the night you know for absolutely 100% certain that you’ve given him a boner.

It’s a game night with two of Han’s fellow SKZ members. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the couch and Han is behind you (at your design, of course). One of his legs is under him, and one of his legs is hooked over your shoulder. You keep your arm locked around it while you play Mario Kart, claiming that you need it because of the way you’re sitting. “I can’t hold my arm up at the right angle without it,” you whine. “I have to keep my controller all the way up here--” you gesture to holding the controller at your chest level rather than in your lap-- “otherwise the sensor doesn’t pick up.”

No one calls your bluff-- you’re lucky that when Felix handed you the controller he said that it was the finicky one that didn’t like to cooperate all the time. Thank you, Felix.

Every time you win, you throw your arms up and reach for Hannie behind you. He either gives you his hands and he leans his head down and you pet his hair. When you lose, you turn your head to his knee (or, after he shifts lower in his seat, his inner thigh) and nibble or just rub your face as if you’re hiding it in shame.

Within 10 races you know you have Han wrapped around your finger. Any time you turn your head to look back at him, he’s already looking at you. He can likely see straight down your top, and the combination of that with you touching his thigh leads to him needing a pillow in his lap to prevent the whole group from noticing his little, ahem… problem.

And then comes the break.

“Should we pause and get dinner?” Minho asks

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you chime in. “But the issue is I really want pizza from that one really good place that refuses to do delivery. Like, come on, your orders get mixed up a couple of times and you require ID to pick up food? It’s the 21st centuryyyyy,” you whine, throwing your head back against Han’s thigh.

“Oh, pizza sounds so good,” Felix says with a satisfied groan. “I can go get it if someone comes with.”

“Mm,” Minho acknowledges, climbing to his feet. “Let’s go. We can order on the way.”

After a brief discussion of what everyone wants, the two clear the apartment, and then…

Han clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

“Do you wanna play another round while they’re out?”

You put your controller down and spin around so you’re sitting on your knees, now face-first at Han’s crotch-- or rather, the pillow on top of his crotch.

“No, honestly Hanji, I’m so fucking sick of waiting.”

“What--” You grab the pillow and try to move it, and his eyes widen, his face a pure expression of shock, and he fights you to keep it in place. “No, no! I need that-- Y/n, stop!”

“Hanji, when are you going to tell me that I turn you on? I’m so tired of waiting.”

“You-- What? How did you--”

“Am I wrong?” you ask, finally letting go of the pillow and letting him hold it. You give him your best doe eyes, blinking up at him innocently. “That’s what you’re hiding, right? Because I keep touching you and because you can see my boobs, right?”

Han tries to say something but he flounders, barely making a full sentence.

“Hanji, I’m tired of you teasing me,” you whine. “You touch your penis in front of me all the time. When’s it my turn?”

“Y/N--” he gasps. You take the chance to grab the pillow once more and yank, swiftly removing it and throwing it across the room. His legs come up and his hands go down-- he tries to cover himself and hide, but you see the tent in his pants and even notice the dark spot forming on the crotch of his gray sweatpants.

“Oh, Hanji, you poor thing. Isn’t that throbbing?” you ask, sliding one hand up his leg, gently coaxing him to relax and slightly open his legs for you again. “I know mine is. Why don’t you let me take care of it?”

“Your… You’re…?”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. You’re such a sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” You keep gently touching him, running your fingertips up and down his calf until he rests his leg on the ground again, now only his hands covering his tent.

“How long have you liked me, Hanji? You should have told me. I’ve been trying to encourage you, but I don’t think you’ve caught on, have you?”

“No,” he admits softly. “I thought… I thought maybe you liked that I was fawning over you?” he says unsurely. “I noticed a few times you were really close to me on purpose…”

“Yeah?” you ask, gently touching his hand while lying your cheek on his thigh. “Like when?”

“Like that time you were talking to me in the kitchen and then you bent down to get something and touched my… um, touched me with your butt. It was straight out of a movie.”

You giggle and manage to intertwine some of your fingers with his gently.

“You could have said something, you know. You blushed so dark I thought your head was going to burst. You were so red.”

“I was afraid you felt my dick through my pants,” he says defensively, but softly, almost like he’s afraid to speak too loud and burst the bubble that surrounds the two of you. “I was so hard.”

“I get you hard a lot, huh? Pretty much every time I see you I catch you touching yourself.”

“What?!” he asks, eyes wide, once again in that delicious look of shock.

“You have to readjust yourself. I see you. It’s really obvious the way you grab it, you know.” You voice drops to a whisper as you separate his hands and finally get a good look at his crotch. “It’s kind of…” your hand reaches out slowly, giving him the chance to stop you, but he doesn’t. “Like this,” you say, wrapping your hand around his shaft through his pants. Instead of trying to push his dick down or to the side, you drag your hand up until it rolls over the tip and off of him entirely.

Han moans, lifting his hips up slightly to chase the feeling of your hand. You smirk but try to bite your lip to hide it, wanting to keep the innocent yet frisky facade you’re upholding.

“No,” you say softly, wrapping your hand around his cock again. “I think it was actually more like this.” You twist your wrist slightly as you move down his shaft then back up, once again sliding your hand over his tip. This time you press your palm against it, slightly pushing his dick to the side.

“Hmm,” you hum, licking your lips. “No, that’s not quite right. Can you show me, Hanji?”

“Huh?” he asks through a shuddering breath.

“Show me how you grab yourself, Hanji. And then I wanna do something for you.”

“Okay…”

Han’s shaky hand reaches down and he grabs his dick, pushing it down and to the side. He shifts his hip, tries to act casual while trying to tuck his boner into a tighter area of his underwear but it does nothing to hide his erection once he releases it.

“Mm, always seeing you touch yourself has made me so jealous. And you get to play with it whenever you want. It’s my turn to touch it, isn’t it? Can I touch it, Hanji?

“You already did, to be fair,” he says, his normal cheeky self still shining through his nerves. “But, I mean, yeah… if you want to you can do whatever… if you want… I mean… What do you want to do?”

“What do I want?” you ask, smiling up at him. “Oh, Hanji, if we did everything I wanted, no one would hear from you for weeks.”

His face reddens again and he laughs softly.

“If I had known we were thinking the same thing, I would have asked you to do this a lot sooner…” he admits. A wide grin spreads across your face and you hum happily, tugging on his sweatpants.

“Let me suck your cock, Hanji. I’ve been waiting so long.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, lifting his hips and pulling both his pants and his underwear down swiftly. His cock springs free, bouncing a little from the movement, and you have to bite back the “aww” that comes up your throat. It’s just so fucking cute with its pink tip and its honey shaft like the rest of his pretty skin and it looks so suckable and instead of saying anything you hum happily as you greeidly suck him into your mouth, barely giving him a second to adjust to the feeling before you’re bobbing your head and trying to gather as much spit in your mouth as possible to give it a good, wet glide.

Han moans loudly and unabashedly, throwing his head back and sinking into the couch, fully letting you consume him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, hips jerking up slightly. “Oh, fuck! Wait, wait, wait,” he says, sitting back up and gently guiding your head off of him. “Y/N, I think I almost came,” he whines, and your jaw drops.

“Hanji, that was fifteen seconds. That wasn’t even a minute.”

“I know,” he whines, chest heaving as he pouts and tries to calm down. “I don’t know, it just hit me and I felt like leaking.”

“-Leaking?”

“That’s what it felt like!”

“Hanji, don’t tell me you call it ‘leaking’ when you cum.”

“No! I don’t! I’m just saying this one felt like a leak like I was just gonna let it all down. You were sucking me like a straw and it was just gonna all come out.”

You stare at him for a few silent seconds and then, in shock at your own revelation, say “You are so wimpy. And pathetic. And it makes me so fucking horny.”

Han laughs just as much as he whines, throwing his head back and covering his face with both his hands.

“Y/Naaaaahhhhhh,” he whines. “You can’t insult me and then say it makes you horny. I don't know what to thiiiiink.”

“Think about my pussy, your bed, and hopefully the nearest condom.”

Han peeks at you through his hands for a few seconds and then nods frantically, trying to sit up and get to his feet.

“Okay, okay, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go! What are we still doing out here?!”

As Han gets up, his sweatpants and underwear nearly trips him while he tries to step past you. You giggle, covering your mouth and watching his naked butt as he rushes down the hall to his room.

Oh, god, how you’re attracted to him.

[janumun]

A Lemurian’s Guide to Love (LaDS Rafayel – General NSFW Headcanons) 

Rated: NSFW/18+

Tags: oral and vaginal sex, body worship, fingering, praise kink, facial, hand kink, Rafayel shenanigans, allusions to spoilers for Rafayel’s myth dates, certain ASMRs and his character story

Words: ~3k

Author’s Notes: The chokehold this man has on me (!!!) has led me to exploring Rafayel’s sexual foray as well as smidges of how I imagine his relationship to progress with his beloved in these headcanons. 

Please take careful note of those tags and rating and proceed at your own discretion!  

With that said, I hope you enjoy your read. 

Rafayel has stood by and waited for you; over the course of several years — from that fated meeting and the result: a promise borne and broken — and through the descent of the sands of time.  

And while he likes to consider himself a patient man — and to a degree, he has been just that; endurance incarnate over the course of those long, arduous years without his beloved at his side — when he does finally come across you, Rafayel finds his resolve ripple, and then gradually implode, into paper-thin fragments of yearning and fond desire.  

From how Rafayel oft presents his public persona to the world — cool and dispassionate; a tepid smile on the ready for strangers who wish to garner his favour or attentions, one wouldn’t even think to scratch past that surface. The task of avoiding unnecessary engagements, especially since his return to Linkon City a few years prior, preceding his debut as an artist, is one he finds particularly cumbersome.  

But during intimate moments, reserved for just the two of you, you see that exact same Rafayel — that handsome, charismatic artistic talent plastered, glossy, across covers of magazines and billboards — mould into silly scowls. A flair for the dramatics the minute he senses your attentions are not his alone for the taking. Ridiculous and feline-like in his excuses of demands from his ‘bodyguard’, to allow him her company.  

After an endurance survived this incredibly long, he finds that in certain matters, he can no longer wait.  

Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.  

He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public. 

He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.

Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].  

Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.  

And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.  

Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature. 

A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.

That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time: 

His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.  

His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.  

He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.  

He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.  

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  

Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.  

He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.  

The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.

Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.  

Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.  

Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”  

This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision. 

When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.  

Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.

Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.

Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you. 

Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated. 

And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.  

When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.  

Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.  

Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.  

Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.  

And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.  

Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck. 

Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.  

It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.  

Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.  

Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date. 

On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.  

He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.  

It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.  

“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.” 

The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants.  A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.  

Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.  

Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.  

Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.  

“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—” 

Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips. 

“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.” 

Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.  

There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex). 

Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.  

Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.  

The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.  

Rafayel’s house is a mess. 

...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.

The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.  

However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.  

The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.  

For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.  

Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away. 

Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”  

An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed  to stand witness to.  

There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth... 

Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.  

Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck— 

Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.  

Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God. 

Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.  

A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles. 

Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.” 

The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.” 

The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.

Link to Master List

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[a-twistedheartslonging]

Sniff and Bite

Soft Yan, Scent kink, Biting, No sex but he's a little handsy and gets a boner

“Eh, Kitten? Think ya could help me with that box over there?”

Looking up from the book they were glancing at the cover off, they looked to the hyena who was currently tossing more of Leona’s dirty clothes into a hamper.

“Mmm? Yeah, sure thing Ruggie Senpai.”

“Just Ruggie.”

They paused, a soft laugh leaving them that had the beastmen flick his ears and look the side shyly.

“Yes, Ruggie.” They said, teasing in their tone.

Sitting up from the messy bed they made their way over to the box, full and random nick-nacks and rarely worm accessories that Ruggie had set aside.

They eyed it for a moment, trying to think of the best way to get the heavy box up while a certain hyena stared intently at their back.

With a hint of dramatic flair, they pushed up the sleeves of their baggy uniform shirt and crouched down to seal the top properly before digging their fingers into the edges of the bottom. They pulled it up into the air and caught it with a huff, muscles flexing, before heading to Leona’s closest. 

Blueish-gray eyes dilate as they watch the human work.

Gazing from their back to their sweaty neck, his addam’s apple bobbed down with a swallow. The dorm was stiflingly hot and that long sleeve they were wearing wasn't helping at all. He couldn't help but salivate at the scent of their sweat.

Fuck, why they gotta smell so good?

His heart thundered in his chest as blood rushed downward, where he really didn't want it going. For months he had felt the need to watch them, to keep them close, to do...something. It brought out his baser instincts, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just nature telling him what he needed.

It is annoying, frustrating, and all-around inconvenient. Especially with all he already has on his plate, but maybe this could be something good, a reward even.

He deserves to finally have something nice after all.

With a slight stretch, they were finally able to get the heavy box onto the shelf. Backing out of the closet space they closed its door before letting out a yelp as Ruggie suddenly pressed into their back, trapping them against the closet door.

"Ruggie! Wha-" they started, cut off as calloused hands trailed up their bare arms. They felt his hot breath against their cheek and shivered at the feeling, tensing as he took a deep inhale. A hand slid to their neck, and gave a gentle squeeze, before moving to the front of their shirt and pulling down, buttons popping free as shoulders were exposed.

"Ru..ah...Ruggie..." they whimpered softly. The heat of his breath on their ear made them shudder as Ruggie pressed his face into the crook of their sweat-slicked neck.

"You smell so soft en' sweet..." he murmured, and they laughed awkwardly.

"Uh...thanks?"

A possessive growl rumbled in his throat as he ground against them, and they felt something hard press into their backside. Flustered, they tried to turn their head but stopped when Ruggie spoke again, voice a deep purr.

“Hey…”

They paused.

“Uhm…yes…?”

"Just.. .just a few licks and a bite. That would be okay, yeah?"

His voice had dipped into a purring lull, they couldn't help but flush and feel butterflies at his tone. His voice was also…slurred. They were a bit muddled about what he was asking.

Confused, they stammered "Wh-what do you mean?" before letting out a soft moan as sharp fangs dragged against their neck, followed by his hot tongue.

"Don't move..." he warned.

“Wh-” That's when they felt it. Letting out a squeal they felt sharp teeth sink into the tender flesh between their neck and shoulder. 

[cherriecove]

Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 4)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother.

Cherrie's note:She/Her pronouns. I am amazed by how much love you guys have shown my writing. Thank you so so much for your support, i hope i can keep you all happy.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Watching Gwayne train was more exhilarating than you’d anticipated. Despite his youth, his skill with a sword was undeniable. He dispatched opponents with a grace and ease that bordered on effortless, his confidence—teetering on arrogance—seemingly justified by his prowess. It was clear that his confidence wasn’t misplaced, though it stirred a mix of admiration and irritation within you. You were captivated by him, his every move drenched in sweat yet still strikingly handsome. A fleeting thought crossed your mind: a wish to knock him off his high horse, if only to humble him. Yet, even with his confident demeanor, he looked every bit the part of a heavenly vision. You were painfully aware of how your cheeks flushed at the mere sight of him, a fact not lost on him, judging by the small smirk he directed your way after helping up his sparring partner.

Considering whether to order your sworn protector to intervene and knock him down was a fleeting thought. Instead, you stood, smoothing your dress. Gwayne jogged over, concern evident in his eyes. “You aren’t leaving already, are you, Princess? Am I not impressive enough?”

You descended the steps of the viewing stand with his assistance. “It was satisfactory, Ser.”

Gwayne placed a hand over his heart in mock distress. “I’ve disappointed my princess. Whatever shall I do to recover?”

You smiled, shaking your head at his dramatic flair. “I have every faith that you’ll redeem yourself in the tourney, Ser Gwayne.”

As you headed toward the Red Keep’s entrance, Gwayne’s voice followed. “I hope so too, my Princess!”

The day of the tourney had finally arrived, and the atmosphere in the Red Keep was electric with anticipation. Royal duties had kept you and Gwayne apart, your time together limited to quick exchanges and lingering glances. You found yourself missing him more than you’d expected, a testament to the swift and deep connection that had formed between you.

In the royal box, you were seated between Rhaenyra and Alicent. Alicent was visibly nervous about her brother’s performance, her hands fidgeting with her nails. You placed your hand over hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. She returned the gesture, understanding your shared concern for Gwayne. Both she and your sister had noted your growing fondness for the knight, often teasing you about it in the days leading up to the tournament.

As your father rose to announce the commencement of the tourney, your attention was elsewhere, scanning the arena for Gwayne. When you finally spotted him, your heart skipped a beat, and you silently prayed to the old gods and the new for his safety. When the knights came to request favors, you turned down every offer, knowing precisely where your allegiance lay.

Gwayne approached, removing his helmet and smiling up at you. “Princess, it would be an honor if you would present me with your favour. Even if I lose, I would still consider myself a winner.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words. You picked up your flower wreath and approached the barrier, the eyes of your father and Otto Hightower upon you. But in that moment, their scrutiny faded as you focused solely on Gwayne. “Of course, Ser. Do be careful.” You placed the wreath on his lance, and the connection between you was palpable. His nod was a silent promise, and though no more words passed between you, the understanding was mutual. He donned his helmet and returned to his place.

As you resumed your seat, the weight of your father’s and Otto Hightower’s gazes became more pronounced. You tried to steady your breath, watching intently as the jousting began. Gwayne’s skill was evident, but his opponent had the advantage of experience and brute strength. You gasped silently as Gwayne was unseated with a jarring impact, struggling to suppress your urge to cry out. Instead, you gripped Alicent’s hand tightly, your heart racing with concern. Despite knowing Gwayne’s stubbornness, you wished he would yield to avoid further injury. Yet, true to form, he stood and challenged his opponent to continue on the ground. Though nimble and quick, Gwayne’s superior opponent’s strength and strategy soon took their toll. Gwayne fought valiantly but was ultimately overpowered and forced to yield. As he released his sword and was helped from the field, your worry surged.

You quickly excused yourself from the royal box, making a hasty yet dignified dash toward the deep green tent. Your urgency overrode the need for decorum; your only focus was Gwayne. The thought of him hurt and vulnerable drove you to disregard the etiquette you had been taught since childhood, propelled only by your concern for the knight who had swiftly become significant in your life.

Tag List: @deniixlovezelda @kieracassette

[louisegluckpdf]

one thing about palamedes is despite his unassuming appearance as a scrawny bookish bone nerd he has such a fucking flair for the dramatic but he is never going to let it show until he is absolutely certain it is earned. "cam. go loud.” “you fought camilla because you thought you could win, and you didn’t even watch her first, you just assumed you could take her. and i can’t stand people who assume.” “you’ve been in a terrific amount of pain for the last myriad. i hope that pain is nothing to what your own body’s about to do to you, lyctor. you’re going to die spewing your own lungs out of your nostrils, having failed at the finish line because you couldn’t help but prattle about why you killed innocent people, as though your reasons were interesting.” “match to the sixth.” he is always going to bring the panache the flair the fucking cuntservery!

[freyito]

Hi! You asked for Aventurine requests among others, so I hope that you like this one? (Also, no pressure to accept this request! But thank you in advance for reading it <3) Could I maybe request Aventurine with an FTM!reader who dresses rather femininely? Reader can sometimes get rather insecure due to how people see him (either misgendering him or mocking him for being a trans man who still likes dressing femininely), so Aventurine comforts him and spoils him by getting him all the feminine clothing he likes. Idk, I thought it would be really sweet. I hope that request was coherent in any way. As I said, no pressure to do this if you aren't comfortable with it, but thank you so much in advance if you do! And thank you so much for writing fem readers, there's so little representation for us and it means the world to me <3

✧ a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime someone requested (one of) my comfort character(s) with an FtM reader who dresses femininely who gets a little insecure i'd have two nickels!!!! which isnt a lot but im soo happy it happened twice!!!!

fr tho thank you for this ask ehe.... healing my inner younger adult or sumn (shoutout to one of my exes who was super into femboys and completely killed my fashion sense) also idk where this name came from i just felt it. idk.

✭ pairing: aventurine x ftm reader

🗒 cw: ftm reader, dysphoria, comfort, this was written from the HEART, proofread

✎ wc:2.1k

ꜱᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛᴄᴀᴋᴇ

When you transitioned, you didn’t kill off your fashion, no, quite the opposite. It had never felt quite right to be called a girl, to be considered a woman. The clothes you wore had nothing to do with it, you were sure. Still, for a little bit after your public transition, you tried to dress more “traditionally masculine”, but it was only when you started wearing dresses and skirts and anything perceived as “feminine” that you felt truly at ease.

It was also around then that you got odd looks, and more mistakes and misgendering. Most of the time it was from strangers, so you chose to ignore it. It had no real effect on you since they were strangers, and their own opinions didn’t matter to you.

In doing this, you gained confidence, not that you didn’t have any before. You were simply presenting yourself how you liked, and you didn’t give a damn about who saw you as what. This confidence is what drew Aventurine’s attention to you, he quite enjoyed your slight flair for the dramatic, how ethereal you looked in certain dresses, and all around… you. He had never really fallen for someone as hard as he fell for you.

He pampers you as is, of course. Anything you want is yours, perhaps even three times over. No time to even say ‘I want’ or ‘I would like’, it’s yours. Especially clothes. He’s a bit of a fashionista himself, after all. You see a pretty dress you like? He’s buying it, and maybe a suit to match. Even a ball gown, something a little too formal for every-day wear? Don’t worry, he’ll find a reason to wear it.

Aventurine finds you pretty handsome any day of the week, even on your worst days, your most dysphoric days, where you want to do nothing but lie down in bed, dressed only in a massive t-shirt and boxers, unable to tame your disheveled looks. Which, those days seem to be becoming more and more frequent.

It had been quite a while since you two started dating, and you yourself knew dating one of the Ten Stonehearts would put some direct attention onto you. He wasn’t necessarily a celebrity, but of course paparazzi fled to him like flies to honey. And with that, you end up in the crossfire.

You do your best to ignore it, even when pictures of you and Aventurine end up on social media, even when the posts shift from referring to you as his ‘partner’, to his ‘girlfriend’, even when the comments referred to you as his girlfriend from the start. You shouldn’t let it get to you, you tell yourself, they’re just strangers is all, and they have no real connection to you. And yet, you can’t help but keep scrolling through those comments.

‘She’s so lucky!!’

‘I wish I was his girlfriend’

‘why can’t i be her :(‘

‘i’d give anything to be his GIRL’

Every little she, every little ‘girl’ gets to you. It cuts like knives, reopening old wounds you had forgotten about. Those words take root in your heart and you withdraw into yourself. Aventurine had been out on a… business trip, and you were left to wallow in your own dysphoric hell by yourself. Simply staring into your closet makes you feel sick, not even the clothes, but knowing that this is what you wore, and that is simply how people will perceive you from then on, his girlfriend. It hurts, dammit.

Despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach, you can't help but continue to scroll through the comments. Very few know of you, given your limited social media presence, even if Aventurine had tagged you in a couple posts of his own and even referred to you as his boyfriend. The few comments that mention you that do refer to you properly do not wash out just how many more had all sunk their fangs into the word ‘she’.

You finally pry your phone away from your eyes, turning it off and putting it face down as you bury your head into the plush pillows beneath you. You want to scream, to cry, but ultimately you are left with silence. Which turns out to be even worse, stuck with your thoughts that take hold and rip any semblance of confidence you had. Those words sink even deeper into your very bones, a reminder that you aren’t in the same leagues as a cis man, that perhaps you never will be. And then, the words ‘not a real boy’ start to rise. And slowly, that voice becomes louder, and louder, and lou–

You are interrupted by the muffled chime of a video call, raising your head and simply staring at your phone for a couple more moments. You knew exactly who was calling you, of course, he was the only one you really video called these days. And now, you didn’t even know if you wanted to pick up the phone. To you, it meant looking at yourself, seeing a girl. Doesn’t matter how little your portrait was in the corner, you’d still be there, all the same.

As if it was instinct, however, you pick up your phone and accept the call. You feel as if you immediately regret this decision, watching as your face pops up half-hidden by the sheets of your unkempt bed, finally minimizing into the corner.

“Hey handsome,” Aventurine starts, flashing you a pretty smile. He was driving, eyes on the road (thankfully), but peering at the phone every now and then. “How’s your night going, hm?”

“Good.” You mumbled, doing your best to sound at the very least okay. Your voice is muffled by the sheets and rather heavy, groggy.

“Awh, did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” He coos, still not looking at his phone, which you thank whichever Aeon you have to for that. “Just missed you is all.”

“It’s okay,” You manage to squeak out, tracing over his features mentally. He himself seemed so tired, despite how hard he played the relaxed character, you could tell that whatever meeting he had just gotten out of didn’t necessarily go all that well. “I missed you, too.”

You can see Aventurine smile, but silence fills the space between you two. The faint rumbling of the car on the road is soothing in a way, not too loud but not too quiet, enough to keep your thoughts from drifting. Perhaps you really are tired, with how easy it feels to fall asleep at the moment. Perhaps you were just tired, and that’s why such words got to you… and yet, as you did your best to surrender to sleep, Aventurine’s voice pulled you right back into reality.

“Have you been crying?” He doesn’t even tiptoe around it. It seems he had finally parked, and he finally got a good look at you. 

“Uhm–” You hadn’t even known you were crying, it seems you were so hyper-focused on just how you looked too much of a woman, and how badly you just did not want to see yourself.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” You can’t really lie to Aventurine, he’s pretty damn perceptive and it’s a little scary. Not just that, but he tends to worry about you, considering his luck doesn’t affect you. Seeing as he’s a whole star system away, he has every right to worry.

“It’s fine,” You groan, readjusting in the bed and doing what you could to hide your face while still allowing him to see some of it. You know you can’t get your way out of it, but deflect nonetheless. “Life sucks, is all.”

Aventurine purses his lips and furrows his brows, before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. He lets it go, for now. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll be home in like… three days, okay?” His voice softens from his usual sly tone.

You utter a low effort ‘mhm’, unable to conjure up any other words or sounds. You can see the worry creep into his expression, and somehow, it makes you think of a horrible, wretched question in the face of things.

“Do you see me as a girl?”

He lets out a ‘huh?’ before the question fully processes in his head. “No! Not at all! Why would you think that?” He raises his voice slightly, not panicked but as if in a rush to soothe your mind.

“I dunno. Seems like everyone else sees me as your girlfriend.” You huff, tilting your head.

“Well that’s them. You’re my boyfriend.”

“But–”

“Nuh uh. You’re my boyfriend. You’re a boy. Nothing else. Unless you wanna be my Husband?”

Aventurine’s cheeky tone returned and it caused a blush to bloom across your cheeks. You’re more surprised by the question itself, rightfully so, and it felt like it came out of left field. He chuckles at your reaction, raising his eyebrows, before shaking his head.

“What makes you think that, love?” He continues on if he hadn’t said anything, his voice softening once more.

You still once more, shaking your head. You feel as if you’ve already answered the question– you did– but, there was more than just that. “‘Cause of how I dress… do you even like it? Like... all the dresses and skirts and stuff."

“Of course I do!” He answers so quickly, placing his hand over his chest as if he was offended. “You look stunning! No matter how you dress. Is it annoying you?”

“... No.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry, okay? I love you, you know that, right?”

You nod meagerly, unable to find words. His reassurance helps a lot, but it would still take you a couple days to shake it off. For now, you would keep away from social media– especially those that were dedicated to Aventurine– to keep your head clear.

“C’mon, say it back,” Aventurine coos, “Or else I’ll start to feel a little hurt.”

“Love you too.”

“I’ll settle,” He huffs, but still his voice takes on a gentler tone once more. “Now, I’ll see you soon, okay? And I have a lot of gifts for you.”

WIth that, you two say your goodnights, and he promises you once more that he sees you as a man, regardless of how you dress or how you feel. You felt lighter, for sure, and were quite anxious and excited for Aventurine to come home. And the next days go by painfully slow, your mood dipping and rising equally, and yet, you were able to keep away from the same comments that had tanked your comfort within your body.

When Aventurine comes back home though, his arms are practically full of all sorts of boxes, jewelry boxes, and bags stuffed with Qilpoth knows how many clothes. He had to have someone help him bring his own luggage back to your apartment. He’s practically beaming, the fact that his gifts take up the entire couch was like an achievement for him. He showers you in kisses and praises and ‘I love you’s before he allows you to open his gifts.

He’s brought home almost an entire closet, pretty dresses, some rather formal, and even a ball gown, suits, as well, and a bunch of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Many are adorned with gemstones, and most of those are aventurine stones. ‘For good luck’, he says, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

One gift, however, stands out among the rest. It isn’t big and poofy, it doesn’t shine, nor is it considered… formal. It’s a simple sundress, covered in floral designs, the material was light and airy. It’s beautiful as is, quite striking in its simplicity considering Aventurine’s fashion sense.

“It’s starting to get warm, y’know?” He shrugs, as you stare at it, running your thumb along the hem of its sleeves. “Wanted you to have something to wear, something pretty– not that the rest of your clothes aren’t pretty, but…”

As he stumbles over his words, you look at him and pull him into a kiss, one that isn’t quite heated, but rather tender and soft. When you pull away, there are practically stars in his eyes, and it seems you’ve soothed his own mind. Yet, his face is burning up, practically bright red as he looks away and clears his throat.

“Ahem… just wanted to, uh, let you know how pretty you are,” His voice shakes ever so slightly, as if a kiss was more bold than him proposing marriage. “And I wanted you to flaunt it.”

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[st4rrbcy]

"i could fix her" well have u considered that she just operates with a certain amount of girlish whimsy? that maybe she has a little flair for the dramatics? *i* could love her as she is

[khoizen]

Looking back on it, Grian was pretty active in the mcyt rp space back in its high. Which makes a lot of sense.

His whole Minecraft career did start on role plays after all. He was hired primarily as a set builder for crafted movie and later on went to also participate in some videos for rps. Eventually he made wynn craft w two others from crafted movie (heavily involved in writing lore).

While his main channel never featured his rps his very first posts were mainly from ppl from crafted movie asking how he built certain stuff. Most of his rp content is from him participating on other ppls chanels tho like taurtis & Sam.

Nowadays it just feels a bit of a jump scare when new fans r like what my fave was a mc rp person like what???

But also this is Grian. He has the flair for a dramatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was like a closet theatre kid. While he no longer rlly does rps like b4 we can still see him lean into lore and improve stuff w his friends. W all his different characters. I do think tho the most lore heavy n involved he had been in a while would be evo smp.

Anyway this all goes to me saying that Grian is a closeted role player.

[temis-de-leon]

Solomon x gn!reader in trad goth attire

Characters: Solomon, reader

Masterlist

Anon request: Hey again! ☆ can i request Solomon reacting to !gn reader dressing in traditional goth wardrobe for the first time?

Prompt can be changed to you liking and whether it's in the form of a fic, headcanons or shitpost is up to you ♡☆

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A/N: I based MC's clothes and makeup on 80's trad goth fashion. MC is a lil' black sheep and Solomon (and me) are simping for them. This is set at the start of season 2 in the OG game. Hope you enjoy it!

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Solomon didn’t really think about the way you looked. He’d seen Asmo make infinite assumptions about your appearance and he had to admit he put some input from time to time, but he didn’t really mind. He was content talking to and seeing your adorable miniature bovine body, black wool and all.

And it was that, the wool, what they should’ve taken into consideration when wondering about the real version of you.

There he stood, mere feet away from you, gawking as you talked on the phone; one of the brothers, perhaps? Your figure seemed impossibly tall, clashing against the crowd on your black attire: long leather coat almost touching the floor, a concoction of lace and velvet on your upper body and fishnets making your legs even lengthier.

He couldn’t stop staring; not even when the people around him looked at him in reprimand, surely taking him as a creep.

Then you blocked the phone and his plans of reinserting himself into your life as his usual mysterious self were forgotten. Rushing towards you, still transfixed by what he was seeing, Solomon called your name.

“Over here, MC!”

“Solomon?!”

He relished in your dumbfounded expression, giving himself the freedom to study you from up-close. Your face was as white as a sheet of paper and your eyes were framed by a complicated design of thick black lines. The hair on your head vaguely reminded him of the wool you had as a sheep, wild with no sense of direction, and he couldn’t help but smile at the comparison.

“You’re staring an awful lot and saying little to nothing”

Solomon chuckled, not embarrassed at all, and you smiled. The colour of your lips matched the makeup surrounding your gaze.

“I’m merely admiring you, MC. I never expected you to have this fashion style”

“And? Does my fashion style live to your expectations?”

He checked your lips again and didn’t bother to hide his interest when you bit your bottom one. Its contrast against the white of your teeth and the rest of your face didn’t let him stop staring.

Obsessing.

“I’d say it does more than that”

There was silence for a few seconds, other humans around you going through their lives without knowing what was happening between you two. Did you even know?

You finally laughed and lightly punched his arm, breaking the trance and leaving a certain tension behind. Solomon smiled in return and chose to leave the topic, at least for the time being.

“What are you doing here? It’s been so long!”

He sighed in a dramatic flair.

“Well, you know me… I’ve been occupied”

“And you show up now because…?”

You raised your eyebrows, making him laugh. He couldn’t distract you even if he tried, probably because he himself was distracted.

Your lips were so black.

“I was thinking…”

“You think too much”

“I was thinking. How do you feel about a brief visit to the Devildom?”

He enjoyed your immediate interest, back straightening as you got close to him in delight.

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you miss the brothers, right? And of course they miss you too, so, wouldn’t a quick trip be worth our while?

The mistrust in your eyes was quickly overpowered by your eagerness, the crosses in your earrings and your necklaces calling for his attention when they clanged like a wind chime.

“Perhaps you want to take those off”

“Oh, yeah”

Fingernails were black too, but your jewellery was entirely made of silver and stones, big and small, carefully placed in all your digits, your wrists and everything that allowed to wear something.

It became hypnotizing and he couldn’t avoid blushing in embarrassment when you finally snapped your fingers in his face while laughing in amusement.

Solomon couldn’t help but redirect his vision to your lips one last time.

How would he look with black lipstick?

Care to stick with him a little longer, MC?

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[rottenpumpkin13]

My dearest Pumpkin,

I just watched a Crisis Core Streaming with Shaun Conde, Genesis VA, which is the funniest theater kid in history. I've got two questions here:

Shaun stated that he loved working on Genesis because he's very soft spoken and never yells. Is it true? There are occasions in which you can really hear him being loud? (And he's he loud in... certain fun activities? :3)

Shaun got the note several times that Genesis sounded to sexual, like he's constantly seducing someone. When did Genesis get the same note, and from whom?

• Genesis' soft-spoken voice stems from his upbringing and the way he chooses to present himself. As a child he was consistently taught to speak politely and eloquently, avoiding raising his voice or showing too much emotion to prevent being seen as insolent or unbecoming in his parents' social circle. While he outgrew the need for constant prim and proper speech, he still values being perceived as an eloquent speaker and likes speaking with a dramatic flair to his words (that is often taken as being seductive). But it's definitely not a constant thing. Other SOLDIERs and especially his friends will tell you that Genesis is not afraid to raise his voice at all when he needs to. The man will scream at you.

• Another thing that his upbringing influenced is how vocal he is, as he had the habit of using noises to draw as much attention to himself from his parents as possible. This leads to him to be very vocal when he's fighting as he grunts and yells the most. He also likes humming, whistling, groaning—basically, every emotion has a sound effect that he must showcase to convey exactly what he's feeling (yes even that)

[tomasz-the-hater]

it must have been said already by someone more eloquent than me, but i find it fascinating how lestat and armand mirror each other in terms of power dynamics and gender roles.

we have lestat. 'how can i say no to you' lestat. the stark father and maker to claudia and somehow later louis, the one that the new orleans tour guide mentions as the master of the house, the one that will not have claudia leave. his violence is loud and physical and outward, his sadism is somewhat acknowledged by him yet keeps happening. he almost kills louis when they fight by his, lestat's, own actions. he regrets it, sure, louis responds to his attacks often, sure. the violence between them is open.

not bothering to clean, only insisting that louis does eat. up to a certain point he even finances louis' wishes and whims. he is promiscuous, he gets lover(s), he is often (though not always) the first to make his desires known (considerable considerables etc etc).

despite the attributes that are considered unmanly (flair for dramatics, inclination to theatre and arts, queerness), he remains the more traditionally masculine figure in the relationship. he is the patriarch of the family, or at least he presents himself in that way in louis' memories.

(it, of course, does not mean that louis falls into the traditionally feminine role. the dichotomy of traditional heterosexual/heteronormative marriage is not fully applicable to even straight relationships because it is primarily a cultural ideal.)

we have armand. 'are you asking, maitre' armand. famously a victim, agentless by his own belief and volition. saying louis can leave in san francisco, yet staying in power by a) mind control (yay!), b) lies, manipulation, witholding information and c) care. he is also violent. he orchestrates louis (and claudia's, and madeleine's) death, yet is discrete about it to the very end; he saves and cares for louis after his suicide attempt, yet all of it is hidden behind mind control for five decades after.

picking lint off the sofa, cleaning up after louis (or claiming to do so) gives armand control over what is seen and what is not, what is kept and what goes. a humble servant rashid. it also gives him a great guilt tripping point: whatever louis does, armand just has to clean up after him, and isn't louis grateful for that? while not stated directly (i think), louis investments in art and real estate are the main source of money for loumand. lastly, an ex-prostitute, armand the one to lay face down while being fucked and seems to have no outside lovers (or louis just has more, ie 128).

not completely feminine, as aren't his gremlin nature and the ultimate violence and power that he keeps over louis both in the '70s and 2022 stay; yet armand still seems pretty much submissive, or wants to be that himself and for louis to be dominant (servant-master, arun-maitre), all the while keeping some control from the shadows. he is the quiet daniel's been longing for, the vacuming valium wife.

the first was louis' husband unforgettable through 77 years of marriage. the second was the proclaimed love of his life and a partnership to spite the first that may have grown into love but not enough to forget lestat. active violent power and shadowy mind control. a kind of husband and a kind of wife to louis, both defining him in and out of partnership

[marigoldsandbuttercups]

maybe s/o seems quiet, calm and even shy at times, but it turns out that they used to work as a stripper and they were super famous and made a lot of money. s/o stopped because they were afraid that because of their non-standard work, the skellies would want to leave s/o. For Ut, Us and Uf.

love your blog☺️

Woah That's A Cool Job, Bro

(Why thank ya, friend. I really appreciate that 💖)

Sans: "huh," he starts out, and doesn't really elaborate much on it. You can hear him chuckle as he watches you try to figure out just what he meant by that. And as much as he would like to admire the way your face looks as you think, he knows this is a serious topic. He takes your hand, touch as gentle as the wind itself before pulling you just a little closer to him.

What? Can't a guy have a nice cuddle whilst talking about his relationship?

It's easy for him to disarm you, to have you relax because he really doesn't want you to feel like you're walking on eggshells around him. He looks calm as ever as you explain but you know better, from the way his touches linger on you and how his eyelights never stray from you. When it's his turn to speak, Sans isn't really much for words, but he makes it known that he's always rooting for you. Once he's in love, he's all in, and he will always show that, one way or another.

Papyrus: Not offended in the least bit. If anything, he would have a deep fascination with your job and how you work. He's into it, the flair, the dramatics, the legs! He thinks it's Very Cool™. Papyrus isn't one to really judge people by their personality, especially when he's had experience of people doing the same to him. Sure, he'd be surprised but it's more so good surprise because... He wants to know more about you, after all.

He'd also be surprised when you express your fear to him, understanding that the way humans and monsters view certain things differently is very much at play here. Papyrus also doesn't care how long you've been together, if it's something you wanna do, he's ready to support you and you will never experience any judgement from him. (Your workouts are gonna be super fun btw, he had Plans™)

Blue: After you tell him, he kinda just... Goes quiet for a bit. It worries you, rightfully so as you find it hard to properly discern his expression. But he moves a step closer to you and holds your hands, first assuring you that you never have to be afraid to tell him anything. Blue would want to make it known as soon as possible that he will be by you no matter what, your safe space, your pillow to fall on.

But he also assures you that he trusts you, anything you want to do is for you to choose but he will support it so long as you're safe and happy. That's all that really matters to him in the end since, well, it's one of the reasons he fell for you anyway, the fact that it's you. (Also would probably point out the pretty outfits you have and if you'd model for him-)

Stretch: Definitely do not tell him while he's eating or drinking because he will choke. He would then panic and say he didn't choke because he was angry or anything like that, he was just... Very surprised. And he is! He just gets extremely flustered at the idea of you doing literally anything (boy is whipped I tell ya). It takes him a while to completely articulate his thoughts because he wants to tell you that's so cool but also wants to tell it's okay and that you're so awesome and-

There's a lot going through his mind, and you're sat there in dumbfounded silence as you watch the orange hue begin to cover his entire skull. But! He does eventually gather his thoughts and tells you that.. Hey, he thinks you're an amazing person and he's loved you far too long for anything like that to get in the way. He trusts you, and he hopes you trust him as much.

Red: "that's hot-" and he stops upon seeing your face and chuckles. He holds his hands up in defense before moving a little closer once you're a little more relaxed. He starts small, holding your hand before explaining what the culture is like from where he is. He's not the best with words, but Red does succeed in getting his message across, that being:

It is your life, you have the right to decide what you wanna do and what you don't wanna do. But whatever it is you choose to do, he's got your back, no matter how "out there" it is or whatever. You want it? You got it and Red will absolutely make sure that you can depend on him for supporting you. (still will tell you it's hot af tho)

Edge: You think he's judging you but really that's just his resting face. He's a little surprised by the fact that you're so... Unsure of telling him. He voices this concern, because to him, these kinds of things were rather normal in the underground. Whatever it was, as long as it was a means to survive. He takes this a little too seriously, not that it is a bad thing, but it can be rather daunting when he's staring you down as you're both seated on your couch.

And the whole thing kinda... Makes you laugh a little.

Perhaps from how nervous you are, from how overly invested Edge is, but.. it's.. Touching. He's rightfully confused, and huffs when he finds out why, feeling a little shy.(but you would never catch him admitting that lmao). The dramatics only last for a while before you gather your thoughts and explain and Edge is.. Very gentle about it. It's one of those moments that make you understand just why you fell for him, how he makes sure that you understand that he would never, ever judge you for that. He respects you, and he will respect the choices you make as long as you're okay.