#because truly they are perfect for one another and they understand each other on a level that no one else does

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - A Little More

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where their first date continues, and their work worlds collide (more like bump gently against each other). Part 10 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.3k+

Warnings - kissing, some steamy shit, lovesick Yoongi, just sickeningly soft Yoongi (I might have over indulged, sue me!)

Ratings - 18+ MDNI

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity @ktownshizzle

A/N - I had planned to put it out on the 21st, but lmao—we're going to ignore the lost time and just rejoice in the return of the most perfect man in our lives. Not proofread. Fully vibed along, though.

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Yoongi sighed in contentment as he felt Y/N’s breath fan his neck. He meant what he’d said before—he truly hadn’t felt this at ease in months. So much like himself. So much like he belonged right here, like his life finally belonged to him.

He smiled down at Y/N and said with faux surprise, “Wah! Here I thought I finally found someone who liked me for me.”

“I may not like you for you, but I think I feel a little more than that,” she said softly, before he felt her kiss behind his ear.

A shiver ran down his spine as Y/N shifted in his arms. He could see the blush creeping up her face. Instinctively, he tightened his hold around her waist and asked, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

Y/N squirmed in his hold and, with a grin she was clearly trying to suppress, began fumbling with the remote, muttering a quiet, “Nothing…”

“A little more than like is surely not nothing,” Yoongi said with a smile, her words echoing sweetly in his tired, overworked, now entirely content mind.

It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t understand the connotations. His heart beat twice as fast at the thought of “more than like” from the very person he’d been dreaming of—now in his arms, leaning against his chest.

He felt that “more than like” in his veins, in his bones. And he’d been hesitant to believe it was mutual, convinced it was a feeling only he harboured.

Y/N glanced up at his amused yet tender face and said, “Maybe it is,” though with no real conviction.

Yoongi was lost in the way her eyes sparkled with adoration. He could hardly believe his stars. That Y/N, this radiant, brilliant, maddening woman, was finally his. Well, she belonged to no one, and he never believed in claiming people. But the way she looked at him—as if he was all she’d ever need—left his knees weak. Good thing they were seated.

His gaze lingered on Y/N’s full lips, and his mind wandered to their first kiss. A spark that should have dimmed with time, yet somehow burned brighter with every one that followed. He saw that same longing in her eyes before she leaned up to kiss him.

As their lips met, Yoongi amended an earlier thought. The best feeling wasn’t holding Y/N in his arms, it was the feel of her lips on his. Soft, searching, hungry. More addictive than caffeine or nicotine, he was certain. When she bit down gently on his lower lip, a needy groan escaped him, raw and unfiltered. Before he could feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment, she clutched the front of his shirt and leaned in, anchoring herself to him like she didn’t want to let go.

Oh, so she likes that?

He let out another groan—this one rougher, deeper—as her nails grazed the back of his neck. She swallowed the sound like it belonged to her, kissing him harder, her hips shifting just enough to make him gasp. It wasn’t just passion anymore—it was presence. Like the world had narrowed to the space they filled together.

Despite the growing ache in his body, Yoongi noted this was the safest and steadiest he’d felt in years. There was no fear here. No pretence. Just them.

Still lost in the heat of the moment, Yoongi reached down, curled his fingers around Y/N’s thigh, and guided her leg over his lap. She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh and said, “I might crush you.”

He looked up, catching the flash of hesitation beneath her teasing words. She was deflecting—not out of disinterest, but fear. Of being too much. Of being too real. Yoongi knew that fear intimately.

He brushed his fingers gently along the back of her thigh and pulled her close once more. “Then crush me,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m right here.”

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw and collarbone. Between each kiss, he murmured, “Crush me.” Kiss. “Break me.” Kiss. “End me.” Kiss.

“Yoong…” Y/N sighed, the sound caught between pleasure and something deeper, more tender, as her hips rocked slowly against him. Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging gently until he looked up again.

She was flushed, breathless, eyes wide, but there was something else there, too. Trust. Need. A fragile hope she hadn’t voiced out loud.

He cupped her face with one hand, the other still cradling her back, grounding them both. “You don’t have to hold back with me,” he whispered. “Never.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his face for a beat too long, like she was trying to memorise every inch of him. Then she smiled, soft and sure, before leaning in again, brushing her lips against his with an unspoken agreement.

The kiss deepened slowly this time. No rush. No edge. Just the language of two people learning the shape of something they weren’t quite ready to name. And with every heartbeat, Yoongi knew, it wasn’t just desire that tethered them. It was the terrifying, beautiful promise of more.

Then, suddenly, a sharp sound shattered the moment. A melodic noise. A ringtone.

As their lips parted, his eyes darted to the phone beside him. “Namjoon calling.” Not unusual—except Yoongi’s contact for him wasn’t “Namjoon.”

It was RapMon. It had been RapMon for over 15 years.

Y/N looked at the caller ID, raising a questioning brow, then shrugged as she slid off his lap. Yoongi adjusted himself quickly, trying to make his arousal less obvious.

She definitely saw the movement but said nothing. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat, and answered the call.

“Hey, Joon!”

Joon? When did that happen? Yoongi disliked the bitterness behind the fleeting thought. He wasn’t an imbecile—Y/N could call anyone anything she wanted. He mentally scolded himself as he poured cognac into two glasses, different from the ones they were using earlier.

“No, no. Just having dinner with a friend.”

Y/N wore a pained smile as she battled the seam of her shirt with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. That shirt could’ve been off her if the call had come in seconds later, Yoongi thought, while lightly bumping his knees against hers, hoping it might help her feel calmer.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he heard her ask, watching her grip the hem of her shirt tighter as she brought the phone closer to her ear.

“Sure, we can talk about it.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes, this time, a little calmer.

“Yeah, catch you then,” Y/N nodded.

“You too! Goodnight!” she said, ending the call.

Yoongi didn’t pry. Y/N cleared her throat before speaking. “You know the company’s writing workshop you all have coming up?”

Yoongi nodded, eyebrows slightly furrowed—he hadn’t expected her to suddenly bring up work.

“Namjoon called to ask if I’d be okay conducting a session on inclusivity,” she added.

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat for several reasons. The biggest, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Y/N would be perfect for the role. The next, more petty reason, Namjoon had thought of it first.

Yoongi liked to believe he was a rational man, secure in his knowledge, merit, and masculinity. And he was. But something about the way Namjoon and Y/N interacted, with their shared love for the same books, mutual reverence for the same authors, and matching impulse to laugh at bad puns, threw Yoongi’s internal balance just slightly off.

If he were completely honest with himself, he felt like a lunatic. Listen to yourself, you ridiculous prick! He composed his expression as best he could and nodded along as Y/N explained that Namjoon wanted to discuss the process and logistics sometime next week.

“That sounds exciting, Y/N,” he said, offering a small but genuine smile. He really was excited, for her, and at the idea of seeing her around his workplace.

Y/N’s returning smile, though warm, didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How do you feel, jagi?” The endearment slipped out before Yoongi realised, and he didn’t catch it immediately.

Y/N shrugged and took a sip of the cognac now in her hands. She didn’t seem to notice either.

“Honestly? Nervous. I’ve never worked with songwriters before.”

“We’re probably dumber than your grad school batch—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Y/N whined, but Yoongi’s shoulders relaxed as a smile spread across her face.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he murmured, inching closer to her.

Y/N chuckled, but the sound melted into a soft yawn she tried to hide behind her glass.

Yoongi caught it anyway. “Tired?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “And I have an early start tomorrow."

She stretched out her arms as Yoongi massaged one side of her shoulders slightly. "The final year students are presenting their thesis abstracts, and I promised I’d be extra nice," she added.

He frowned, just a little, “Then stay. You can sleep in, skip the morning session.”

Seeing Y/N shake her head with a smile, Yoongi added, “I’ll bribe your conscience with some leftover kimchijeon and fresh dark roast coffee.”

Y/N was touched by the offer, tempted by the warmth in his voice, but shook her head again. “I’d hate myself if I showed up late or hungover. I’ve been telling them to take their work seriously. I should, too.”

Yoongi reached over to take her empty glass and set it aside. “Then let me at least call a car for you,” he bargained. He had genuinely hoped he could convince her to stay the night, but he understood and respected the dedication she had for her work.

“I was going to hail a cab anyway,” she said, but Yoongi was already making a call. “But thank you. For this. For everything tonight.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched her as she gathered her things, her bag, her hair tie, the sweater she'd shrugged off at some point in the evening. Something about the finality of it made his chest ache.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“Yoongi,” she said gently, stepping closer. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“I know,” he said. “I just… don’t like watching you go.”

Y/N reached up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “And I don’t like leaving like this. But I also like keeping my job.”

“That’s very sincere of you,” he muttered, but there was a teasing edge in his voice now.

They walked to the door together, the hallway dim and quiet. As they took the elevator down, the city buzzed in the distance, a reminder that the world hadn’t stopped for them, even if it had felt like it did.

Yoongi guided her through another side of the building’s reception, towards the parking lot. “Text me when you get home?” he said, squeezing Y/N’s hands before shutting the door and nodding politely at Mr. Jang, who was already familiar with her address.

He watched the car zoom out of the parking area, watched until the taillights faded into the city. Then he walked back into the building with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt something new settle in his chest that was not loneliness, nor emptiness, but the slow, sure unfolding of something more worth waiting for.

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Yoongi stirred awake the next morning to the familiar silence of his apartment. In the few laughter-filled hours Y/N had spent there, she had already left behind the mark of what he now craved. Something about her presence in his space had shifted the rhythm of his world.

But Y/N was gone.

Not gone, gone, of course. Just… at work. Yoongi couldn’t believe how dramatic and off-kilter his emotions and thoughts could feel at times. 

He sat up, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. His head ached, but not from the cognac. It was the kind of ache that came from overthinking. From remembering how her lips felt on his, how her fingers had trembled just slightly when she reached for him, how her voice had dropped to that honest, vulnerable register when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.”

God. That had done something to him. Stirred things that had stayed dormant for too long.

He padded into the kitchen, started the kettle, and reached for two mugs before pausing. A quiet curse escaped him as he put one of them back.

He really hoped Y/N would stay over last night. Not to finish what they started, not that he would not want that, but for her to just be by his side. 

When his phone buzzed, he nearly knocked over the cup of hot water in front of him. His eyes scanned the screen.

Y/N: made it to class. mildly hungover. lots of coffee. miss u already.

Yoongi’s lips curved up before he could help it. He leaned against the counter and typed back with one hand.

Yoongi: should’ve stayed. would’ve let you sleep some more.

Her reply came in the few seconds it took for him to mix the instant coffee in his cup.

Y/N: exactly why I left.

He laughed softly. He could imagine her soft eye-roll and teasing smile. It made him miss her more, if that was possible. 

He took his coffee and walked over to the nearby French window, letting the steam warm his face. Below, the city moved on, oblivious and loud. But inside, everything was still. Still and full.

He didn’t want to name the feeling yet, not entirely. But it was good. It was honest. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something that could last.

Yoongi sipped his coffee, thumb hovering over his phone before typing, “dinner tonight? my place.”

And for good measure, added, “Stay over?”

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Yoongi was hunched over the keyboard, headphones slipping slightly off one ear as he tested another synth texture, low, warm, something that could cradle a lyric instead of overpowering it. The afternoon light slanted across the studio floor. He barely noticed it anymore; in here, time moved in strange ways. 10 minutes stretched into two hours, or 10 hours collapsed into two.

The electronic lock chimed, and the door clicked open behind him without a knock. Only one person did that.

“I come bearing life support,” Namjoon said as he walked in, holding up two iced Americanos like trophies.

Yoongi didn’t even look up at first. “About time,” he muttered, tugging his headphones down and spinning lazily in his chair. “I was starting to hear colours.”

Namjoon snorted. “You’ve been in here all morning?”

Yoongi hummed, sipping quietly on his coffee. “Where else would I be?”

Namjoon collapsed onto the couch with a familiar grunt, eyes skimming over the clutter—lyric sheets, open notebooks, hazy polaroids. “Out touching grass?”

“How regular is your daily meditation again?” Yoongi asked, slurping loudly this time. 

“Still more functional than your sleep schedule,” Namjoon said without missing a beat.

Yoongi cracked a half-smile but didn’t say anything, the silence between them stretching out in that easy, companionable way it often did—full of history, not awkwardness.

Yoongi took another grateful sip, letting the caffeine sit heavy on his tongue for a moment, before turning back to his monitor. The comfortable silence continued between them for a bit—the kind forged from years of shared grind and quiet admiration. Studio hours often passed like this. Few words, inside jokes, and more instinct than instruction.

But Namjoon didn’t come in just to vibe. Yoongi could tell from the slight bounce in his knee.

“So,” Namjoon began, far too casually, “I called Y/N yesterday.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his grip on the cup tightened just a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Asked if she’d consider holding a session in the workshop. You know, the writing one next week. Thought she’d be a perfect fit to talk about inclusivity.”

Yoongi nodded once, slowly. “She mentioned it.”

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back, arms crossed, like he was settling into a lounge chair on the beach—relaxed, but waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“She said she was having dinner with a friend when I called.”

Yoongi shot him a look. “She has friends.”

“Mm,” Namjoon hummed. 

Yoongi tried not to react, but Namjoon’s grin widened. Of course, he caught that.

“Relax,” he added, voice lower, teasing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“We’re not—” Yoongi began, too quickly. Then stopped. Bit the inside of his cheek.

Namjoon just raised his brows knowingly, eyes twinkling. “You’ve just got that smug ‘I wasn’t alone last night’ vibe.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose and turned towards the keys. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, but did not deny the allegations.

“Just observant,” Namjoon said, utterly unapologetic, pleased with his inference. “Anyway, she said yes.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

Namjoon didn’t push. That was the thing with him—he’d tease, poke, gently prod. But never past Yoongi’s line. Never with cruelty. His silence now said as much as his smirk, ‘I see you. And I’m letting it be.’

Yoongi did not say anything for a minute, not because he didn’t have things he wanted to say, but because he could not figure out how to do it without revealing how much the idea of Namjoon calling Y/N first had bothered him.

He hated that it had bothered him. It was nothing. Rationally, he knew that. Namjoon admired Y/N. Respected her. Of course, he’d think of her for the workshop.

But still… Yoongi had known for months now what Y/N was capable of. The nuance in her language, the quiet provocation in her critiques, the way she talked about a subject, not like it was a lecture, but a lived truth. And yet he hadn’t thought of her. Why hadn’t he?

Yoongi shuffled slightly in his seat, stretching out his fingers above the keys. “She’s the best person for it,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Namjoon replied. “I’m excited to see how she handles the team. Honestly, she might intimidate the boys more than you do.”

“She intimidates me sometimes.”

Namjoon barked a laugh. “Good. You need it.”

Yoongi chuckled, eyes softening despite himself.

They slid back into the rhythm of their familiar silence. Namjoon began thumbing through a notebook of lyrics while Yoongi experimented with a looping bassline. 

Now and then, Yoongi caught Namjoon glancing at him, sideways, thoughtfully. Not suspicious, not probing. Just curious. Like he was quietly clocking a change in rhythm he hadn’t heard before, but recognised all the same.

And Yoongi? He let him. He let Namjoon see enough to know it was real, but not too much. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Not until she was ready. 

Every few minutes, though, his mind drifted. To Y/N’s soft smile as she teased him. To the warmth in her voice when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.” To the tension in her shoulders when she’d answered Namjoon’s call. The way she’d exhaled slowly, like letting go of something she couldn’t name.

He was happy for her. Proud. She deserved to be seen for her brilliance, beyond the quiet corners they occupied together. Still, as Namjoon hummed a new melody beside him, Yoongi couldn’t help but think that he wanted to be the first to think of her next time. He wanted to be the first to think of her always.

He picked up his phone and unlocked it. A message from Y/N lit up the screen; she must finally be on her lunch break. “I’ll bring dessert then.” He typed a quick, “Can’t wait,” and got back to the keys, the smile on his lips spilling onto his fingers.

Namjoon looked up from his notebook, surprised to hear a string of aching hope, a shift from the solemn tone that had dominated the rest of their afternoon. “Yah, hyung, I think you got the bridge.”

[shorthaltsjester]

taliesin and laura remain truly so fantastic at making characters who… don’t necessarily have something extremely and inherently in common but do have experiences that were caused by similar sources and that lead them to have quite different opinions/ideas about things but in ways that are typically very reconcilable? which is a lot of qualifiers but it’s a through line of vex/percy with nobility, jester & cad with loneliness (and also god stuff but in a different post maybe someday i’ll talk about how actually their god stuff is intensely related to their different experiences of loneliness), and now imogen & ashton with being left behind.

like vex was this character who technically had a claim to nobility due to her blood but at the same time was burdened because of that same claim. and percy who was born into and raised by nobility but that nobility ended up making his family the targets of a massacre. and then vex who lets down her walls and Do I Look Like I Come From Money? and percy giving her the title grand mistress of the grey hunt because it has nothing to do with blood, or his love for her, or anything aside from the fact that it’s something she can prove herself worthy of simply by virtue of who she Is, not who someone makes her. and percy and vex’s conversation about forgiveness and it’s necessity for growth as probably two of the characters most inclined to hold grudges.

and caduceus clay who gets left behind with nothing but his Belief while his family goes off into the world. and jester lavorre who gets shut inside with no company except her Belief as her mother protects her from the world. and they both get the burden of loneliness and the understanding of love’s nonmalicious imperfection. and caduceus having a panic attack on a ship and jester telling him that the world is a lot bigger than his cemetery and that means he has to break out of his comfort zone to find his path. and caduceus telling jester that he doesn’t think she gets as much credit as she ought to and she deserves more pastries. and jester thanking caduceus for showing her how cool it is to actually heal people and caduceus asking if she wants to use his shield while he doesn’t need it.

and ashton who was left broken and dying on the ground and was given inescapable pain as their means of survival. and imogen who was left behind by the only person who could provide true understanding of the pain she’d one day come to feel. and ashton who’s a barbarian, who wields their rage casually and unapologetically and who sees the Shittiness of the world but is unrelenting in his version of optimism. and imogen who is weighed down by pessimism she doesn’t Want to have but hasn’t cracked how to undo and who doesn’t admit her anger until it comes up again and again and again and carries it like a burden or like guilt, who we only see really Grasp and feel Confidence about her anger being something good in front of others when she has those conversations with ashton. and like. ashton who looks at imogen and sees a superhero. imogen venturing through ashton’s mind and holding his bleeding and exhausted head and saying i’m sorry. i’m sorry. and imogen who looks at ashton and sees someone special. and fucking “we got him killed.” and “no, we didn’t. don’t you dare. […] we are not what fucking killed that man. […] we are his eventual victory. we are his fucking revenge.” and “i’ll be his revenge.” and “i have no fucking doubt.”

and in general rp wise they both tend to make some of my favourite characters (also typically the ones i find most frustrating) because they both tend to make flaws that are easy to hate and they make those flaws very central to their characters but i think that’s also what makes their character interactions so deeply compelling because so frequently it’s like. yes yes these two characters have like. a helix of things they have in common but also things they deeply disagree on but they’re going to spider-man point at the things that are the same and they’re going to honour their differences while doing so. and it’s just. i always enjoy it so much and i was psyched when i heard about an imogen and ashton side pit stop in last nights episode and i was not let down when i watched the episode today.

[dirtytransmasc]

the chokehold Alicent and Aegon's bond, the level of mommy issues the latter has, and just the raw emotion between the two of them, has on me is wild and I need to be put in some sort of rehab I think.

[scootersscooter]

Something beautiful about Will and Jack not getting together in the original Will & Grace. Something cowardly about them not getting together in the reboot.

[kismetlotts]

cw: abusive relationship (not physically), breaking up with Simon, reader is not a pussy, Simons ego is big, Johnny comes to the rescue, taking best friends ex-girlfriend trope?, if you cant treat her right I will, mentions of sexual content, hickeys, angry Simon, mentions of cheating, I wrote this while being half asleep

You were absolutely fucking seething in fury. Red, raw anger pulsing through every envious blood cell of your body because he promised you things were over with her. Swore on lives of everyone he's ever loved, spoke words of rotten lies that fed to the image of him he had made in your mind. A loving boyfriend-truly a fucking manipulative abuser and this time, Simon wasn't getting away.

No more hook-ups, no more late night selfies in another woman's bed just because the two of you fell out- he knew your insecurity and played it like a game of chess and yet somehow; no matter what moves you took, he always knew how to win. Not this time, you'd throw the board before the game is even finished.

Slamming open the dark, wooden doors as the soles of your loved-in trainers slapped each tile of marble. A fancy restaurant that Simon and his friends knew well- full of prestige and pretention. A place where snobby losers and rich cocksuckers can converse without regular, hard-working people being in the way. Perfect for your boyfriend- and soon to be ex.

His gaze flicked to the door, slowly as if he owned time and could use it how he pleased. Reaction not changing in the slightest when he finally saw you almost like he already knew you were the one entering his private dining room. John and Kyle looked over in confusion, John's fingers tracing the stubble on his freshly shaven chin as Kyle leant back in his chair. The both of them oblivious to the drama that was about to unfold and to the way Johnny's eyes struggled to leave yours. Catching his full attention with just an entrance.

"What the fuck 'you want now?" Simon grumbled, lips parted and looking anywhere but your face and you assumed he was embarrassed- not because of his actions, no, of course not. But because you were now seen associated with him. All the men in the room were in their best wear, harsh black suits of charcoal and a contrasting white shirt, the same shirt you ironed, folded and put away for him like a little maid.

And among it all you were stood at the front of the room, dressed in whatever crap you reached for in your wardrobe. Too full of emotion to care, overflowing with feelings to the point you didn't know what to do with yourself but Simon would never understand that. Emotions were a waste of his sweet sweet time.

"I want to let you know, I'm leaving." You spat out, head held high because why on earth would you ever be scared to stand up against him. How could you shy away after he had abused your love and took you for granted? Clenching your jaw tight while wetting your lips, balling your fists up to stop and hide the small tremble the adrenaline left.

The dirt of his pupils holding on yours a little longer than necessary, like he wanted you to say it again and crawl inside yourself- you would've, usually. You would've nodded along to his degradation before walking out silently, making sure to hold your breath until you're in a safe place to cry it out.

Repeating his harsh words when he would call you nothing then ask what you were, trying stop the quiver in your lips when he shouted for you to stop crying but now you weren't his bitch to tamper with. If you wanted to cry and scream you will- without his permission. You'd gauge his eyes out if the two of you were alone and you'd fucking enjoy it.

"Alright then, off you go?" The tone mocking and without even looking down at his chapped lips you could hear the fuckers silent smirk.

"I mean I'm leaving you. Dumping your ass? Breaking up with you because you're so self entitled you have to go fuck other women to hurt me and then fix me up to your standards? I'm done with you, Simon Riley. Officially over." Your shaky hands reached behind your neck as you unhooked the delicate necklace he had brought for you before throwing it with all your force. Hearing the metal clink and sink into his plate of food before turning and heading for the door.

God, it felt good to be free.

The doors shutting behind you with a thud and the same thud sounded in Simons heart. No woman- no fucking whore like you breaks up with a guy like him.

A huff of a laugh left his lips as he reached for the small packet of cigarettes on the table, digging a hand into his suit trousers for a lighter and feeling a soft sheet of sweat coat his back as he moved.

He wasn't scared, or embarrassed- you were on one of your pathetic tantrums again and by the time he gets home you'll have the bed made, food ready and your gaping mouth open and gagging for his big cock. You loved him- sure he tolerated you a little more than the other girls, but you really had a thing for him and it made him feel great. Made him feel powerful that someone needed- relied and only wanted him.

Popping one end of the cigarette in his mouth as Johnny's chair squeaked against the floor. Excusing himself as he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Simon huffed out a laugh.

"Don't bother, she's fine- used to it." But for some reason, Johnny didn't stop walking.

In fact, his gentle stroll to the exit you had previously left from had a developed a little skip in it. Like a little happy child, knowing something good was about to come to him- come for him.

"Oh, I know." The Scotsman voice flooded with an edge of determination. A hint of challenge- humour, whatever it fucking was Simon's gut churned at the sound.

Johnny wouldn't try anything with you- he wouldn't go up against Simon because he knows his worth. Simon is just so much fucking better, he wouldn't fucking dare. Even if he tried, you wouldn't allow it anyway, you always came crying back to him. There was nothing for him to be worried about.

"Then where are you going?" His thumb traced the ridges indented in the lighter before pulling it down and harshly burning the end of his smoke.

Johnny's hands hit one side of the door as he pushed it open, looking over his shoulder with raised eyebrows because- mate, wasn't it obvious?

"To show her how a real man fucks, what other reason could it be, Simon?" The door banged shut behind him. Simon looked over at John who let out a laugh before looking over at Kyle who breathed in heavily before looking at Simon. The three of them were all lost but only one of them was delusional enough to not take it seriously.

Only Simon.

Opening the door to your apartment once the three of the finished up and paid. Seeing the pretty lamp on beside your couch and your figure sat there snuggled up. Nose deep into your book as you breathed softly, reading in the warm lighting. He barley looked at you when he first let himself in because he knew you would be like this.

All forgiving and back to being his precious baby again. Neglectfully dumping his blazer and tie on the countertop, barley folding them up as he ran a hand through his head, noting the silence. A groan left his lips- you were still pissed at him but a little sweet talk from him would do the job.

"Baby, I'm sorry- it was a one-time thing.." He mumbled softly, the lying in his voice so sickeningly obvious even Simon could wince. His large frame approaching you as he leant down closer to your innocent face.

Hair wet and freshly washed from your shower, all comfortable in your favourite pyjamas. His ears perked up at the soft sound of music coming from you and he figured you had your earbuds in. Fingers reaching out to move the hair behind your ear but his eyes locked onto the purple bite marks scattering your neck and trailing down further. His heart fucking dropped. No, you were his.

You turned your head to face him, brows furrowed as you swallowed down the angry words at the tip of your tongue you so desperately wanted to shout out and you bit the inside of your cheek to muffle the hysterical laughter that threatened to surface. His face dumbfounded, shocked and vulnerable. A side of Simon you had never seen before and a side he clearly hadn't either.

His eyes blinking rapidly like he couldn't believe what was right in front of him- like he had lost control of the one thing he had in his grasp. Damaging the artists brushes, breaking the record player not the vinyl- it hurt him because it made him feel weak, you took back what he operated on and you fucked his best friend. His throat ran dry and he opened his mouth to speak when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly with warning. Warning for him to watch his fucking mouth.

And when he turned and looked, there was Johnny MacTavish. Stood equally as wet as you with nothing but a flimsy towel on his waist and a face of pure, smug victory.

"Don't worry, I've got this one from now on, LT."

[romerona]

The Swan Princess; Westeros Version.

The Targaryen Princess is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years, however, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: Reader glazing, like to the max.

You had long understood that the world bowed before beauty, that men and women alike were drawn to it as moths to a flame. The great halls of court had taught you this lesson well—whispered it into your ear before you were old enough to truly grasp its weight.

You had seen it in your sister, in the way lords and ladies alike marvelled at her Valyrian splendour, at the silver of her hair and the striking violet of her eyes. They spoke of Rhaenyra in hushed, adoring tones, weaving tales of how she would one day sit upon the throne, not merely as a ruler but as a queen of legend, a vision of Old Valyria made flesh.

And you had seen it in yourself.

At first, there had been nothing of note, nothing remarkable. You had been but a child, young and unformed, another girl in the shadow of a much-adored princess. But as the years passed and maidenhood crept upon you, your reflection began to… shift. The glances that once passed over you without care began to linger.

You had blossomed into something resplendent, something the court could no longer dismiss with fleeting glances and half-hearted courtesies. The whispers that once surrounded Rhaenyra now turned to you, their tones shifting from admiration to reverence, to awe.

They called you lovely, the fairest flower in the gardens of Westeros, the jewel of the realm. The most beautiful maiden the Seven Kingdoms had seen in an age.

Some likened you to your mother—a woman you hardly remember, yet whose beauty had been spoken of as though it were myth, a thing of legend. Others, in hushed reverence, murmured of Queen Alysanne, your grandmother, claiming you bore her grace, her quiet warmth, the effortless charm that had once soothed even the most unruly of lords and bent the hearts of the realm to her will.

The nobles adored you, vying for your favor as though your mere glance could bestow fortune. The smallfolk, too, had not been untouched by your radiance; they sang of you in the streets, wove your name into songs, whispered prayers for just a glimpse of you.

Wherever you walked, eyes followed. Some were filled with admiration, others with longing. They laid their devotion before you like an offering at a sacred altar—on silver platters and bent knees, eager, breathless, desperate to bask in your favour.

And you… well, you embraced it, even if you didn't ask for it because why wouldn’t you?

It was nice to be admired, to be adored and It was a power in its own right. Not in the brute force of a warrior, nor the sharp cunning of a schemer. No, yours was a power far more delicate, It required no steel, no whispered plots in darkened corridors. It was effortless. Natural. Expected.

And in a place like Westeros, where power was everything, you had come to understand, even at a young age, that even this—even beauty, even admiration, even the weight of lingering gazes—was a power worth holding. A power necessary to survive if it was ever to come to it.

So you gave them what they wished to see.

A princess draped in the finest silks, the blush of soft colours kissing the fabric, golden embroidery catching in the light like spun sunlight. Your silver hair fell in perfect waves, untouched by the wind, each curl arranged just so. You spoke with a voice as sweet as honeyed wine, each word measured, each tone effortless. You let your dragon blood come out just at the right moment. You laughed in melodies, a sound as light as birdsong, and you smiled—a smile that held no sharp edges, no shadows, no sorrow.

Lovely.

Good.

Perfect.

You were the ideal princess. The dream. The fantasy. A creature of spun gold and sunshine, a vision too beautiful to be touched, too radiant to be real and they loved you for it.

Well—most of them.

Queen Alicent’s gaze was always careful, always measured. Her smiles never quite reached her eyes, and her words were always polished to civility but never warmth. She did not say she disliked you—no, she was far too shrewd for such carelessness—but you knew. You could feel it in the way she watched you, in the way her hands curled just slightly too tight around the arms of her chair when your father doted on you without doing anyhting but exist.

And then there was him.

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. Ever the quiet spectre at her side, ever the patient strategist. He regarded you not with admiration nor disdain, but calculation, as though you were a chess piece yet to be moved, a weapon yet to be wielded. You could almost see the gears turning behind his gaze, the careful consideration of what you were—what you could be.

But the rest of the court? They worshipped the very ground you walked upon, their devotion woven into every glance, every whispered word, every offering of favour.

And why shouldn’t they?

You were beautiful. You were charming. You were everything they wanted you to be.

No one truly knew you, of course. No one tried to, no one except your sister, Rhaenyra.

With her, the mask slipped—you let yourself breathe. With her, you were not the realm’s jewel, not the golden girl the court placed upon a pedestal. You were just a girl. Just her sister.

In the quiet of her chambers, away from the ever-watchful eyes of the court, you could shed the weight of their expectations. You could lean into her warmth, rest your head against her shoulder, and let the exhaustion settle into your bones without fear of judgment or the need to meet expectations.

Rhaenyra’s chambers were warm, the heavy scent of lavender oil and burning candle wax thick in the air. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering bands of gold and amber across the stone walls. Shadows swayed with each movement of the flame, stretching and shrinking like silent spectres.

Seated before the mirror, you slowly ran a silver comb through your hair, the polished metal catching the firelight, glinting as it passed through each curl. The rhythmic strokes were soothing, an idle task as your thoughts drifted.

"The lists have been finalized," you mused, your eyes flicking to the reflection of your sister as she poured herself a goblet of deep red wine. "I heard Lord Tyrell’s oldest son is to ride this time. Apparently, he fancies himself a true knight."

Rhaenyra snorted, lounging carelessly on the chaise, one arm draped over its cushioned edge, her every movement one of effortless confidence.

"He fancies himself much," she drawled, taking a slow sip of wine before tilting her head in amusement. "But Leanor says he rides like a green boy fresh to the lists—clumsy, over-eager, more bluster than skill."

You giggled, setting down your comb, twisting to face her properly. "Poor boy. The Reach lords are always so desperate to prove themselves at court. What do you think Father will say if Ser Harwin competes?"

A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Rhaenyra’s lips, the kind that spoke of secrets unshared.

"He won't say anything because Ser Harwin is the strongest knight in the realm," She leaned back with a sigh, swirling the wine in her goblet, watching the liquid catch the light. "Besides, he has no reason to forbid it. He is my sworn shield."

Her words were casual, but the glint in her eyes was anything but.

You rolled your eyes, amusement dancing behind them, but before you could reply, a soft knock echoed against the chamber door.

"Enter," Rhaenyra called, already setting her goblet aside, her posture shifting ever so slightly—relaxed yet expectant, as though she already knew who had come to seek her.

The door creaked open, candlelight spilling onto the figures standing beyond it. Two maids stepped in, their hands cradling the most precious of burdens.

"Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys, my princess," one of them announced, her voice gentle, reverent.

Your heart soared.

Jace, a chubby little thing, toddled inside with an eager grin, his dark curls bouncing as he rushed toward his mother, his small boots tapping hurriedly against the stone floor. Behind him, one of the maids cradled Luke, still but a babe, his plump cheeks kissed with warmth, his tiny features relaxed in that drowsy way of infants just waking. His dark lashes fluttered as he squirmed in the nursemaid’s arms, little fingers flexing, reaching for something unseen.

You did not hesitate.

With a delighted gasp, you all but flew from your seat, reaching Jace before he could reach Rhaenyra, sweeping him up into your embrace. He squealed in laughter, arms wrapping around your neck as you spun him ever so slightly, the movement drawing another burst of giggles from his tiny frame.

"Oh, my sweet prince!" you cooed, pressing a flurry of kisses against his rosy cheeks. "You are growing so big, aren’t you?"

"‘M big!" Jace declared proudly, puffing his chest out as he beamed at you.

"Oh, you are," you agreed solemnly, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you gave him another affectionate squeeze before setting him gently back on his feet.

Then, without pause, your gaze shifted, softening as you turned toward the maid who held Luke.

"Come here, my darling boy," you murmured, your hands already reaching, waiting.

The nursemaid, knowing well this was a ritual repeated many times over, carefully placed the babe into your arms. The moment his small form settled against you, warmth bloomed in your chest, a fierce, unspoken devotion unfurling in your ribcage.

Luke let out a soft, contented noise, his little hand curling instinctively into the fabric of your gown, his fingers gripping tight even in his half-waking state. His tiny head lolled against you, his warmth soaking into your skin.

“Oh, sweet darlings,” you cooed, rocking him gently. “My perfect little dragons.”

Rhaenyra watched you with fond amusement, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “You act as though they are your own.”

"They are mine," you said without hesitation, your voice as certain as the rising of the sun. You continued to run a soothing hand over Lucerys’s tiny back, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath against you. "At least half mine. My sweet nephews, the only men in this kingdom worth my love."

Jace wiggled happily in your grasp, seemingly pleased with your declaration, his little chest puffing out as if he understood the weight of your words. Against your heart, Luke let out a soft, contented noise, his fingers still curled tightly into the fabric of your gown.

Rhaenyra shook her head, though her smile did not fade. "One day, you will have babes of your own, and then we shall see how much you dote on them."

You scoffed lightly, shifting Jace in your hold with practised ease so that you had one boy in each arm, their warmth pressing into you like a shield against the chill of the stone chamber.

"Perhaps," you allowed, though your tone was airy, unconvinced. "But for now, these two will suffice."

Rhaenyra only hummed, eyes gleaming with something unreadable, something knowing. But she said nothing more, merely watching as you held her sons as if they were your own.

Jace wriggled in your arms as you settled onto a cushioned seat, his small hands reaching curiously for the delicate braids woven into your silver hair. He toyed with them absentmindedly, tiny fingers tugging at the strands as if they were ribbons to unravel, but you barely noticed. Your attention remained on Luke, rocking him gently as he nestled further into your embrace, his warm little body moulding against you, utterly at peace.

"You know," you murmured, absently smoothing a hand over Jace’s unruly curls, "I loathe that we must attend this wretched tournament."

Rhaenyra snorted, lifting her goblet to her lips, her expression one of lazy amusement. "It is for our father’s name day. You should at least pretend to enjoy it."

"I enjoy the feast," you corrected, pressing a light kiss to Luke’s downy curls. "The food, the music, the dancing—those are far more tolerable than watching grown men knock each other senseless for the sake of posturing."

Rhaenyra hummed knowingly, swirling the deep red wine in her goblet. "And yet, half the men in the realm will be there, hoping to impress you."

You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion in an exaggerated display of suffering. "Gods spare me."

Rhaenyra only laughed, her eyes gleaming with mischief over the rim of her cup. "You say that," she teased, "but I know you will preen under all the attention."

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart in mock offense, eyes widening as if she had struck you. "You wound me, sister. Am I so vain?"

Rhaenyra said nothing. She merely looked at you, one brow arched, the corners of her lips twitching as though she were barely restraining another laugh.

You huffed, shifting Luke slightly in your arms, adjusting the soft blanket draped over him.

"I simply think," you continued airily, "that if I must be subjected to endless praise, I might as well enjoy it."

"And enjoy it you shall," Rhaenyra mused, her voice laced with amusement. "Almost the entire realm will be in attendance. The Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Velaryons, the Hightowers, the Martells, the Arryns... the Starks—"

At that, you let out an exaggerated gagging noise, rolling your eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "No. You jest."

"I do not," Rhaenyra said, her smirk widening in clear delight at your suffering. "Lord Rickon has sent word—he and his son are to attend."

You groaned again, this time with true despair, letting your head fall back against the cushions as though the weight of such a revelation had physically weakened you. "Must I suffer him again? Have I not endured enough in this life?"

Rhaenyra laughed outright at that, the rich sound filling the chamber as she stood, moving to take Jace from your arms. "Come now, sister. It has been some time since you last saw him."

"And that has been my greatest blessing," you muttered, shifting Luke carefully in your arms before placing him in his cradle. You took a moment to tuck the soft blanket around him, ensuring he was snug and warm before straightening with a huff.

"Oh, do not be so dramatic."

You turned to Rhaenyra, utterly aghast. "Dramatic? Dramatic? Rhaenyra, do you not remember what he did to me?"

She smirked, the expression infuriatingly amused. "Do you mean when you got lost in the woods after he left you there?"

Your eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. "You know, most sisters would take my side."

"I am merely pointing it out," she said airily, adjusting Jace on her hip, "After all, you did set his hair aflame and burned his eyebrow off."

You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "I did not do it—Drakaryon did. But nonetheless, he deserved it." Your voice grew hot with indignation. "Leaving a princess alone in the Wolfswood—he’s lucky Drakaryon didn’t burn more than just his eyebrow."

Rhaenyra chuckled, utterly unbothered. "I suppose you could have called him back before the poor boy lost half his face."

"A mercy he had a face left at all," you muttered darkly, tilting your chin up. "And yet, I am the one forced to endure his presence again. It is an injustice."

"Truly, sister," Rhaenyra teased, her smirk deepening, "your suffering knows no bounds."

You huffed dramatically, flopping into the nearest chair with all the grace of a fallen maiden in some tragic tale.“I care not for Lord Cregan Stark, nor his miserable presence. I shall simply focus on the feast.”

“Ah, yes,” Rhaenyra mused, leaning back into her chaise. “And your new gown?”

That brightened your mood considerably. “Oh! You must see it, Rhaenyra,” you gushed, your distaste for the tournament momentarily forgotten. “It is to be the softest red, with golden embroidery, delicate like the petals of a summer rose.”

Rhaenyra smirked, swirling the last remnants of wine in her goblet. "You shall outshine the Queen herself."

You grinned, tilting your chin with an air of playful vanity. "That would not be difficult."

Rhaenyra shot you a pointed look, one that might have been a scolding if not for the unmistakable glint of amusement in her violet gaze.

Days later, you found yourself—albeit reluctantly—surrounded by lords and ladies, exchanging pleasantries, smiling sweetly, and accepting compliments as though it were your very purpose in life.

And Harrenhal had never felt quite so alive.

The great fortress, with its looming, blackened towers and sprawling grounds, had become a city unto itself, thrumming with the restless energy of nobles gathered from every corner of Westeros. The tournament had drawn them all—lords and ladies, knights and squires, banners billowing in the crisp autumn air, their house colours bold against the dull grey of the ancient stones.

Tents stretched across the fields like a sea of silk, each vying for attention, for prominence. Servants bustled about, tending to their lords' demands, polishing armour, securing horses, and whispering the latest courtly gossip. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meats and fresh bread, mingling with the sharp tang of steel and the ever-present smoke curling from the distant kitchens.

They had come, of course, to honour your father, to swear their fealty, to witness the grand spectacle of knights clashing in his name.

And yet, for as much as they had come for glory, for sport, for politics—there was another reason they had come, one unspoken but well-understood.

They have come for you too.

As the second, almost of age, unwed daughter of the King, you were a prize yet unclaimed, a jewel unspoken for. The lords of Westeros—young and old, bold and timid, gallant and grasping—had gathered not just for sport, not merely for glory, but for you.

And they were eager to impress, to court favour, to steal a glance, a word, a moment in your presence.

The courtyard was alive with the hum of noble voices, the lilt of music weaving through the air, and laughter bubbling like the fountains that dotted the castle grounds. Beyond the merriment, the distant clang of steel rang out as knights prepared for the coming tourney, the rhythmic pounding of horses' hooves echoing from the lists.

"Princess, you must tell me who crafted your gown," Lady Floris Baratheon gushed, her brown eyes wide with admiration as she took in every detail, from the fine embroidery to the glistening pearls that crowned your head. "I have never seen anything so perfectly suited to a lady."

You smiled warmly, tilting your head just so, allowing the sunlight to catch upon the subtle shimmer of your lilac eyes.

"It is the work of the seamstresses in the Red Keep," you said graciously, "though I am certain they would craft something just as lovely for you, my Lady."

The young Baratheon flushed at your words, her pleasure evident, as though you had placed a crown upon her own head. "You are too kind, Princess."

"Kind and wise beyond measure," Lord Owen Fossoway added from your other side, his green-and-red doublet bright beneath the midday sun. "A Princess of grace, beauty, and wit—gods help the poor man who dares to seek your favour, for he shall find himself utterly undone."

"Oh, nonsense, Lord Fossoway," you said, your voice smooth as honey, warm and effortlessly graceful. With a delicate wave of your hand, you dismissed the flattery with modest ease, though the glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "I only hope my presence brings some small joy to such a grand occasion."

While some were more subtle, lingering at the edges of your sight, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to catch your eye, others came with bold declarations—sons of great houses bowing low before you, offering pretty words rehearsed in their fathers’ halls. Even older gentlemen, seasoned lords with silvering hair and knowing smiles, felt compelled to voice their admiration as if their years granted them wisdom or rather an audacity to appreciate beauty more than the young.

"Princess," Lord Lannister purred, stepping forward with effortless confidence, his golden curls gleaming under the afternoon sun. He bowed deeply before you, his crimson-and-gold doublet tailored to perfection, a lion in both bearing and name. "Your beauty shines brighter than the tourney itself."

You smiled sweetly, tilting your chin just so, letting the sunlight dance across your features as if you had been sculpted for admiration. "How kind, my lord."

Beside him, his younger brother, not to be outdone, stepped forward with eagerness, his voice laced with the ambition of youth. ""You need not win a tournament favour—every knight here would gladly fall upon his sword for you, as I would too, Your Highness.

You regarded him with gentle amusement, your expression as measured as it was warm yet inside you were rolling your eyes. “Then let us pray none are so foolish. The tourney would be quite dull if they all perished on my account.”

Laughter rippled around the noble folks around you, the lords and ladies utterly enchanted.

You did enjoy being admired.

You enjoyed the way courtiers flocked to you, their words dipped in honey, their eyes lingering upon you as though you hung the stars. You delighted in the way men stumbled over their words in their attempts to impress you, their practised lines unravelling beneath the weight of your gaze. You had long learned that a well-placed smile, a fleeting touch upon the arm, or a slight tilt of the chin could make even the most stubborn of lords melt like wax before a flame.

And yet—Gods, was it exhausting.

"Princess, your beauty outshines even the sun today," one of the young lords cooed, standing just a little too close for your liking.

You maintained your composure, offering him a smile as practised as it was charming, tilting your head ever so slightly. "How kind of you to say, my lord."

"Tell me, shall I ride in your honour, my princess?" another asked, his grin broad, his chest puffed in obvious arrogance, as though the mere suggestion of it was a gift beyond measure.

You had half a mind to tell him that if he were truly worthy of such an honour, he would not need to ask, but instead, you merely inclined your head with effortless grace.

"I would be honoured," you said sweetly, though in truth, you could not even recall his name.

As time flew by and more lords came and went, each eager to impress, their words blurring into the same predictable flattery, your thoughts began to wander.

Perhaps—just perhaps—you ought to grant your favour to one of them.

Not for love, nor duty, nor any deeper reason. Simply for the fun of it.

Let them fight over you—not for marriage, nor power, nor grand alliances, but for the mere pleasure of calling themselves your champion. Let them brandish their swords and crash upon the lists with reckless abandon, desperate for the honour of a token tied to their lance, for the whisper of your name upon the lips of the court.

The thought amused you greatly.

You had no real enjoyment for tourneys—the dust, the sweat, the men posturing like peacocks in steel—but this? This was entertainment.

To watch them scramble, to see them puff their chests and vie for your fleeting favour, all while knowing it meant nothing in the grander scheme of things.

The great hall of Harrenhal was alive with merriment, the air thick with laughter and music, the scent of roasted meats and Dornish wine curling through the space like a warm embrace. The flickering glow of torchlight caught on the polished silver goblets and golden embroidery, illuminating the lords and ladies who had gathered for the feast.

You had been seated for only a few moments, indulging in light conversation with your sulking younger brother, Aegon. He lounged beside you, slouched in his chair, silver hair tousled in careless waves, his lips twisted in that familiar pout, his violet eyes dark with something unreadable, petulant.

"You’ve barely spoken to me all evening," he muttered. "Off flitting about with your admirers, leaving your poor brother to rot in solitude."

You arched a brow, amused but unimpressed. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Aegon."

"Dramatic?" he scoffed, placing a hand over his chest as though you had mortally wounded him. "I am your dearest brother, your favourite brother, and yet you abandon me to suffer alone in this dreadful tourney—"

"I spent the whole of yesterday with you."

"Yes," he muttered, eyes flicking to his untouched goblet, "and now it is today."

There was something else beneath his words, something thick and bitter, but you did not care to decipher it. You had long learned that Aegon’s moods were unpredictable, shifting as the wind did. And, you thought with mild exasperation, if he had something to say, he should say it.

Instead, you sighed, turning to him with a look of tired affection. "Go play with Helaena."

"Helaena is weird-- just as the words left his lips, the first lord approached. Aegon exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "And so it begins."

"Princess," Lord Merryweather greeted smoothly, dipping into a low bow, his beard streaked with silver, his fine velvets hinting at wealth and experience. "Might I have the honour of a dance?"

You smiled, tilting your head in polite consideration before placing your hand in his. "It would be my pleasure, my lord."

The dance was light, effortless, and filled with easy conversation as he guided you across the floor, his steps practised, his hold gentle but assured. Around you, the great hall bustled with movement—the soft strains of the musicians, the rustle of silk skirts, the occasional murmur of courtiers watching from the edges of the dance floor, waiting for their turn to claim you.

"You must know," Lord Merryweather mused with a knowing smile, "many a man here wishes to claim your favour."

You laughed softly, allowing your lashes to flutter just enough, a practised movement that sent many lords into a flustered mess. "Then I hope they have good fortune in the lists, my lord. I would not wish to grant it to a man bested in the first tilt."

The old lord chuckled, evidently pleased with your answer, but as the song came to a close, another was already waiting to take his place.

Lord Tyrell stepped forward next, then Lord Frey, followed swiftly by Lord Bracken—one after another, young and old alike, each eager for a sliver of your attention, each with a well-practiced compliment upon his lips, wrapped in the polished charm of courtly men who had spent their lives perfecting the art of flattery.

"I daresay His Grace must be beset by betrothal offers, Princess," Lord Bracken remarked as he led you through a smooth turn, his grip firm yet respectful. "A beauty such as yours should not go unwed for long."

You met his gaze with a smile, your voice light, effortless. "It is not my father who drowns, my lord, but I. The offers come as swiftly as the tide, yet still, I stand before you—unclaimed."

His laughter was deep, knowing, the kind of sound that suggested he saw himself above the rest. "A grievous injustice, indeed. Perhaps I shall be the next to put quill to parchment and entreat His Grace for your hand."

Before you could grant him a reply, the song came to an end, sparing you the trouble. With practised grace, you curtsied, allowing him to lead you back toward your table, where the air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats.

You had just reached for your goblet, eager for a moment’s reprieve, when another voice cut through the din of the hall.

"You have tired the poor girl, Lord Bracken," Lord Tully jested from his seat nearby, his round face flushed with wine, his voice rich with mirth. "One might think you seek to keep her for yourself."

Lord Bracken chuckled, shaking his head with feigned regret. "Ah, if only I were a younger man."

"Younger or not," Lord Wylde added with a knowing smirk, swirling the deep red wine in his goblet, "I imagine His Grace will not be so quick to part with her. A rare jewel indeed."

"Quite rare," Lord Tully agreed, his eyes twinkling with desire as he glanced in your direction. "And a jewel should be placed in the hands of one who knows its worth."

The implication was clear and yet, you merely smiled, lifting your goblet gracefully to your lips, sipping your wine as if you had not heard them at all.

Thankfully, before another lord asks for a dance, your father’s voice rang through the hall, calling your name. You schooled your features into a look of effortless grace, excusing yourself with a polite smile before making your way toward him.

And you knew.

You knew exactly who would be standing at his side before you even laid eyes upon them.

The Starks.

Lord Rickon, solemn as ever, his presence a quiet force despite the grandeur of the occasion. And beside him—your greatest annoyance, your oldest grievance, your most persistent thorn—Cregan Stark.

Your pace did not falter, nor did your expression shift as you approached, though deep within, your irritation simmered.

As you came to a stop beside your father, he turned to you with a warm smile, his hand resting gently on your back. "Look who just arrived, my sweetling."

Lord Rickon, ever the picture of Northern honour, dipped his head in a respectful bow before speaking, his voice deep and steady. "Princess, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been some years, and I dare say time has only graced you with more beauty and charm."

It was a compliment, but one wrapped in the blunt honesty of a Northern lord. Unlike the courtiers who lavished you with flowery words, Lord Rickon spoke with simple reverence, neither seeking favor nor flattery—only truth as he saw it.

You smiled at him graciously, dipping your head in return. "You honour me with your words, my lord. The North is fortunate to have such a steadfast Warden."

Lord Rickon let out a quiet hum, something of approval, but before you could say more, another deep timbre of a familiar Northern accent reached your ears.

"Princess."

Cregan Stark bowed, and as he did, you could feel the weight of his gaze. You schooled your expression into something practiced, something sweet, but your fingers twitched at your sides, resisting the urge to cross your arms like a petulant child.

When he straightened, when your lilac eyes locked onto the sharp, storm-grey of his—your stomach twisted.

Cregan Stark had grown.

The boy you had last seen, scowling and covered in soot, was gone.

In his place stood a man.

Taller, broader, his frame lean with the strength of a swordsman, his dark hair longer than you remembered, tied back in a simple leather thong. There was no trace of the sullen youth who had once left you in the Wolfswood, no awkwardness of a boy still finding his place in the world. No—this was a Lord who stood before you now, clad in black and grey, with the dire wolf of House Stark emblazoned upon his chest.

And yet, his eyes—those damnable, piercing Stark eyes—still held that same unwavering intensity, as though he could see straight through you, as though the years had done nothing to soften the way he looked at you.

You hated that he looked good.

You hated how the courtyard was lively, filled with the hum of noble chatter and the laughter of ladies, but none of it seemed to reach him.

Cregan Stark stood before you, rigid and composed, the very image of Northern stoicism. His grey eyes—sharp as steel, cold as winter—were unreadable as they met yours, though you could see the faintest flicker of something beneath them. Something restrained.

You hated that he was so unshakable. You lifted your chin, refusing to yield even an inch.

"Lord Stark," you returned sweetly, your voice smooth as silk, your expression the perfect mask of courtly grace—despite the irritation simmering beneath your skin.

And then you saw it.

The subtle way Lord Rickon nudged his son, a barely perceptible motion, yet it spoke volumes. Even the mighty Cregan Stark was not beyond his father’s quiet commands.

Cregan’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly before he stepped forward.

"May I have the honour of a dance, Your Highness," he asked, voice steady, measured, yet laced with something tight beneath the surface.

You glanced down at the hand he held out between you, large and calloused from years of sword work, and for a moment, the very idea of placing your own within it seemed unthinkable.

But then you smiled.

Not a soft smile, nor a warm one, but something playful, something teasing, something pointed.

"Why, Lord Stark," you murmured, placing your hand in his with deliberate slowness, "I thought you Northerners did not care for such frivolities."

His fingers closed around yours—warm, firm, unyielding.

"We do not," he said simply.

He led you onto the floor, the swell of music rising around you, the murmurs of the court fading into the background. Cregan’s grip was firm as he placed his hands on you, his posture stiff, too rigid—too uncomfortable.

It was amusing.

For all his confidence, all his unshakable Stark stoicism, the art of courtly dance was clearly not within his realm of expertise.

You could have teased him for it.

You should have.

But for once, you took pity, deciding instead to let the matter rest. Still, you could not resist tilting your head ever so slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes as you let your amusement surface elsewhere.

"I must say, my lord," you mused, your voice as smooth as silk, "I am glad to see your hair has grown back. I was so very worried."

For the first time since he arrived, something flickered across his sharp features—just for a fraction of a second, just the barest hint of annoyance.

His jaw tightened slightly, his fingers flexing just a little where they held you. "I had nearly forgotten about that."

"Oh, had you?" you feigned innocence, fluttering your lashes just so, your smile deceptively sweet. "Strange, considering how livid you were when it happened. The smell of burnt hair is rather unforgettable, wouldn’t you agree?"

Cregan exhaled sharply through his nose, a poor attempt at masking his irritation as he spun you across the floor, his grip a touch tighter now.

"A bold jest, Princess," he finally said, his tone measured, controlled. But you caught it—the way his fingers flexed slightly against yours, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long, as though he was calculating something.

Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added, "I see you are just the same childish princess—"

You nearly stumbled at the sheer audacity.

"How dare you? I am not childish!" you shot back, indignation flaring hot in your chest.

Cregan hummed, his smirk deepening just enough to be infuriating. "

That's right, forgive me, I forgot you are the jewel of the realm," he mused, voice laced with something unreadable. "Tales of your beauty even reach the North, you know."

He looked down at you then, those grey eyes sharp, assessing, amused in a way that made your blood simmer.

"If only they knew," he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips, "there's nothing much to you other than beauty."

The words struck like a blade, hidden beneath the guise of idle conversation, wrapped in the veneer of civility yet carrying the same weight as any insult flung in an open field of battle.

Your breath caught—just for a moment, just long enough for irritation to twist into something dangerous but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to you.

So instead, with all the grace of a perfect courtly lady, you smiled—sweetly, delicately—and in a movement so subtle it could have been mistaken for a mere misstep, you stepped on his foot.

Firmly.

Cregan’s grip on you tightened, just briefly, as a sharp inhale passed through his nose, his jaw clenching in pain. When his storm-grey gaze flicked down at you, dark and dangerous, it sent something sharp curling in your belly.

"Careful, my lord," you murmured, your voice silken, teasing. "It would be quite tragic if the North’s greatest warrior were felled in the middle of a dance."

"Tragic, indeed," he bit out, though his voice had lost that obnoxious edge of amusement. It was lower now, rougher—strained in a way that sent a thrill up your spine. "But I expected no less from you."

"Why, Lord Stark," you mused, tilting your head just enough to let your breath ghost against the space between you, "it almost sounds as if you missed me."

His glare deepened, but you felt it—the way his fingers flexed against you, the way his breath hitched so subtly that only someone watching for it would have noticed.

"Do not flatter yourself," he said, voice lower now, rougher. "I only miss things worth missing."

"Then it is fortunate," you murmured, allowing your lips to curve into something knowing, something dangerous, "that I am not so easily forgotten."

"You test your limits, Princess," Cregan murmured, voice lower now, quieter, meant only for you.

"And you test your patience, my lord," you countered, a slow, deliberate smile curving your lips as you let the words settle between you like an unsheathed blade.

Just before the song reached its final note, before you could step away and claim victory in whatever battle you and Cregan had been waging, someone came to stand beside you—someone who made you forget all about Cregan Stark.

Prince Qyle Martell.

The golden-skinned Dornish prince had a grin in his eyes before it ever reached his lips, a kind of easy arrogance that was almost charming. You had met him once before, in passing, and you remembered his words as much as the way he had looked at you, like a man appraising something rare, something tempting.

"Princess," he greeted, his voice smooth as fine Dornish wine, dipping into a bow that was just a touch more theatrical than necessary. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I have suffered long enough watching you dance with such stiff company."

Your lips twitched, amused.

Cregan, however, stilled.

It was subtle—the way his fingers flexed slightly on your waist, the way his hold on you lingered before he very deliberately released you, stepping back. His expression was unreadable, his storm-grey eyes carefully blank, but you had spent years picking him apart, years unravelling the smallest cracks in his composure.

You knew the Prince being there bothered him.

"Prince Qyle," you greeted smoothly, offering him your hand. "A pleasure, as always."

"The pleasure is mine, sweet princess," Qyle purred, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, letting his gaze linger on yours, dark and unreadable. "Had I known you would be so generous with your time this evening, I would have claimed my dance much, much sooner."

Cregan scoffed softly, a barely-there sound, but you caught it and apparently so did Prince Qyle.

He turned to Cregan then, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, an arrogant grin curling at his lips. Despite being a head shorter than the Northern lord, he did not seem the least bit intimidated.

"Lord… Stark, is it?" There was something deliberate in the way he said it—drawn out as if he were tasting the name on his tongue and finding it unimpressive.

Cregan’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a shift in the air, subtle, dangerous. "It is,"

"Ah, of course," Qyle hummed, giving a slow, exaggerated nod. "The Warden of the North in waiting, the Great Wolf of Winterfell. Forgive me, my lord, it is so rare that wolves crawl from their dens— I sometimes forget you exist at all."

Your lips parted slightly, caught between surprise and amusement at the sheer boldness of it.

Cregan, to his credit, did not react—not outwardly. But you saw it. The way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides before curling into a loose fist.

"And yet, here I am," he said, voice smooth as untouched ice. "Standing before you, plain as day. Strange, isn’t it, how even those you forget still seem to overshadow you?"

Qyle’s smirk sharpened. "Overshadow? My dear Stark, the sun casts no shadows in Dorne. Only heat." He leaned in just slightly, like a snake coiling before a strike. "Something, I imagine, you Northerners would not know even if it burned you alive."

You had to press your lips together to keep from laughing, the tension between them so thick it was nearly intoxicating.

Cregan's expression was carved from ice, his broad shoulders squared, his hands flexing at his sides as though he were resisting the urge to grip the hilt of a blade that was not there.

You had seen him angry before, felt the weight of his temper simmering beneath his quiet exterior, but this was something else.

And yet, before he could respond—before he could so much as breathe—Qyle squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him as though he had already dismissed Cregan entirely.

"Well then, my princess," Qyle purred, his voice warm, teasing, triumphant. "Shall we leave the Lord of Snow and Shadows to glower in peace?"

You allowed yourself the smallest, most delicate smirk, and let Qyle lead you away, though not before casting a final glance over your shoulder.

Cregan had not moved.

But his eyes—those sharp, unrelenting storm-grey eyes—were locked onto you, burning with something neither of you dared to name.

A/N:

Helloooo ya'll I'm sorry it's been a while. I have just been busy, and I still am but I couldn't get this idea off my mind...

I just saw Wicked and loved it so if you see a resemblance between you and Glinda, no you didn't. Also, I can't for the life of me ever get any timeline right, and the timeline of HOD confuses me. So, if you are confused about where this fic aligns with the show, just know I'm just as confused as you but it's obviously before ep 6 obvs, please be patient with me.

Anywyasssssss I hope you enjoyed this one chapter. It is a part I because I just can't leave it like that and FYI I'm researching the shit out of tourneys because I have no clue of how they work in HOD universe and I refuse to read the book for my own well-being, like don't get me wrong I'm 100% sure GMM is an absolute machine of an author (obvs otherwise he wouldn't have TV show after TV show based on his books) but just most of the themes in his books are... not something I would willingly like to read. I'm rambling out of my ass, sorry.

Thank you for all the support, for the reblogs, comments, and hearts. It helps a lot with motivation. <3<3<3

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[sweaterkittensahoy]

No one here asked me, but Sean and I have been together for 20 years, so here's the shit I say when I DO get asked how it keeps working:

Base level, we fucking like each other. I do not buy into the "you can love someone and not like them." Fuck that. Like is what turns into love. If you are regularly thinking, "I don't like this person," the problem is that you don't like that person. Love can't fix that. Because the love you need to hold onto when you have a moment of not-liking someone can't exist if you don't first like someone.

Which brings me to point two: Kill the perfect romantic who lives in your head. You will annoy the fucking shit out of each other. It happens. For so many reasons. Learn how to say, "Honey, I love you, but I can't deal with this right now." And, for the record, the proper response is "Okay. Got it." not turning it into a whole fucking thing. Yes, it's very romantic to not get tired of someone. But it's much more realistic to be able to say, "Honey, please leave me alone for twenty minutes," and it's must healthier for the other person to go, "Oh, okay! Love you!" / "Love you, too."

Accept that sometimes you're gonna need to fight it out. With this caveat: If it's the same fight over and over again, that's a fucking problem. If it's a fight over the same topic, but you're on a different point in the topic, you're probably okay. For example: If I said, "Honey, please hang up your towel to dry so it doesn't grow mold," and Sean never hung it up, so we kept going round about it, that's a problem. But if I said it, and Sean DID hang it up, but it needed to be spread out, then that's a different thing. "Hey, thanks for hanging up your towel; please make sure it's spread out on the rack so it dries properly."

Also, be flexible about things you ask for. We have a general rule that whoever opens the dishwasher the first time after the dishes are cleaned has to empty the whole thing. But also, if Sean's running late the morning after we do dishes, I'm not going to call him and complain he didn't empty the dishwasher when he opened it to get a fork.

Think of all of this like the fridge making a weird noise. Most of the time, the fridge makes a noise you don't even register because that's the fridge noise. But sometimes, the fridge make a new noise and WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. That's how I think of relationship work. Most of the time, it's just work that gets done in the day-to-day shit. But occasionally, something is OFF and needs immediate attention, so you need to stop and pay attention and fix it.

But also, after your fix the problem, you need to be accept that maybe there are new noises that need to be inspected. For example, if Sean said to me, "Hey, I need thirty minutes after work to myself when I get home," this would be a new thing, but yes, okay. I will do my best. And I will. But maybe I forget the rule because I have something I NEED to tell him that isn't actually a NEED, and so I greet him at the door with a monologue, and he lets me monologue, and at the end he says, "Okay, that's interesting. But I would still like my thirty minutes. I will talk to you after I've had that." He's understanding that I'm doing my best and still reinforcing the boundary I agreed to. What I can do in this situation is thank him for listening and give him his time and try not to jump him with information again because he has made it clear twice that he doesn't want that.

The trick about doing your best, respecting boundaries, and loving one another is truly just doing your best because you love each other. I want a good life. I want Sean to have a good life. We want a life together. We will build a good life by being honest, communicative, and kind to one another. I fold laundry for us both not because I think it's my role as the "wife" but because it's a way to get me on my feet for a few minutes. Sean does the cooking because he enjoys it. I generally handle the dishwasher because he cooks. He gets the car to the mechanic to get the oil changed. I take Bean on her second walk when his day runs long. Do I WANT to take her out? Not always. But I've been at home with an office job all day, not driving around the city to do a physical job. Taking her out for her second walk may annoy me, but the payoff is that Sean comes home and is so happy that he doesn't have to do it and thanks me, and that's what makes it worth it. We acknowledge each other when effort occurs. We make each other laugh. We talk through things. We understand the importance of being able to say, "No, I'm not into it, but you like it, so please keep explaining it." and "Honey, I love you, but I can't do this right now."

It's really just understanding that good communication means folding in the idea that good communication includes saying things you might think you shouldn't have to say. Trust me, saying it means cutting down on the bullshit of not having said it. Say awkward shit to each other. Announce you're doing it. "Hey, this is gonna sound awkward, but I need to say it" because the response from the person you love (in every version of love) should be, "I'm listening. Let's go" because it's about mutual support and care and LIKING one another. And all you gotta do is give back what you deserve to get.

[8housevenus]

♡ 12th house synastry ♡

a mutual infatuation between two people who either know right away or figure it out when it is too late. the intensity and the constant speculations that happen here are very bittersweet. love only grows stronger when they're apart, and when they're together they feel like they're on a whole different wavelength than everyone else. there's a sense of familiarity here; not knowing why there's so much comfort yet discomfort that plays out in this connection. the prolonged eye contact to apprehend what the other is thinking, and the art of noticing when nobody else does. something so beautiful ignites here. this is a bond that doesn't require much communication, but rather each other's ideas of one another. just the thought of each other is overpowering. daydreaming, or dreams at night. you will never know truly how both parties feel about each other, sometimes this is because they are both too shy to "ruin" this small fantasy, or they both will act as a "push and pull" dynamic. because 12th house is a water sign house, piscean energy can alter reality by distorting your perception on the individual. they can feel too good to be true, and at times given the "halo treatment." this can feel obsessive without even realizing it. at some point this is a connection that you fear you might need to hide from the rest of the world or keep as a secret. both want to appear perfect for each other especially in the beginning of this bond. this can be a long-lasting connection or "the one that got away." this is also the house of inspiration, both partners can learn a lot from one another and emulate qualities they admire in one another. mimicking gestures, phrases, only things you both know will understand. others may look at you both and see the obvious, but amongst yourselves you will never have that discussion. both people are predictable to one another. there is an innate knowing about each other's feelings, but no efforts being made past observations. it is light-hearted yet deep. this bond feels like a wave that you ride just because it feels okay to secretly admire from afar or up close.

[minkiverse]

SONG MINGI FIC RECS

You can find other Ateez fic recs HERE!

The behemoth part two 🫡🫡 fun fact at the time of me writing this san and mingi have equal amount of posts on this blog and thats what you call being double-biased 👍👍 once again unfortunately this will have another part as i could not fit all my recs in this post fuck tumblr but i hope you all enjoy reading about my sweet sweet princess 🥹🥹 and give a lot of love to these authors!!!!

DISCLAIMER none of these works are mine and majority are MATURE 18+, please read all warnings before reading!!!

Key:

✨ - My Favs

🔥 - Smut (MINORS DNI)

⛈️ - Angst

💗 - Fluff

🍑 - Humor

SERIES

Princess pt 2 - @choisanboobenthusiast 🔥

it probably won't be shock that a lot of the mingi fics i recommend are sub!mingi and this is just the beginning 🤤🤤 HOW HE IS WRITTEN HERE IS JUST SO FUCKING CUTE I COULD CRY 😭😭 hes just so needy i- 🫠🫠

Under the Radar - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥 Fuckboy!Mingi ✧ Ongoing

like i said in my reblog i truly can understand mc because i would also be in love immediately with this man that it would be a concern for everyone around me 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ her making him chase her too AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE THAT

Genesis - @songmingisthighs ⛈️💗🍑 Fashion Mogul!Mingi ✧ SMAU

i will say the main trope of this story isnt for everyone BUT IT SURE AS HELL IS FOR ME!!!!! what can i say about this author's smau's they are so interesting with dynamic characters and plotlines but still so funny and i love mingi in this 😭😭😭😭

Use me pt 2 - @hwaightme 🔥⛈️💗 Friends to Lovers

mingi is deeply in love with mc and offers himself up to them and i will cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 hes just so precious in this two shot literally the sweetest bub that deserves everything 🥺🥺

show & tell pt 2 - @jensthwa ✨🔥⛈️💗 Friends to Lovers AU

a friends to lovers trope will always get me especially when it starts with them "helping" each other which makes the realization that they love each other sosososososososoooooooo good 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

the princess treatment chronicles pt 2 - @yuyusuyu 💗 Friends to Lovers AU

oh god everyone in this fic is absolutely adorable 🥹🥹🥹 mingi has a list of how to make him fall in love and mc is doing a real good job at completing that list 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 THEY ARE JUST SO CUTE THIS IS JUST FLUFFY FLUFF I LOVE IT!!!!!

Dirty Little Secret pt 2 - @xosannie 🔥 Friends to Lovers ✧ Sex Worker!Mingi

mc stumbles across mingis secret twitter account and cant stop thinking about it but same of course absolutely completely normal reaction to seeing videos of mingi getting himself off like???????? n e ways mc gets to help mingi in his career what a good friend 🥰🥰

ONE SHOTS/DRABBLES

Sweet Juice - @hongism 🔥 Magic AU

the patient in 206 - @frenchkisstheabyss 💗 Hospital AU

[5:04 AM] - @edenesth 💗

Untitled - @sluttywonwoo 🔥

Untitled - @kitten4sannie 🔥 Supernatural AU ✧ Ghost!Mingi

look at the way i ride - @biaswreckme 🔥

edging mingi - @1ovewoo 🔥

Untitled - @sluttywonwoo 🔥

realistic sex with mingi - @byuntrash101 🔥💗

[12:03 am] - @min-gis 🔥

steamroller - @fallinforgyu ✨🔥⛈️💗 Friends to Lovers AU

this fic..... oh my god..... if i wasnt already in love with mingi THIS JUST MADE IT 10000000% WORSE 😭😭😭😭 childhood friends to lovers, pining, unrequited love (not really but u kno asdfsdfgfddf) and just the sweetest exploration of each other as they decide to lose their virginities together AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 😩😩😩😩😩 its just perfect ok i love them

Untitled - @thetypingpup ✨🔥 Dragon!Mingi

fucking sub dragon!mingi.... what else is there to say 🤤🤤 like him just soaking in the praise and possessiveness ohmygooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo😩😩😩😩

Tuesday | Seven - @sluttywoozi ✨🔥💗

we have 3 major hits in a row AND I AM LOSING MY MIND REREADING ALL OF THEM 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this is some of the hottest domestic smut ive ever read quite possible 🫠🫠 reader is so incredibly horny for mingi AND I LIVE FOR THAT SHIT and damn mingi is down 😩😩

Assert your Dominance - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥 Mechanic!Mingi

Untitled - @k-hotchoisan 🔥

[The Pack Next Door] Mingi: Friends with Benefits - @gamerwoo 🔥⛈️💗 Friends to Lovers ✧ Wererwolf!Mingi

Yeehaw - @desirehorizon 🔥

Kinktober Day 30 - @ateezreactionsandscenarios 🔥

Face Sitting with Mingi - @beenbaanbuun 🔥

Use it. - @a-soft-hornytiny 🔥

NSFW Alphabet - @sxcret-garden 🔥

Sleepless Inquiries - @catkyunie 💗

mingi x chubby!reader - @sluttywoozi 🔥💗

Untitled - @sluttywonwoo 🔥

After Work - @ateezscupid 🔥

It's okay, baby - @ateezscupid 🔥

Make Up - @nateezfics 🔥💗

12:06 - @desirehorizon 🔥

booksmart - @byuntrash101 ✨🔥

i am probably a broken record at this point but god do i love sub!mingi AND NERD LOSER MINGI FUCK ME😩😩😩😩😩 mc is such a good tutor for him wowowow 🤤🤤

Killer Eyes - @pirateprincessblog 🔥⛈️ Prisoner!Mingi ✧ Doctor!Reader

[9:47 PM] - @edenesth 💗

most vulnerable - @taexual ⛈️💗 Mafia AU

Hibiscus - @desirehorizon 🔥

Dear Princess - @ateezscupid 🔥 Medieval AU ✧ Vampire!Mingi

Unspoken Desires - @yourlocaljonghoe 🔥

play hooky - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥

under the sheets - @k-hotchoisan 🔥

save a horse, ride your best friend - @seonghwaddict 🔥💗 Friends to Lovers AU

pussy drunk w/ mingi - @beenbaanbuun 🔥

22:46 - @seonghwaddict 💗 Roomates AU ✧ Friends to Lovers AU

country boy w/ mingi - @beenbaanbuun 💗 Country Boy!Mingi

Hearts Awakened, Live Alive - @sorryimananti-romantic ✨⛈️💗 Fantasy AU Demon!Mingi

tortured cursed mingi my beloved 🥺🥺🥺 this was a fic i read early on into getting into ateez and it is so fucking good 👏👏 like the concept is so interesting (esp for someone like me who hasnt watched any ghibli movies) but catch me sobbing for erebos on a daily basis😭😭😭😭😭😭

Eyes Roll - @jjunieworld 🔥

Wave - @sorryimananti-romantic 💗 Teacher AU

Tired - @hongism 🔥💗

mind over matter - @mingisaddctn 🔥

worship w/ mingi - @beenbaanbuun 🔥

Untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥 Cowboy!Mingi

Untitled - @k-hotchoisan 🔥

Untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥 Dragon!Mingi

brainless w/ song mingi - @beenbaanbuun 🔥💗

butterflies - @hwaslayer 🔥💗 Parent AU

11:15 pm - @minranghae 🔥

backseat serenade - @k-hotchoisan 🔥

boyfriend texts 2 - @beenbaanbuun 🍑

sacrifices - @lustfuldevils 🔥

Rainy Morning - @nateezfics 🔥

Untitled - @sxcret-garden 🔥

Dry Humping - @gingersxng 🔥

Untitled - @dairyminki 💗

Fantasize - @2cupids 🔥

song mingi as boyfriend - @mybelovedwoo 🔥💗

skinny dipping - @byuntrash101 🔥 Swimmer!Mingi

Sour Candy - @0097linersb 🔥

Track 017 - 2Seater - @desirehorizon 🔥

please baby - @starminzoo 🔥

still your biggest fan - @byuntrash101 🔥

Untitled - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥

situationship w/ song mingi - @beenbaanbuun ⛈️ SMAU

Untitled - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥

Baby Fever - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥

Untitled - @justaaveragereader 🔥

00:00 - @iannmin 💗

Untitled - @hrt4yongie 🔥

Untitled - @everyonewooeverywhere 💗 College AU

friends to lovers with mingi - @lxvemaze 💗🍑 Friends to Lovers

Untitled - @cheollipop 🔥

Untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥

Rings of Temptation - @crimsonbubble 🔥

6:52 pm - @323cutie 💗

Obsession - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥⛈️

10:02 - @kwanisms 🔥⛈️💗 Hyena!Mingi

[yujinnieswifeu]

Can you do tomboy reader× who you want

Where reader is a called a bunny by her girlfriend because she like to bounce on her mommy's cock and like when her girlfriend spread her buttcheeks

(G!p idol×non idol bottom reader and can reader wear a bunny head band plzz?)

-💫

a/n: hi 💫 anonn, firstly wanna say that i’m truly sorry for the long update, thank you for being so patient w me yall 🥺. And secondly, thanks for req heh, i think i wrote smtg similar w wony if im right, but here is another one w wony since i think she fits the description the best heh, hope thats alright w you!! Enjoy this one~

pairings: bottom reader x dom g!p Wonyoung

warnings: porn w/o a plot (i’m rlly busy these days so apologies 🥹) , smut, reader is referred to as bunny, cumming on face, spanking, reader calls Wony mommy, choking

———————————————————————

No one knows you like Wonyoung does. The way you would whine for her behind closed doors, only she knew how needy you truly were for her. See, you were someone that dresses up like a tomboy, so of course people would think you were the top in the relationship. What they failed to see was that you truly were the opposite. Which brings you to the situation now.

“Not so cocky now huh bunny?” Wonyoung hisses against your ear, her hands sliding down your back to rest on your ass, gripping the now red and swollen skin making you let out a whimper. “S-sorry mommy..p-please…” you didn’t know exactly what you were begging for as you bounced on her cock, a moaning mess.

You were the prettiest like this to Wonyoung, eyes rolling back, hands gripping her arms tightly, boobs jiggling, and with the bunny headband, fuck. You were perfect. “Whose pussy does this belong to bunny?” She says rather breathlessly, her hands landing another harsh smack to your ass, hearing a cry escape from your lips as your body twitches, your head resting against her shoulder, whining softly against her ear. She removes one of her hand to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Answer me.” She growls, her other hand squeezing your asscheek which was now sore. “Y-ou…you mommy..!” You whine out, feeling her land another slap against your asscheek. It makes you let out a pained cry this time, and she revels in the way your eyes shine with tears.

“I didn’t say you can stop right bun?” Your girlfriend shifts her hand over your neck, squeezing the sides of your neck with her long and slender fingers, it makes your eyes roll, mouth agape as you let out a soft moan. “Don’t. Stop. Bouncing. On. Mommy’s. Cock.” Her hips moves up with each of her words, it almost makes you see stars with how her tip brushes against your sweet spot, the delicious feeling causing your walls to flutter around her even more. “Understand?” Wonyoung’s voice comes out low and you nod your head yes, starting to bounce on her cock again. She groans softly, her hands now at your hips, guiding you as you bounce on her cock like the good slut you were, your moans getting louder which was music to Wonyoung’s ears.

“F-fuck, faster.” She groans, her head resting against the headboard as she watches you bounce on her cock, the headband you were wearing which was bunny ears moving with each bounce, and it makes her cock twitch inside of you. Her hands slides down to your asscheeks, spreading them in the process, your eyes immediately flutters shut at the feeling of her spreading your asscheeks, feeling her tip hitting your cervix this time as you let out a whimper. “Taking me so well…y-you’re so fucking tight bunny.” She moans out, starting to lose herself to the feeling of your walls deliciously fluttering around her.

Her hands squeezes your asscheeks, landing another smack to them as she feels your walls closing around her even more. “Y-you like it? Like when mommy is rough with you bun?” You could only nod your head, too lost in pleasure as you let out loose moans. “Fuck, i…i knew it.” She lands another harsh smack, your body twitches again and she enjoys the way your body responds. “Mommy..! Mo-mommy please please, wanna cum mommy..!” The desperation in your voice has her groaning, her hands squeezing at your asscheek as she spreads them. “Cum for me bunny.” At her command, you came all around her cock, moaning her name as you thank her repeatedly for letting you cum.

It was now Wonyoung’s turn to feel her impending orgasm, flipping you over as she hovers over your face, not letting you get time to calm down from your high as one of her hand strokes her twitching member, the other brushing your bunny ears. “O-open your mouth bun.” She stutters out, her mouth apart as she breathes shakily from the intense feeling between her legs. You immediately part your lips, wanting to taste her so desperately, watching how she crumbles atop of you, hips spasming as spurts of cum litters over your face and mouth, and you swore you would never get tired of her taste on your tongue. You could feel your clit throbbing again at the sight of her eyes closed as she strokes her cock slowly, breathing heavily as some more of her cum spurts over your mouth this time.

When she finally opens her eyes, she pushes her tip past your lips, watching how you eagerly bop your head over her cock, and she feels herself getting hard again. “We’re not going to stop anytime soon bunny…not until you learn your place.” You hum against her cock, hearing her groan softly as she strokes your fake bunny ears.

And that was half truthful of course, Wonyoung was as needy as you were for her, but something that will never change is that you will forever be her good submissive bunny.

[bum-tan]

Honestly, I'm genuinely surprised that Cartman isn't the bicycle of the South Park Fandom and that the ships involving him aren't as enjoyed as other ships.

Don't get me wrong ! I love Creek and Stendy, and I believe they are popular in their own rights; I just find it weird that ships with Cartman aren't nearly as popular as they could be, especially considering the fact that almost every prominent character has material and a bit of chemistry with him in the show.

For instance:

-Cartman's rivalry with Kyle and their complex frenemies/love-hate dynamic with intense interactions due to often conflicting morals and ideals, which is the base of many episodes. The fact that their very identities are complete opposite from one another, but they still share similar key traits such as being stubborn, egotistical, and driven. Their mutual obsession and the odd codependent nature of their relationship where they just have to one up the other. The constant back and forth where Kyle wants Cartman to change and become a better person, while Cartman wants to break Kyle and prove he is just as bad, if not worse than him. Of course, let's not forget that on the occasions where they do team up towards a common goal and set aside their differences, they work efficiently together. Moreover, they get along surprisingly well when they simply hang out and there is no clashing beliefs or morally charged disagreements. But what makes this ship truly interesting is that despite everything, it has been shown multiple times that they still care for each other, which adds even more nuance to their overall dynamic.

-His evolving relationship with Butters, that started off as extremely harmful and one-sided, is now a more balanced friendship. Butters, who is nice to everyone in general, is especially nice to Cartman and seems to hold him in high regards not just because/in spite of being afraid of him. He is more likely to choose Cartman's side every time there is a conflict and often provides unconditional support. As for Cartman, he has stopped tormenting Butters and he is even nice to him on some occasions due to Butters' loyalty. Furthermore, it has been shown that Cartman confides in Butters, which indicates a certain level of trust on his end, cementing that Butters is a close friend he can rely on. Of course their relationship is still far from perfect, but Butters isn't as naive anymore; he is now familiar with Cartman's cruel nature, having been personally subjected to it. Butters will stand up to Cartman when he reaches his limits and openly express his frustration at times because he no longer blindly chases after his approval. Nevertheless, he still sticks around and helps Cartman because he does care about him.

-Kenny being Cartman's best friend and arguably the one who understands him the most out of anyone in the gang due to their similarities like having the same humor, which usually makes Kenny go along with Cartman's antics, and the same interests (anime, video games, horror movies). The fact that they both have dysfunctional households (Kenny's troubled home with parents who always fight, and Cartman being the son of a neglectful single mother); as well as the fact they're both outcasts because Kenny is poor and Cartman is fat (poor, fatherless, his mom is a whore-) which are all things they can bond over. The occasional rivalry they have (the coon), though not as intense as the one between Kyle and Cartman, is still entertaining. How the show sometime hints at Cartman being aware of Kenny's multiple deaths and immortality (more consistently than other characters like Stan or Kyle, mind you) which adds more potential to their dynamic. Their mutual care for one another albeit in an unconventional way. Adding to all of that is how their relationship has its highs and lows, but they still ultimately remain close friends.

-The fact that Stan is one, if not the only person, Cartman is ever consistently nice to; while he may rip on him for having a crush on Wendy and for being too sensitive at times, it's never truly mean spirited more than it is to tease him. Most of the animosity he showcases towards Stan stems from him, more often than not, siding with Kyle during disagreements as Kyle is the most "reasonable" between the two. More proof of that would be how Cartman will sometime go out of his way to help Stan out when he is distressed, without any ulterior motives or grand agenda whatsoever. He will also encourage Stan when the latter forms his own opinion and acts on his own accord, all while disregarding others' expectations. Of course, this is all only when Stan isn't getting in his way, because it's still Cartman we're talking about; but even then, it's apparent that he likes Stan, even if the other doesn't seem to particularly like him. They do have moments, though, where Stan seems to genuinely enjoy Cartman's company when the other kids aren't around. All in all, their dynamic is just as compelling as the others to explore.

-The episode where Wendy has a crush on Cartman and kisses him. That episode clearly shows they can get along when they work together and that Wendy can find him attractive. However, their overall relationship throughout the show is tense and antagonistic; Wendy is not scared to call him out and put him in his place for what she thinks is just, that alone makes her stand out to Cartman because she doesn't match the image he has of girls (His passive mom, other girls at school who'd rather just ignore him, the girls in the media he consumes etc.). While he usually dismisses Wendy or makes fun of her, he does feel intimidated by her, as shown in the episode where she beats him up. Cartman seems especially mean to Wendy since he dislikes being so openly criticized, especially by a girl. However, it can also be inferred that he respects her even if it's in his own twisted way. As for Wendy ? Well, she is frustrated with him mainly due to his obnoxious and bigoted behaviour, but doesn't harbour personal hatred towards him like Kyle. The implications and potential of their dynamic are what makes the pairing interesting.

Obviously, there is also Cartman's entire relationship with Heidi before and after they started dating, which I don't think I even need to expand on as it was canon in the show and had its dynamic fully explored throughout season 20. All of this, despite Heidi not even being a recurring character, as opposed to the ones I previously mentioned along with others like Craig, and his friends (Clyde, Tolkien, Jimmy, Tweek, etc.) which, by the way, I could go on and on about as well (shout out to people who shipped or still ship Cartman's rare pairs).

Clearly, Cartman is a very compelling character, and he has interacted with almost every kid in the show. There are people who have shipped characters for less (Dip, for example, which is also a ship I like, so I am part of those people), so why not ship him sometimes ?

It's understandable that some fans just don't like Cartman due to how much of a bad person he is, (he is supposed to be hated. Afterall, he represents so much of what is wrong in our society), so it would feel wrong for them to put him under any other light than "horrible bastard". Other fans are just not comfortable shipping him in general since he doesn't fit the usual aesthetic as he is fat (I would argue that doesn't necessarily make him ugly, but I digress).

I for one think it's okay to like Cartman and it's worth addressing that ships involving him deserve more love. Does this mean I condone his actions and agree with his problematic mindset? No. I like him in the realm of fiction only, and that doesn't stop me from exploring and playing around with his character in ways like shipping (whether romantic or platonic).

A ship isn't always "this would be so cute and nice, and it's totally canon!" Sometimes it's "This relationship is fascinating, and exploring it further would be really interesting." It's really fun too.

Got too deep there for a moment lol. Anyways, thanks for reading until the end if you're still here and have a nice day. I'm out !

[ythankucaptainmccoy]

Tyler Owens x Reader (Oneshot)

Alright here ya go guys a Tyler Owens oneshot! WARNINGS: Attempted Assault and Major Fluff (Also Tyler Owens being the protective man we know he would be)

The Oklahoma skyline was beautiful as you got your van ready to go. You had gone storm chasing with your uncle when you were younger and he passed all of his stuff to you. When your parents had died you didn’t know what to do with yourself, but your uncle had swooped in and started teaching you about weather. He taught you everything you knew, but he had gotten to a point where he could no longer keep up. So here you were in your small travel van setting up your equipment.

The weather was predicted to produce some tornadoes today. Watching the radar you could see a very strong looking storm forming and from where you were you could tell this one was going to be a good one. You packed everything in the van quickly and headed towards the storm. Your job was to photograph the storms and sell your photos to news outlets and things of that nature as well as selling the photos that didn’t make the cut online for a little extra cash. 

You had set up at a perfect spot and started taking pictures as the funnel started to come down. The pictures were soon to be ruined as you heard a familiar song blaring from a red truck. Tyler fucking Owens ruining another photo op for you. He pulled up beside you with the radio blaring. “Howdy (Y/N) fun day for storms!”, he yelled before speeding off. You didn’t want to edit your photos as you wanted them to be genuine. 

You walk back to your van and sit watching as Tyler takes off towards the tornado as per usual. The rest of the day continued like this and by the time you pulled into the motel parking lot other storm chasers had taken it over. You got a room and pulled your ringing phone out of your pocket. “Hello?”, you answered. “Hi (Y/N) this is Pam with the publishing market we were wondering when the next set of photos would be coming in. The deadline is tonight and we haven’t received any photos”, she explains. 

“I understand. I do have some photos that I can send over of the storms and the beginnings of the tornadoes”, you state. “Well we were hoping to have fully formed tornadoes for some magazine covers. A partially formed tornado or the beginning of the storm is not what we are looking for. Like I said, the deadline is tonight. If you can’t deliver the photos we are looking for we will have to find another photographer. I have to go. Goodbye”, Pam said as she hung up.

If looks could kill your phone would have combusted right there in your hand as you walked through the parking lot to your room. “Oh (Y/N). Pretty good tornadoes today”, Tyler called to you. “I wouldn’t know”, you huffed. “How could you not? There was one right after the other today”, Boone said. “Oh I don’t know I haven’t been able to photograph any without that eyesore of a truck getting into any of my shots”, you state angrily. “You know they have photoshop these days”, Tyler said.

“Except in order to get paid by the publishing market they have to be unaltered, but you YOUTUBERS wouldn’t know anything about that. Not that it matters because the deadline was tonight”, you seethed. Tyler’s team looked at each other at your outburst. You turned to leave as you could feel the angry tears forming and headed toward your room. The shower helped calm you down as you knew that the cash online wouldn’t be enough to keep funding your chasing. 

You were going to have to call an end to your season before it truly started. Tyler and his crew didn’t mean any harm and you felt bad for taking your frustration out on his team. That night you scrounged some photos you had taken last year and sent them in hoping they would take them. Your phone rang and this time it was your uncle so you answered it. “Hey how’s my tornado photographer doing?”, he asked. “It’s going great. Lots of great storms today”, you said. 

“So are you going back out tomorrow?”, he asked. “Yeah hoping to see some great tornadoes tomorrow”, you sigh. “You didn’t get any photos today that you needed for the publisher did you?”, he questioned. “No, the deadline was tonight. I sent in some photos I had taken last year so hopefully they will work, but I doubt it”, you reply. “Do you need any money? I can wire you some if you need it”, he told you.

“No I have enough and besides all I need to do is get some awesome shots and next thing you know they will be begging to use my photos”, you say. “Well if you need anything don’t hesitate to call”, he tells you. “I will. I’ll talk to you later. Night”, you say. He bids you goodnight and hangs up. You feel like you had failed your uncle since he couldn’t do the whole storm chasing anymore, but also because you knew that you only had enough money to make it to the end of the week. 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, but when your alarm went off the next morning you hit the road. Stopping at a gas station to grab some coffee to wake you up you spotted Tyler and his group coming in as well. You continued to watch the radar while sipping your coffee. Boone waved at you which you returned as he was sweet as could be. On the other hand when Tyler waved you just rolled your eyes and went back to watching the radar. 

Your laptop alerted to an email and you knew exactly what it was, but pulled it into your lap and opened it. Sure enough an email from the publishers informing you that the deadline wasn’t  met and that you were technically out of a job. You groaned in frustration as you were now very much screwed. Then as if your day couldn’t get worse you spotted your ex best friend with another storm chasing team. She was more about the glamor of storm chasing than the feel and beauty of storm chasing. 

She started walking over to you and you put on a fake smile as she approached. “I can’t believe you’re here”, she says loudly. “Yepp here I am”, you respond. “I thought you would have run out of money already”, she laughs. “Well I’m a scrapper I’ll be here as long as the storms are”, you reply. “Well I got a call from the publishers and they decided to pick my pictures for their magazines”, she flaunted. She knew that it was your dream to become a world renowned storm photographer. 

“That’s great”, you replied. “Oh my team is coming back I gotta go”, she announced. She went back to her group as you fought the anger that was brewing. You had been best friends for years, but when the Twisted Gang leader asked her to join them and be his girlfriend she left you in the dust. You had no idea that Tyler heard the whole conversation and that you had lost your job essentially. A storm was forming as you packed up the rest of your gear and headed out.

You had better luck today than before as this tornado you were able to get great shots of. The whole day was perfect as you snapped photo after photo of the tornadoes, but then by the late afternoon there was that eyesore of a truck in the way. The pictures you had would be great to get you off the ground with the publishers so you called it a day. You checked your bank account and decided to sleep in your van since you had a shower last night. 

You emailed the publishers, but they replied that they had found another source. You were disappointed as you willed the tears away. You were just going to have to try harder tomorrow and get the perfect shots. You were setting up the small awning/tent your uncle had gifted you for your birthday up when Tyler and his crew pulled into the lot. You hadn’t eaten since that morning, but you had gone over numbers in your head and decided skipping meals today would extend the money a little bit. 

You watched as Boone set up a small grill then Tyler took over the cooking for the group. You pulled out your sketchbook and started to sketch Tyler and the rest of his group. It had been a hobby of yours when you and your uncle had strom chases in the past. Tyler would glance at you every once in a while watching you work trying to figure out what you were working on. You had to admit that Tyler was handsome as much as he could be a pain. 

You were almost finished when you saw Boone heading towards you. “Hey the group wanted to know if you wanted to join us for dinner”, he said. You were about to say no until you saw his puppy look and agreed to come over. “Well look who decided to join us”, Tyler joked. “I only came over because Boone is too convincing and there was free food”, you snarked. Tyler’s smile only widened as you pulled out your sketchbook again. 

Tyler and Boone worked effortlessly to plate food and distribute it. You had just finished your sketch as Tyler walked over with a plate for you. “What ya workin’ on?”, he asks. “Oh just a sketch nothing more”, you reply as you take the plate and dig in. Tyler snatches the sketchbook as you try to protest when he lands on the page you were just working on. He admires the sketch, but he can’t help but notice how much detail you have put into him in this sketch. You had captured him perfectly in the moment as he looked at you. 

“(Y/N) this is amazing”, he admires. “Thanks”, you whisper. Once you were done eating you thanked the Tornado Wrangler’s team and headed for your van. You pulled some covers out and put a chair up. The night was startinging to get cold as you wrapped your blanket around yourself. You weren’t asleep for long when the wind started to pick up and it started raining hard. You frantically start packing everything away into the van, but by the time you got everything in you were already soaked to the bone.

You climbed in and pulled the side door shut as the rain hit hard. The rain didn’t seem like it would be stopping any time soon so you decided to run for the small vending machines under the balcony of the second story motel. You had just got your soda and sat there for a minute as the air seemed to get colder. “Hi honey want to come in and get warm?”, a voice called out. The man standing in the doorway of his motel room was disheveled and greasy looking. “No thanks I’m good”, you responded. He walked out of his room and approached you as you tried to stay some distance away from him.

“Look I’m not interested”, you say loudly. It was late and no one was in the parking lot with this type of rain. “Look I think I could warm you up come on”, the guy said creepily. “I said I’m good”, you said even louder. He was getting too close as you told him to back off and when he grabbed you pushing you against the wall you screamed. “SHUT UP”, he bellowed. You didn’t as his other hand went to your chest. A blur to your left caught you off guard as a resounding thud filled your ears and the man that was holding you against the wall went flying. 

When your brain caught up you realized the man had been punched, and when you look to your left Tyler stands there like a raging bull. His nostrils flare as the heat in his gaze tells you all you need to know that he is angry. He strides forward grabbing the man by the shoulder and pulling him up and pushing him against the wall. “How does it feel, jackass”, Tyler growled. You stood there as he held the man against the wall and punched him again. 

“Tyler”, you whispered. He hit the man again before you found your voice again, “Tyler!”. He stopped and turned toward you to take you in making sure you weren’t hurt. “If you ever touch ‘er again I’ll kill ya’ understand”, Tyler drawled. He threw the man to the ground and made his way over to you. “Are you okay?”, he asked. You nodded as a shiver ran through your body. “I’ll walk you back to your room”, he says. “Oh I’m staying in my van”, you respond. 

Tyler looks as if you slapped him with your confession. “No you’re not sleeping in that van. You can stay with me. You can take a shower and have the bed. I’ll take the floor”, he says. You don’t even get to protest as he starts walking you towards his room. Once in the room Tyler goes into the bathroom to start the shower as the realization hits you that that man could have done something horrible to you had it not been for Tyler.

You slid to the floor as the first choked sob hit you. Tyler must have heard it because he was kneeling in front of you cupping your face into his hands. “I got ya’ (Y/N). You’re alright sweetheart”, he soothed. “He could have…have..”, you hiccuped. “No sweetheart I’d never let that happen to ya’ just breathe for me”, he tried. He let you cry as he pulled you up and helped you into the bathroom to let you sit on the sink.

He waited until you had stopped crying as you became silent. “The shower is hot and here are a pair of sweats, t-shirt and hoodie if you want it”, he tells you. “I’ll be right outside this door if you need me sweetheart”, he tells you. You nod at him as he closes the door leaving you alone in the bathroom. You shed your wet clothes and climb into the hot shower as it chases some of the chill from you. After getting done you dry off and pull on all of the clothes he had left you pulling a hoodie that swallowed you and smelled like Tyler over your head. 

You quickly style your hair and walk into the main room as Tyler was making a small cot on the floor. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. I don’t mind sharing the bed. I trust you”, you tell him. He seems to deliberate his options as you wait for him to decide. “After you then”, he says. You climb in as he waits for you to get settled then climbs into his side. “Thank you”, you say softly. “You’re welcome sweetheart”, he replied.

You were shivering within a few minutes and Tyler noticed. “Come ‘ere I’m not gonna’ let ya’ freeze tonight”, he says. He lays on his side and pulls you to his chest as you look up at him. “You know you’re nothing like what the other chasers say you are”, you say. “Well I appreciate it”, he chuckles. You take him in and realize even with how much you bickered with him or fought over his eyesore of a truck getting in your photos you had fallen for him.

Tyler furrows his brows as you bring your hand up and trace his lips with your fingers. His breath seems to catch as you take in his facial features before you come back to his eyes that you swear can see straight to your soul. Without hesitating you slowly lean up towards him to give him plenty of time to back out, but he stays pupils dilating slightly in the glow of the lamp on the table beside the bed. 

You close your eyes as does he as your lips meet. Tyler lets you lead as you test the waters by nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles then and presses his lips a little harder against yours then full on kisses the breath out of you. When you both pull away you're both smiling and Tyler reaches up to place a strand of hair behind your ear. You both share some more kisses until Tyler cuts you off. “I’m a gentleman and I think that’s enough for tonight. Another thing you’re riding with us tomorrow and no protests. I’m going to help you get your job back”, he tells you. 

You sleep like a rock that night in Tyler���s arms and the next morning he wakes you. The Tornado Wrangler team watches as you walk to your van dressed in Tyler’s clothes with little smiles of their own. When you come back with your camera Tyler lets the team know you would be joining them for the day. Tyler made sure to drive you right up and into some of the tornadoes giving you amazing shots that were guaranteed to get your job back. Tyler was smiling and happy as you rode shotgun as Boone would load the rockets in the back seat.

As the team took a break Tyler watched you from a distance playing with your camera. He had to admit he loved when you would call his truck an eyesore and go toe to toe with him. He wanted to hear your voice more often and see your smile. “I’m gonna’ aske ‘er to join the team”, Tyler tells Boone. “I like her already so you know I don’t have a problem”, Boone says. The other team members agree as Tyler announces it’s time to roll as another cell starts to look better by the minute.

By the end of the day you submit your photos and receive an immediate response. The job was yours again and you ran to tell Tyler. In your excitement you run and tackle him in a hug that ends with you both crashing to the ground. “I got my job back”, you exclaim. “That’s amazing I knew you could do it sweetheart”, he tells you. The other Wrangler team members turn away as if they found something better to do as Tyler pulled you down to kiss him. “Chase with us. With me?”, Tyler asked. You sat there stunned for a moment and then you nodded saying yes. Tyler was excited to bring you into the fold. “Even if you have to ride in my truck”, he jokes. “I’ll follow you and that eyesore anywhere”, you reply as you share a kiss there in the parking lot.

[julietcpulet]

The Verdigris Sisters and Romance

This is something I thought of when another poster commented about Lihaku and Pairin and the progression of their relationship. It made me think about the four women of the Verdigirs house potentially representing 4 different kinds of love and romance. Each is supposed to show different depths of what love can look like, or lack of for that matter, and the choices made to lead in that direction. Basically my thoughts are: Meimei - unrequited love, Pairin - casual love, Joka - bitter love and Maomao - true love. I’ll explain why for each one below. (Spoilers under the cut)

Meimei - She represents unrequited love or remaining single against one’s wishes. Although it can be seen that Meimei is romantic and has felt love, her feelings go unmet. She expresses a desire to be bought out of the Verdigris House but isn’t and we even have some idea that she wished Lakan had bought her out but knew that wasn’t much of a possibility. Even when she is finally taken it’s because of her skills at Go, not a romantic notion. So her representation is that of a woman who remains single and fulfills other ambitions but likely against what her heart truly wishes.

Pairin - She represents casual love or remaining single because she’s unable to accept love that’s already there. This one may be controversial due to how some view her and Lihaku’s relationship. However, I’ve never seen it as particularly “romantic”. We value his devotion to her because she’s the only one in his eyes, but that’s not reciprocated from her direction. She still acts as if she’s waiting for a prince even though Lihaku adores her only and has spent years coming to see her. To me Pairin’s affection for Lihaku isn’t love, it’s casual affection of convenience, wanting to keep Lihaku around for what he gives her without equal reciprocation. In the light novel it’s been 6+ years and yet there has been no movement past this casual state of their relationship. We see Lihaku’s love as pure because he’s not with anyone else but Pairin is not shown to give the same level of affection. People will claim it’s due to her life as a courtesan but as Maomao says she only has to take costumers occasionally but instead takes customers because she wants to and is, to put it frankly, a sex addict. This shows that while Pairin says she wants a white knight to come and take her away, she’s too addicted to her current lifestyle and the fantasy she’s created to ever leave. As it’s been made clear she has enough money to leave the Verdigris House and the madam would even let her go to a suitor for half the price if it was her wish, yet she stays. As such I feel it shows she an Lihaku are forever in this “casual” place where one wants more but Pairin will remain single because of unrealistic expectations and not being honest that she may just like being a courtesan and having multiple sexual partners too much.

Joka - She represents bitter love or being single because of unwillingness to move past hurts and form actual relationships. It’s clear from interactions with Maomao and how she’s described as a courtesan that Joka is a difficult person, harsh and critical, who has trust issues. She throws barbs at Maomao about being a whore’s daughter and is almost a copy of the miserly madam. Instead of being willing to see how Maomao is growing she insults her and says she cannot have a normal romance but must be like Joka herself, rejecting people. It’s suggested that she will one day be the one to take over the Verdigris House as well, showing that because she cannot learn how to move past her own problems she will stay in the same cycle of bitterness collecting only what’s valuable to her which has become money.

Maomao - She represents true love or love that is fulfilled through growing friendship, understanding and romantic connection. While Maomao isn’t perfect and neither is her past she hasn’t let that be a deterrent to creating meaningful relationships with others, namely Jinshi. Even though she’s immensely skeptical and shrugs off or denies the possibility he could love her because of who she is and her own devaluation of herself, she comes to realize he does want her and this realization leads to communication. This willingness to open up to possibility, to friendship, to romantic love is where Maomao differs from her sisters. As all of them have gone unfulfilled in romance not just because they’re courtesans but also because they make choices that can close them off from others. While Maomao has this tendency due in part to her sisters upbringing, she’s learning to actively go against it and pursue what’s between her and Jinshi. Even when she’s doubtful he will want what she has to give because she sees her own feelings as “lukewarm” compared to his deeper ones she pushes forward anyway and we know that Jinshi doesn’t devalue her reciprocation at all. To this end she exemplifies the chance at true love.

This is all just speculation on my part, I’m not sure if the author intended any such correlation or not it’s just what I picked up from seeing the women’s stories unfold and how they’re each on these particular paths (or lack there of).

[morphean42]

Trina and Marvin are so very tragic and I feel like people don’t understand them. Fundamentally, people don’t understand Trina, and that’s detrimental to them both, because Trina is so very similar to Marvin. She’s quick to anger, she’s loud, she’s mean, she’s sweet, she’s loving the people around her the best she can even when everything in her life is hurting her.

Marvin and Trina are perfect for each other, really. They compliment each other in a toxic way, yes, but it’s no different than Whizzer and Marvin. In another world they would have been able to work out, given time to work on themselves the way Whizzvin did between acts. Yet, of course, the problem is that Marvin cannot love Trina because he is not straight.

The tragedy of Marvin and Trina is not ‘Marvin doesn’t love Trina because he’s gay’ it’s ‘Marvin loves Trina but he’s gay’. It’s ‘Marvin wants to love Trina but he can’t’. It’s ‘Marvin and Trina match each other but they can’t ever work’.

I am a gay man. I dated a woman for a very long while, in my own opinion, though not quite ‘ten year marriage with a kid’ type long. My girlfriend was in many ways perfect— perhaps in every way she was perfect. I would have married her, I think… but I couldn’t. Because as much as I loved her, I didn’t love her, due to the fact that I am gay.

This is where Trina and Marvin sit, and it’s in this space where their respective characters can be seen and analysed very deeply. Marvin would have been happy and perfect with Trina (so long as he had some actual good therapy and got over some anger issues), so it’s not the fact that he’s realising he doesn’t love her, it’s the fact that he feels broken because he should, if not her, then who?

For Trina, well, she hates Marvin and Whizzer because this is the proof that she did nearly everything right. She’s smart, she knew Marvin was cheating for quite a long while before she found him in that den. Trina must have thought that she did something wrong, that somehow she wasn’t a good wife, but the truth was of course that she did everything right. And that still wasn’t enough.

Trina hates Whizzer, and Marvin, because she is the same as them in every way. She hates Whizzer because they are quite truly the same person, and Marvin loves him over her because Whizzer is the one thing she can and will never be— a man.

In conclusion, Marvin and Trina are tragic not because they don’t love each other but because they do and it wasn’t enough.

[moonfireshadow]

Rewatched Saltburn and I'm obsessed with Farleigh and Oliver's tutoring scene. The essay specifically. For those who don't remember: Oliver did his homework and all his assignments and genuinely gave a well thought out essay for their summer assignments. Farleigh shows up hungover and late and didn't even read the books. But the teacher immediately loves Farleigh and is chatting him up with an interest he barely tried to show Oliver. Even after Oliver gives his presentation and shows that he's clearly a much better student than Farleigh. Obviously this is the real start of their rivalry. But it's also such a beautiful look into their characters and how they mirror eachother. Farleigh understands Oliver's essay, I believe. But like the teacher he's bored by it. The knowledge and work is there, but the presentation of it is boring and strange. Academic and correct, but lacking the appeal to the audience. (Which, can we talk about the fact Farleigh was genuinely listening at all? The teacher zoned out and switched channels, but Farleigh was interested and paying enough attention to know the exact number of times Oliver used the word "thus" in his essay. They respect each other truly even if they despise eachother at this point, and refuse to acknowledge the grudging respect.) So Farleigh does what he does best, he gloats over Oliver. He picks apart the style of the essay and it's presentation rather than addressing the central argument or topic. This delights the teacher and frustrates Oliver who is like, "so you're going to critique the style of my essay rather than it's substance? Seems a bit lazy" and that's the core component of these two characters.

Farleigh is ALL about presentation. He knows how fragile his pedistal is placed up and in view for everyone to see. He's a charity project, just like every other rando of the month. Sure he has some familiar connection, and that's given him a leg up in this world. But it's still shakey at best. He always has to give the correct performance, say the right words, keep his audience on HIS side. Unless he wants to get knocked down with the rest of the common rabal that he knows he's belongs with, but can't stand the idea of. So yes, of course he picks apart the one thing he knows Oliver is failing at. He takes his one advantage over Oliver and uses it mercilessly to both entertain and secure his audience on his side. (I wonder if the positions had been different some how, if Farleigh would have had anything to say about the substance of the essay itself. He was paying attention to it, did he want to have a real academic conversation? Did he possibly want to try and connect to Oliver in that way? A real and non performative way with someone who's so similar to him?)

As for Oliver, obviously his character is intelligent. He does the readings. He does the research. He puts the time and effort in to *learn* in the way Farleigh never does. And it must infuriate him that his essay is so easily pushed to the side for a cheep critique that doesn't even address the central argument of his essay. Of course he would hate Farleigh from the start for that. It's such a quick negation of all that Oliver has to offer and give just because it's not wrapped up in a pretty bow. And that's just his character. The substance is there, the intelligence is there. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. Because Oliver doesn't know how to translate it to his audience in a way they'll care about. He learns and tries to mimic, but it always falls short because he just can't seem to figure out the way to blend in and present himself so seamlessly as Farleigh.

And that's why they're such perfect mirrors of each other. They're both intelligent and clever. But they've found different ways of getting what they want and proving themselves. Farleigh is the face and the presentation, Oliver is the substance and body. In another world imagine what these two could have done and been if they hadn't been pitted against each other for the same prize. And the fact Oliver definitely deliberately shoved Farleigh out at the perfect time so he wouldn't get hurt and killed? Oliver and Farleigh respect and admire the other. But their tragedy is they can never be on the same page or team because the world they're in says there is only room for one. And they'd both do anything to get that title.

[rubiehart]

thinking about how childhood!best friend trope for jj is just perfect for him

obviously he has this deep rooted belief from his dad that he’s unlovable and he’ll never be worth anything more than any other maybank before him, so whenever a girl would inevitably fall for his charming personality he might just per-sue it for one night, ending in pleasure for both parties but then pushing her away when he’d receive a text asking to meet up somewhere for a casual date after ushering her out of the chateau at early hours in the morning, making up excuses or just straight up ghosting the poor girl because he truly believes nobody could ever love him so he’d rather just not suffer the heartbreak of losing someone and just not even try.

this is how he ends up with his reputation of being a ‘heartbreaker’, girls not wanting to get involved with someone like him at risk of being heartbroken by his reckless behaviour, the only person that would truly understand him is his childhood best friend, having seen everything he’s been through his whole life.

always being the first to comfort him after an unpleasant altercation with his dad, always the first he goes to for advice about girls;, swinging head to toe in the hammock as the sun sets over the horizon sharing a j, legs tangled together, both of them focusing on ignoring the life long tension between you, but it was never awkward, nothing could ever be awkward with each others, you knew everything about one another so there really was nothing to hide.

he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you were, despite knowing you pretty much his whole life, you’d really grown into your looks and he’d argue you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but he’d never actually admit it, he wasn’t about to risk such an important friendship for something that wouldn’t be fail proof, love just wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t planning on changing his opinion any time soon, so he casts his gaze away from your lips, tuning back into whatever you were rambling about.

on particularly hot summer days in the banks, all the pogues gathered together like normal on the hms pogue, you sat on the bow, legs slung over jj’s lap, ray-bans he got from who knows where perched on his head, pushing back his blonde mop in a way that made his freckled nose stand out on the beaming sun, occasionally stealing sips of his beer, bringing the glass bottle to your lips and sucking, an innocent act but it meant much more to jj, especially with your tits pressed together deliciously by the triangles of your new red bikini, the thong so small that if he looked long enough he could make out the outline of your chubby cunt, the thought making his dick twitch in his swim trunks.

but it didn’t mean anything, right? that’s what he told himself that night when he had his right hand gripping his cock desperately, other hand gripping the sheets as he tried to conceal his groans, the mental image of your lips wrapped around the bottle and the way your tits pressed together perfectly in your bikini spurring his orgasm on. after he came he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thoughts of you consuming his mind. but it didn’t mean anything, none of this meant he was in love or even liked you in that way at all, you were his best friend and no matter what he was keeping it that way.

he told himself this continually, anytime he felt his heart pang when your touch would linger on him for a little longer than the other guys. it’s because you’re best friends. anytime it was him you’d go to for guy problems, spilling your sex stories to him when you had even a drop of alcohol in your system. it’s because you’re best friends. she just trusts you. he told himself this when his first instinct after any fight was to run to you and break down in your arms and let you clean his wounds because he felt safe with you, knowing you wouldn’t judge him for the way he felt, the only person in the world who understood him. it’s because you’re best friends, no other reason.

he told himself this until the answer to his feelings was staring him in the face, literally. your naked frame splayed out on the same bed he’d busted to the thought of you on multiple occasions. he realised it then, he loved you, but he had loved you long before that, long before the lingering touches, long before you grew into your beauty, long before the jealousy of other guys getting to touch what was now finally his, he’d always loved you, before he even really knew what love was.