#but this joy is overpowering it is everything

[spinnysocks]

hey so after struggling for over 6 months i've just been accepted for the course of my dreams. i'm officially going into wildlife conservation. never EVER give up, good things are waiting for you

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; three

wc ; 3745 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect

prologue, one, two, three, four, tbc..

Sometimes it feels like there is someone puppeteering you into the worst scenarios possible.

It started when finally, after days of contacting every single landlord in Gotham and Bludhaven, one kind old man reached back. The house he was willing to rent you wasn’t half bad either, certainly no Wayne Manor but a small apartment about a convenience store would suffice.

After regressing, you were stuck in a loop of tears and anger and whatever strange, uncomfortable feeling you got whenever you were reminded of your weird interaction with Dick.

But finally, light at the end of the rainbow! You could cry (of joy this time), but you’ve no time for tears. Not when you’re faced with a big, overpowering problem. Leaving the Manor.

Now, in the past, you could just get up and leave, however after your run-in with Damian and Dick, you’re apprehensive to leave your room. What if you’re ambushed again? By Tim? Or Jason? Or heaven forbid, Dick again? Terrifying! You don’t have time to dilly dally, not when Mr. Kim is waiting in your future home.

So, you’re very on edge, looking around every corner with apprehension, bracing yourself for anything and everything. When you finally reach the door, unharmed, you let out a deep sigh, only to hear a voice behind you.

“Master (Name).”

What now? You whip your head around, a sense of deja vu hitting you, oh, it’s just Alfred. You let out a sigh, glad it’s not Dick with his strange shenanigans. “Alfred, is everything alright?” You smile, out of everyone, Alfred is the one you love most, the one who cradled you close in those agonizingly lonely nights, when you’d call out for your mother, for your father, for anyone.

He was there.

“You’re heading out?” He asks, assessing you with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. A few days ago, Dick had informed him that you were acting strange, you had run away from your older brother. His mind raced, the implications of what that might mean has been weighing on the butler’s mind for days. It was uncharacteristic of you, up until about a week ago you would jump for joy if any of your family would glance at you.

But after that day, that day where you had skipped breakfast .. What changed? Why are you suddenly so uninterested in your family? It’s unnatural. Your whole life had always been dedicated to them, you’d do anything to be apart of them, to be seen. So why? When you finally had the chance to be centre stage, were you walking away? Something about your demeanour was off and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’ve–” You pause, should you tell Alfred? I’m going to move out and never speak to anyone from this house again! No, you’ll wait until you’ve secured a place before letting him know. You’re not prepared for that conversation. “I’m going to– for a walk.” The lie is stale on your tongue, you’ve never lied to Alfred, not besides petty ones to get out of trouble. But this feels different, a heavy knot tying in your shoulders as you watch the butler’s confused expression.

“Is that so? Because a few days ago, Master Dick–” You were out the door before he could finish his damn sentence. You are not in the mood to discuss Dick right now! It’s going to ruin your chipper mood.

The click of the door had Alfred’s eyes narrowing, his eyes trained on where you once stood. He believed that the small push he gave Bruce would be enough, but it’s just driving you further away. How troublesome, he doesn’t want for you to end up hurt.

“Wow! This is a really great place? And I get the first month free?” You are convinced whatever deity sent you back in time is responsible for the saint before you. The small, chubby old man who speaks to you in such a paternal voice it makes you want to cry.

“Of course, it’s no problem, I just need to speak to your guardian to agree on your emancipation, plus they’ll need to sign some consent forms.”

“What?” You blink dumbly, your heart momentarily stopping before the damn organ speeds up so quickly it could power a small village, you try to convey your thoughts but all you can manage is a few dumb noises. “Are– Are you sure?”

“Apologies, since you’re only sixteen – you must have a guardian’s consent, this is a legal rental after all,” he smiles apologetically, before adding, “if you want to live somewhere without your parent’s consent, it’ll have to be illegally – which can be dangerous, ‘specially for a youngling such as yourself.”

Oh, right. You’re sixteen. The fact slipped your mind once more, you’re so foolish. So damn foolish, nothing will ever be so easy, nothing in your life will ever be handed to you like this. “Right, I’ll– let you know.” You smile, your eyes scanning over the small apartment once more. It reminds you of the place you stayed with your mother, the small space encapsulating those memories you hold dear so perfectly that if you light a few ciggerattes and close your eyes, you'll go back in time.

“I’ll keep this off-sale for you, please let me know as soon as possible.” Mr. Kim, so nicely adds, his small face – wrinkled with age, softening at your disheartened expression. You so desperately want to beg for him to rethink, to make an exception, but you don't want to get him in trouble, not since he’s been so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, you walk out, walking with effort since your feet don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave a future that could be, that should’ve been. Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental.

You don’t feel like returning to the Manor, not yet. The air outside is nice, it’s nice to breathe in a taste of something other than the suffocating walls around you, even if it’s just some dingy back alley. It’s nice to see what could’ve been, that is until a large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

Oh, great. So the one time you leave the Manor you die again. Maybe you’ll regress to when you’re eleven next, you muse.

“What the hell are you doing around here?” You recognise that voice and immediately you don’t want to turn around. What is he doing out? During the day? You thought vigilantes only patrol during the lunar hours, so why? Your heart squeezes in your throat, desperate to claw its way out, to escape your pitiful body.

After a tense moment of silence, you turn around, there he stands. Red Hood, your older brother. Well, older brother is a stretch, you’ve never really interacted with him – much like the rest of your family. You were brought in when he was still Robin, but he died shortly after. A small, vengeful part of you blamed him for your neglect. That was until Bruce brought in Tim, and you watched bitterly how Tim was embraced immediately, he didn’t have to fight for any attention, he was accepted by everyone and you were forced to swallow the thought that it wasn't Jason's fault -- but your own.

When Jason was somehow brought back, you selfishly hoped you would be able to bond with him, that he’d be the one to look back at you, to get to your level and hold you close.

No such thing happened, the only time you saw him was when he was walking through the Manor to the Batcave, and even then, he gave you a bone-chilling glare. You didn’t think of him so optimistically after that. Now, with his hand clutching your shoulder, his expression covered by his menacing red helmet..

You’re ready to be shot 5 times again.

“I asked you a question.” He says, his hand tightening on your shoulder, you snap out of your stupor immediately, your fear morphing into frustration. You shove his hand off of you with more effort than you’re comfortable with, and even then you’re sure he’s the one who dropped his hand to not embarrass you any further.

“I’m allowed to go outside.” You huff, your nerves practically fighting against the restraints of your skin, a cold, overbearing feeling rushing over you. This was..– Everything was wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go, not at all.

“You were talking to Mr. Kim, why?” He asks bluntly, your heart stops beating for a moment, the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears, your brain trying to block this all out, trying to block out everything. “Actually, nevermind, I think I know why.”

You want to cry, why was this happening? You were so happy, so content. Why do you bump into them every time you leave your room, can’t you have one good day? Will you need to become a hermit? Will that get them off your back?

“I can drive you back to the Manor–”

“No, I’m fine.” You cut him off, your voice not masking any of your fear, it has Jason blinking under his mask. Why were you so on edge? What’s going on with you?

“I insist– Gotham isn’t safe for you to just be–..” He watches the downright terrified expression on your face before sighing and signalling for you to go, his stomach churns in an unfamiliar way as you scurry away.

Why were you so nervous? Could it be that you're scared of him?

That’s understandable, you’re not a vigilante, you’re just some average kid. But when he saw you walking alone, he detests himself for the way his heart swelled with happiness. In his Robin days, he loved watching the normalcy of your life, the way you would live free of any strings to the ghastly occupation he had.

He was scared to get closer, scared to shatter that illusion you had.

The fear amplified when he came back to life, he was relieved to see that you were still unaffiliated with Batman, but fuck, he was too cowardly to reach out, that day when you looked at him with gladness, he was hit with a paralysing fear of you getting too close, of you getting hurt. He replays the crushed expression that dawned your face like a damn broken stereo.

So when he saw you sulking about a few moments ago, he saw his chance to reach out, to get a taste of your normalcy, he took it, however selfish it may be.

“Whatever.” He grits, climbing up the roof to tail you, he’s content with watching from afar, for now.

The whole way back to the Manor felt like a fever dream, you can’t brush these oddities off as coincidences, why the hell did Red Hood approach you. Was he trying to pull a Damian? Was that a simple reminder of how pathetic you are? Why did he do that?!

Why was everyone acting so strangely?

The Manor offered you no comfort, it’s looming walls did nothing but remind you of your own shortcomings, you were afraid, you were perplexed but above all you were furious. Why now? When you’ve finally accepted your position in this family, why are they all turning their heads. Well damn them! You’re sick of this whole stupid charade, you won’t be that small child anymore, a child who knew only loneliness. You’re going to become your own person outside of the surname which has held you back for so long.

“We need to talk.” A voice calls out as you reach your room, what now? You’re sick of these damn conversations. You just want to move out, why is it so damn hard?

Oh, it’s Bruce again. Your lips press into a thin line as he stands before you, you can hear the soft humming running through the Manor walls. When you were younger, that sound brought you so much comfort, yet now it’s different. Like a warning.

“Talk? About what?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. You’re distinctly aware of the way his brows furrow at your pitiful expression. Oh hell, you hope this won’t be another walk down the Manor where you awkwardly fumble in silence.

You don’t say anything as he leads you away from your room, a sullen quilt draped over the Manor, a strange foreboding sense that something’s going to happen. Something bad. You’re utterly perplexed as your father guides you to a part of the Manor you’re somewhat familiar with.

As a child, you used to lurk around the corners of these very walls, watching your family, itching to reach out and join in but fearing ruining the delicate painting they created. Fearing rejection, the cold glares and sneers as they pushed you away. So you trailed silently, waiting, hoping that someone would look back, smile at you and maybe hold out their hand. But it only ever happened in your dreams, a pale illusion of a reality that should've been true.

“Where did you go?” He asks, his eyes boring onto you with such intensity you can distinctly feel the way your blood begins furiously to pump through your veins, why did he care? “Alfred said you went out.”

“I just wanted some fresh air.” You’re not sure why you’re lying, it’d be easier to tell Bruce that you went to go see a house, the consent forms are folded in your pocket, waiting for his signature. It’d be so simple, so easy. Just a dip of pen on paper and you’ll be out.

So why do you feel such dread? A dread unlike anything you’ve ever felt. When you were in that alley, bleeding out helplessly, even then this oppressive feeling, which tightens your ribcage, forcing your organs into a tight space until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t comprehend if it was your heart pounding so heavily or your lungs, wasn't as scary.

“You’re only sixteen, you need to let someone know where you’re going.” His voice is so unbelievably despotic that it made your very core tremble with anxiety, with a looming sense of doom.

“It’s never been a problem before.” You mumble, your voice a lot quieter than you would’ve liked, your vocal chords burning with each word passing through it, your nerves invading each of your senses, as if warning you to stay quiet.

Bruce says nothing, and the moment the air grows stale you wish you could take your words back. You can see the way his brows crease, the way he looks at you as though you’re some sort of criminal and not his own flesh and blood, the soft humming in the walls has disappeared, left behind in your area of the Manor. Though it’s odd, when you would lurk around the Manor as a youthling, there was always some sort of background noise in this area, where everyone hung out. The silence unnerved you, another thing that’s changed, another thing you couldn’t have predicted.

“If you’re going out, make sure to let me know.” He sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you with what you interpret as belittlement, a burning hot rage boils in your stomach, and once more, you’re hit with the knowledge this isn’t how things are supposed to go, Bruce isn’t supposed to care that you go out without telling anyone, he’s not supposed to care about you.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ you want to say, you want to scream, to ask what rights he has to treat you like a child? How dare he? It makes your very being tremble with frustration, your hands clenching with barely contained anger.

But you don’t. Why? Is it the natural response from your mind? The fear of disappointing him? The fear that if you speak up, you’ll be kicked out and left to rot? Or perhaps it’s the fear of confrontation you gained through his negligence, the weakness he moulded. But still, you’re not sixteen anymore, not really. Mentally, you’re twenty-one, you’ve been through each stage of your life, and maybe, sure, the day you died, you were content for them to walk all over you in exchange for a single glance at your direction.

But you’ve died and come back (in time)! You shouldn’t let them walk all over you anymore, shouldn’t be content as an afterthought. So– you open your mouth and–

“What’s going on?” Another voice speaks out, great, because this is exactly what you needed, another clown to join the circus. Oh.

Is this a joke? Is the person responsible for your misfortune giggling at your despair, is it amusing to see you suffer?

Damian, Dick, Jason and now Tim.

Why is Tim walking up to you? Why is he looking at you? A rush of dread, a sensation you’ve grown familiar with in the past few days, washes over you. You’ve never had his eyes on you, never for so long. It’s unnerving. You thought the calculating look in Bruce and Damian’s eyes was scary, but the way Tim looks at you now? His eyes zeroed in on you? It has your insides melting into liquid, the urge to cover your face, to hide in the corner and bury your face in your knees is overwhelming.

You don’t want his eyes on you, you decide. Years of clawing at your own shortcomings, of desperately trying to appeal to him, to have him look back – you would do anything at that time for him to look at you the way he is now.

But now? You don’t like it, he wears a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, like he’s picking you apart one by one, each twitch, each mannerism.

“It’s about what we talked about.” Bruce says, his tone completely natural, like he’s discussing the weather, you don’t know the specifics but you have a nagging feeling that you know what he’s speaking of.

“Ah. Really? You’re still on that?” Tim tuts, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studies you. Just as you’re about to ask what the fuck does he mean by that, he turns his attention to Bruce. “I told you, they can’t do anything without your consent, they’re 16.”

How dare they? How dare they talk as though you’re not here? This is disgusting, what loathsome, egotistical dickheads! Your hands itch, the anxiety in you speeding all over your body like a livewire, mixing with your anger to create an overwhelming feeling of terror.

What was the point of Bruce bringing you here? To mock you? Show you how great they have it? What you’ve been missing out on? Well, screw him. You need to get away before you lash out, you’re better than that. Better than this.

The pair watches as you walk away, your whole body tense. For a moment, there’s a prolonged silence which is broken by Tim. “Did we do something wrong?” He asks, genuinely confused by your little display.

When he came back from a particularly tough mission, the last thing he was expecting was everybody collectively freaking out. Bruce, Damian, even Dick were all tense, looking around each corner – searching for something, someone. 

It was weird for a multitude of reasons, firstly – Dick was supposed to be gone by now, his stay at the Manor was for a few days only. Why is he here? And secondly, nothing particularly stressful was happening in Gotham, so what was with the gloom and doom?

When Bruce sighed, telling him about your plans to move out, well, to say Tim was confused was an understatement. That did not deserve such a reaction, but then he really thought about it, and, if this is how they react to you threatening to leave..

If you were to actually step out that door, to alienate away from them, to discard your last name. His head begins to throb at the implications, he’s acutely aware of how selfish it is for him to wish to keep you around, to keep you in this Manor all to keep himself happy.

But then the thought that, really, he’s doing this for you! If you thought it was so easy to just get up and leave, that at sixteen you’d just be able to pack up and go. Well, with that stupidity, you wouldn’t survive outside, in Gotham no less. He was able to placate Bruce’s stressing, thankfully, because the man looked three minutes away from a heart attack.

You wouldn’t be able to go without Bruce’s permission, so long as they had that – you’d stay with them. But that’s what led him to seeking you out now, if you had ideas about leaving that meant you were unhappy.

He was hoping to talk to you, to ask if you wanted to hang out – that’s what you want, right? When he thinks of you, his mind conjures up the slightly annoying, slightly endearing child that you were. He’ll hang out with you, destroy those silly notions and everything will go back to how it was.

So why did you stomp off? That’s not how you’re supposed to act. That’s not how you are.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce replies to his earlier question, his eyes still trained on the spot in which you were. How could you walk off?

Why were you so off during that conversation? He couldn’t…– This belies everything Alfred had told him about you, it's left Bruce conflicted. He had hoped that by bringing you here, he could ask which room you liked best. But you walked off, why? Why do you deny his affection? He was worried when he heard you left, a small, vulnerable part of him was afraid that you wouldn’t come back, that you had left for good, slipped through his fingers before he could hold you close.

So, when he saw you walk in – oh, he was elated. He just wanted to convey his worries, but you seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. He really doesn’t want that, you don't need anymore reasons to leave.

He doesn’t want the terrified expression on your face, he wants that dazzled look you used to carry around, he wants you – not this restless part of you, but the real you.

He'll get it back, he's sure he will.

ugh i hate the misunderstanding trope i say as i write the misunderstanding trope

tag list ;

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs s @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things s @iimichie @buckturd @eloriis @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi @snailpebbles @fandomly-obsessed @kitkatkitmeow @the-holy-pigeon @sheep-from-rad @mei-simp

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍 .ᐟ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

⚠︎  pure fluff, cuddling, anxiety, boyfriend matt

⤷ Get to reading, sluts. No copying. Ask if you’d like to use this as ‘inspiration.’ Fuck off and fuck me, lets get horny!!!

matt’s favorite toy, Rose

©bernardsbendystraws

“Ah—shit,” Matt spits. He stares at his PC, viciously moving his fingers on the controller while whispering out curses under his breath. You were tired—exhausted, even. The day had dragged out longer than it should’ve. Hanging out with friends was supposed to be fun—and it was. Up until you laid down and in bed and overanalyzed every word you had said. You just wanted him, but your lips wouldn’t open to spill out that confession—not when you knew he might’ve had a long day too and this was his release. 

Minutes feel like hours. Your body won’t relax, not when you feel so…bad. Anxiety feeds into your insecurities. The joy you had felt being with your friends has faded into regret. Nothing was worth this feeling. Why did you even bother trying? 

“Fuck—,” Matt yells, punching his fist down on the desk. The dumb mess up had cost him a lot of progress in his game. He flinches realizing his mistake—remembering you’re in his bed, probably asleep. 

Taking a quick peep over his shoulder, Matt furrows his eyebrows while analyzing your face. “Am I keepin’ you up? I’m sorry, doll. I’ll…I’m gonna keep it down—” He lets the words fall into the air. A slight shrug from your end tells him enough—something isn’t okay. Your eyes showed no trace of sleep, only frustration. 

“Hey,” he calls out. You let your eyes daze into Matt’s. His soft expression falls into worry as he quickly shuts off his game. Wandering over towards the bed, he sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling your head into his lap as his fingers trace through your hair. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” 

What is going on? You don’t even know—not enough to actually explain it anyhow. “I…it….I don’t know, really. I, um—I had fun with my friends. We caught up and everything, but…” 

“But?” Matt encourages. 

The question seems to affect you more than you’d like. Saying it outloud feels relieving—but it also feels like too much. “It’s…I just can’t stop thinking, I guess.” 

It’s only a couple simple words, but Matt can read every subtle movement in your face. He just knows—a little too well. 

“I get that. I…I’m sorry, doll. I’m here for you, okay? Why don’t we just cuddle and talk, yeah?” he offers, moving around to lay on the bed and pull you into his chest. 

You sigh at the warmth, your head starts to pulse a little less with racing thoughts and pulling you back to reality. He’s grounding you. An anchor that makes you feel like you’re a part of reality, not just watching from a lens. It’s real. You’re here. 

“You’re so warm,” you mention. 

Matt lets out a soft laugh at your remark, pulling you in just a little closer. “Yeah? Good. I…I love holding you like this, ya know?” 

The frown on your lips slowly curls upward, a soft grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I…I love it too,” you breathe out. 

It’s all so warm—so comforting. The bed seems to let the weight of your bodies sink in further, tangled limbs and soft touches creating a shield from the cold air prickling tainted thoughts into your mind. You’re here. You’re here in his arms. You’re safe. 

You wanna say it. Those three words settle on the brink of slipping as you let yourself drown in the feeling of it—love. It’s almost as if he can sense it, or maybe it’s just because he feels it. 

“I love you. So much.” His voice is melodic as he breathes out the words. It’s enough encouragement to put your mind at ease. It’s enough to make you sink completely into the feeling instead of letting your mind overpower your heart. 

“I love you.”

Thank you for reading!!! Any interaction is deeply appreciated <333

[girl-singing-in-the-wreckage]

William Afton character rambling (SOTM spoilers ahead)

I see a lot of people complaining that Afton’s character has “changed” and that he’s “turned him from a villain with a backstory to a one dimensional villain who’s just evil to be evil.”

I hate to burst your bubble, but he’s always been that way. The point of William Afton as a character is that he’s a total loser who hides in a fucking rabbit suit. He’s not some overpowered supervillain, he’s a loser obsessed with becoming overpowered and knocking people off their pedestals so he can take it over.

Why do you think he targets children? They are smaller than him, easily manipulated. Adults are mostly killed by him in a secondhand way (possessed animatronics that he manipulated into doing his bidding), but he’s never the one doing that work.

Why do you think he sends Michael to the bunker? Because he doesn’t care if Michael dies. He knows the risks, but he views his own son as more of a tool.

The Silver Eyes straight up describes him as someone who spent a some of his life mistreated (whether that be he came from an abusive home, or something else), and rather than growing from that and being good — he “takes on the bitter mantle of sadism himself.” If you read between the lines of TSE trilogy, the journals are pointing out that he’s so obsessed with Henry’s abilities that it’s essentially just the incessant rambles of a madman. What does he do? He kills Charlie, which effectively drives Henry to kill himself. With Henry gone, William starts ripping his shit from him.

Sounds familiar? That’s literally what happens in SOTM. Edwin is just TSE Henry with a fake mustache slapped on him. William snatching shit and causing downfalls isn’t a new concept, it’s at the core of his character. He’s an evil man for the sake of self-serving to get what he wants. He doesn’t care about what he has to do, or who he has to knock out of his way, he only cares for himself. The people he surrounds himself are just stepping stools he uses to boost himself, and when he doesn’t need them, he rids of them (we see this in the movie with Vanessa. When she stands in the way of getting to Abby and Mike, he tries to kill her).

William is literally a grown up, bratty kid who throws tantrums when things don’t go their way.

He isn’t a villain born from tragedy, William Afton is a villain of his own making because he likes it that way. He gets joy out of destruction and taking things for himself.

And before anyone tries to bring up “but fnaf 4 is showing that his son died!!” I beg you to put yourself back in the fnaf 1-4 era where one of the biggest questions was “why the hell do nightguards keep coming back night after night?”

Because fnaf 4 wasn’t showing William’s motive, it was showing Michael’s motivation and why he goes through hell to try and undo everything. Michael made a mistake that he’s trying to redeem himself for. A child’s death wasn’t what marked the downfall of William Afton, William did it to himself by being a shady, selfish businessman.

[sinofwriting]

Satiated - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic)

Words: 1,748 Summary: Charles wins Monza for the second time. (part of Claiming A Wife - Charles verse) Note(s): NSFW, DARK fic, the first part is dark, so inherently this part is as well. And if you haven’t read that part, please go read it. Context is somewhat needed.

Part One | Masterlist | Support Me! 

She clutches at Arthur’s arm as the final ten laps begin, Oscar Piastri gaining time, and the murmurs in the garage are loud. “C’mon Charles.” Arthur murmurs, his eyes glued to the timing screen unable to pull them away to watch the actual race.

She presses a little closer to him, giving her brother-in-law what little comfort she can. “He’s got this. This is his race to win now.”

He nods, but he still looks at the timing, unable to even blink and she can’t blame him. Her own eyes go between the race, the timing, and Charles’ onboard unable to blink as well.

The garage erupts into cheers as Charles crosses the line for the final lap, people starting to move around and out of the garage and Arthur is wrapping an arm around her urging her out of the garage and to parc fermé and she easily goes.

She had thought Charles otherworldly when he won Monaco, despite her fears overpowering it. But as she watches him get out of the car standing on it, and hearing all the Italian fans going crazy, seeing the flares, the fans starting to spill out, feeling the absolute joy radiating from Ferrari, she can’t help but liken Charles to a god.

The team grows louder when Charles throws himself into them. They all make sure to touch him and he does so back. He comes over to where her and Arthur are, pressing close to them, gripping her hand for a second as his other ruffles Arthur’s hair before continuing to touch the team members around him.

She watches with shiny eyes as he takes off his helmet and everything, setting it down before wandering over to the car. Sitting on it as a photo of him and a few other Ferrari members are taken. And then he’s walking back over to her.

Team members clap his back, reaching for him, touching him, Arthur is beaming at his brother, but Charles is only looking at her. It’s still a new feeling to not feel uneasy when he looks at her and she basks in it.

His hands come up to frame her face and he presses kisses to her face. “I won, mon ange.” He murmurs when his lips catch the corner of her mouth.

She smiles, head tipped back to look at him easily. “You won, Charles. You did so well. Now, hurry so we can celebrate.”

He presses a last kiss to the corner of her mouth before leaving.

—

They are supposed to be home, in Monaco. Charles had been firm with the team about it despite the unexpected win. He had gone to the celebratory dinner and they should already be in the car to leave, but if there is one thing she learned quickly after Charles claimed her, it is that he is unable to say no to her.

It had been easy when they came back to the hotel, the Italian fans cheering and screaming, Charles taking photos and signing things for them, to get Charles to agree to stay for just the night and that they could leave early in the morning.

All it had taken, and really she didn’t have to do so, was her sitting at the edge of the bed, a pout on her lips. And when Charles gently cooed, asking her what was wrong as his thumb rubbed at the soft skin under her eye, all she had to say was that she wanted to stay for the night and Charles was calling the front desk and messaging his team to let them know and his family that they wouldn’t be leaving with them.

Unsurprisingly everyone is more than okay with it, the hotel even offering to send up a bottle of champagne which Charles easily declines.

“You alright, mon ange?” He asks, thumbing moving to trace over her cheekbone. “You always like to leave soon.”

She nods, turning her face to press a kiss to the bare inside skin of Charles’ wrist. “I’m okay.”

His eyes are wide as he looks down at her, his chest still, and then he’s sinking down to his knees, pressing himself between her legs, his hand dropping and leaving a burning trail down her arm. “Mon ange.” His voice sounds pained.

Her hands cup his face, fingers gentle as they dance over it and his eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. “You did so well, Charles. So amazing.”

Nerves are gripping her, she feels shaky but isn’t, her breathing a little fast and before she can talk herself out of it, she bends and presses their lips together for the first time.

He’s still underneath her hands and lips and all she can hear is her own heartbeat, her confidence begins to flatter and Charles comes alive under her. A broken sound leaving his lips before he’s fervently kissing her back. Where her kiss had been a mixture of nerves and passion, his is nothing but passion. His hands grabbing at her waist, his tongue easily slipping its way into her mouth when she moans.

They continue to kiss but soon her neck and back ache from being bent over and she tries to urge him upwards. She wants to continue to kiss him. To lay back and feel his lips on hers, his body on top of hers, his body between her legs pressing them together, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Charles,” She breathes, when he finally stops kissing her though, their lips still brushing however when she speaks.

“Lay back, mon ange.” He lightly squeezes her waist and then his hands are moving downwards to her thighs. “I want to kiss you somewhere else now.”

Her fingers grip at the duvet, something just short of a whimper escaping from her. Her body follows his wants, sinking down into the bed.

“That’s it, <i>mon ange</i>.”

A shaky breath leaves her and she can feel his lips against her skin, following the path of new exposed skin that her dress shows him as he pulls it up.

She’s about to remind him that it zips when she feels his breath against the waistband of her panties and then his lips. It makes her gasp, blood rushing to her face. “Charles.”

“Shh,” he pets her thigh.

She sucks in a breath as she feels his fingers curl around her underwear, her hips lifting as he takes them off of her. It releases into a moan when he presses his mouth against her with a moan of his own.

One of his hands grips her hip while the other pulls at her left thigh, spreading her more open for him. His tongue swirls around her clit and her fingers ache as they pull at the duvet. His name, as a protest or an ask for more, is on her tongue but unable to push past her lips. She feels like she can barely breathe as he plays with her clit, trying to figure out what she likes best, and when he does, he doesn’t relent.

One of her hands leaves the bed, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him away as her thighs try to press together, but it just encourages him, makes him groan, the vibrations in turn making her cry out. He continues to pleasure her until finally she falls apart for him.

“Such a good girl for me.” He murmurs, lips leaving a slight wet kiss to her thigh as she catches her breath.

“Charles, please.”

“I know.” He soothes. “I just need,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead dipping his head and her eyes roll back as she feels the press of his tongue against her hole. He moans against her and her thighs clench. “So good, mon ange.” And she whines feeling sensitive but ready for him to start again if he decides to.

His right hand leaves her thigh, moving upward and his left follows it. She doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until the heat of him is hovering over her, his lips dancing across the length of her neck until finally he’s kissing her again.

It’s slow and sweet, but now that she doesn’t have the distraction of his face between her thighs, she remembers what exactly she wanted. “Charles,” she breathes when he pulls away, letting them both catch their breath.

His green eyes are wide, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He looks both starved and satiated.

“I want something.”

“Anything.”

Her eyes fall downward at the quick response, still somewhat unused to getting anything and everything she wanted. Her fingers tug at the shirt he’s wearing, a frown forming as she realizes he’s still wearing it. Her lips part, ready to ask for it off, but he’s already standing and pulling it over his head.

He goes to stand in between her legs, ready, eager, to kiss her again, hear what she wants, but she stops him, foot pressing against his toned stomach. “Pants and underwear too, please.” His mouth shuts with a quiet click, eyes widening, but he nods, stepping back.

His eyes stay glued to her as he begins to unbuckle his belt and she takes advantage of it. The nice lace panties are gone, but the matching bra isn’t.

Finding the zipper of the dress, she takes the small thing carefully between her two fingers and pulls, sitting up on her knees as she does so. She debates getting up and wiggling out of it standing before saying fuck it, either way she’d have to wiggle out of it, she might as well stay on the bed to do so. She’s pleasantly surprised when the dress comes off easily over her head, only a slight pause due to Charles having bunched it up so much.

She’s so pleased with how easy it came off, she nearly misses the sound of a belt dropping to the floor and then the quick follow up of clothes as well.

“Mon ange.” Charles breathes.

Her heart beats a little faster, watching as his fist clench, feet shuffling, obviously wanting closer. She pokes her bottom lip, Charles’ eyes dropping it to, his tongue darting out to swipe over his own. “I never said what I wanted.”

“Anything.” He repeats.

The pout is replaced by a smile as she lays back down and spreads her legs wide enough for him to go between and he doesn’t need her to tell him what to do next.

[mattslilies]

✩ surprising matt on tour ✩

or: the one where you tell matt you miss him and can't wait for him to come home from tour, only to show up on the barricade of the next show <3

warnings: none! just fluff

divider credit: @/strangergraphics

your boyfriend being on tour was bittersweet. you were obviously incredibly proud of him, but at the same time, him being away for months at a time took a toll on you.

your relationship wasn't suffering from it, if anything, it was only strengthened, but you definitely still missed him. you loved seeing all the photos from the different cities along the tour, and you loved watching the friendly conversation and banter that all three triplets had with the crowd, but you did wish that you could see your boyfriend again.

texts, phone, and facetime calls could only do so much, and you could tell that matt was starting to get not only homesick, but missing you a lot as well. being a very touchy and clingy person, being away for a while bothered him too.

so, you hatched a plan.

the next stop on the tour was coming up, and it was only one state line away from you. you didn't have to work that day, so you looked into buying a ticket. you didn't tell matt about any of your plan, wanting to surprise him.

after a long phone call with nick while he was out getting food, everything was set up. you'd get to the show at the time that doors opened, and nick would make sure that you got in a little bit early, so you could be on the barricade when they came out onto the stage.

keeping the secret from matt was difficult, as you talked on the phone practically every night. you were bubbling with excitement, but had to pretend that it was about getting lunch with a friend the next day, not surprising him instead.

the drive to the venue was fun, as you had a lot of music to listen to, and you were so ready to see not just matt, but also chris and nick again. they were your best friends, and you had missed them all greatly in the past weeks.

meeting nick around the back of the venue, you smiled when you saw him leave out the back door.

"hey!"

he engulfed you in a hug, having clearly missed you.

"hey! it's great to see you guys!"

nick smiled, walking back inside, you following behind him.

"it hasn't been that long."

you raised an eyebrow, enjoying the gentle banter.

"didn't you just say that you missed me sooooo much on the phone yesterday? or was that just me hearing things again?"

laughter was heard from both of you, an easy conversation flowing as nick led you to where you needed to be.

"everyone inside has already done the VIP Meet and Greet with us, and they're in line to walk in. i probably shouldn't get you to the very front, i don't wanna draw too much attention to you, but i can get you close enough that you'll be close to the stage."

thanking him and wishing him good luck before saying goodbye, you stepped into line about fifteen people deep. sure enough, you were right in the front row.

it didn't take very long for the rest of the people to fill in, and the lights to dim, with the neon "Let's Trip" logo projected onto the stage. you couldn't wait.

the look on matt's face when he stepped out onto the stage and noticed you directly in the middle was priceless. he was stuck between a jaw drop and a smile, meaning his face was a wide grin.

he walked over to you almost immediately, leaning over.

"how did you get here?!"

you smiled, yelling back over the screams of the audience.

"i have my ways."

he shook his head, a huge smile still decorating his lips, before reaching a hand down to do the heart pose from the Meet and Greet photos with you.

despite the audience behind you, the amount that he had missed you and the joy of you being there overpowered him, and he kneeled down to face level, kissing you in front of the entire venue.

people reacted exactly how you would expect, a lot of yelling, but it was all white noise to you.

when he finally pulled back, standing up, he couldn't wipe the happiness off of his face, and it radiated throughout the rest of the show.

taglist <3

@courta13 @quinnynation @bowsandsturniolos @mqroonsturn @emely9274 @lizzyzzn @mattsbows @mattybsgroupie @sophand4n4 @leah-sturniolo @wr1tingsonthewall @sturns-mermaid @immaqulate @sweetshuga @user1smvtysturniolo @adoremattsturns @55sturn @chrisissobabygirl @backwardshatnick @jadest0ne

if you would like to be added to my taglist, click here!

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Synastry: The Illusions That Break Bonds

At the beginning of a relationship, love can feel otherworldly—deeply passionate, romantic, and infused with the affection we’ve always craved. But as time passes, we often realize that the love we once felt may fade, change, or no longer feel the same. When this happens, we are confronted with the illusion of love—where it feels so close yet just out of reach, or so fulfilling at first, only to leave us feeling cold over time. Today, we’ll explore the astrological aspects that create this dynamic.

Neptune Conjunct Venus: Love That Blinds You To Red Flags 💞

You feel like you’ve finally found the one. Their energy feels like the answer to your prayers, and the love seems otherworldly—almost too good to be true. Conversations flow effortlessly, their gaze captivates you, and being around them feels like stepping into a dream. But Neptune distorts reality. More than likely, you’re missing the truth of who they really are. They may seem perfect, but they aren’t—far from it. And when the fantasy dissolves, the weight of reality hits like a crushing wave.

Neptune Square Mercury: Shouting Into A Void 💞

You crave deep conversations—sharing your wildest dreams, unspoken fantasies, and inner discoveries. But somehow, your words always seem to be misinterpreted. Even when you speak with clarity, you feel unheard, misunderstood. At some point, you realize that the things you express may not even be fully true—they’re projections of your unfulfilled wishes rather than reality. You wanted this person to be the one who truly understands your mind, yet your thoughts feel like a maze they’re desperate to escape.

Neptune Opposite Moon: Emotional Closeness That Feels Elusive 💞

When you meet this person, it feels like you’ve finally found someone who gets you—someone who instinctively understands your emotions, who will never leave your side, who will always be your safe space. But as time passes, the illusion unravels. The warmth you once felt turns cold. They become distant—not just physically, but emotionally, as if they were never truly invested in the first place. The realization that they don’t seem to care about your joys or sorrows leaves you completely disillusioned, questioning whether they ever truly did.

South Node Conjunct Venus: The Lover Who Won’t Let You Go 💞

There’s an instant familiarity that feels like home—like wrapping your hands around a warm cup of tea in a cold room. Looking into their eyes, you see someone you’ve known before, someone who reminds you of carefree summer days, of a time when love was pure and simple. But they aren’t leading you into something new. Instead, they pull you back into something you’ve already done—something you’ve already learned. What starts as comforting soon turns into stagnation. You feel stuck—not in a beautiful, fated way, but in a way that makes you yearn for growth and escape.

South Node Conjunct Mars: Amazing Sex, Brutal Fights 💞

The attraction is instant, magnetic, uncontrollable. The moment your eyes meet, a primal energy awakens, pulling you toward each other with an intensity that feels undeniable. The chemistry is so overpowering that you mistake it for fate, for a soul connection that must be real. You crave them—so much so that when they leave, you immediately long for the next encounter. But soon, the passion proves to be the only thing keeping you together. Outside of the bedroom, everything crumbles. The more you try to build a real relationship, the more you find yourselves clashing—arguing, fighting for control, wearing each other down. What once felt exhilarating now feels exhausting. And every high is followed by an even greater fall.

Venus in the 12th House: Lovers Who Never Become 💞

This connection feels divine, almost cinematic—two lovers deep in the forest, under a canopy of stars, lost in each other’s presence. It’s captivating, inescapable, as if an invisible thread keeps pulling you toward them. But something about this love is always just beyond your grasp. No matter how deeply you connect, there’s a lingering sense of almost—of wanting to reach further, hold tighter, love deeper. Yet, despite the intensity, it never quite materializes into something tangible. Lovers with this placement often end up feeling unfulfilled, longing for a love that felt profound in spirit but lacked real-world foundation.

Sun in the 12th House: A Blinded Love 💞

The Sun is meant to illuminate, but in the 12th house, it fades into obscurity. In this relationship, there’s a lack of true sight—a difficulty in seeing each other for who you really are. It often feels like the only time you can truly connect is at night when the world is quiet, and reality is blurred. You find yourself wondering: Who am I dating? Who am I in love with? Do they even know me? Do I even know them? When you’re together, it feels like something is always missing—words left unspoken, questions left unanswered. And even when you try to understand each other, miscommunication lingers like a fog, leaving only confusion in its wake.

Moon Conjunct Pluto: Addicted To Them Like A Drug 💞

This relationship is raw, all-consuming. It feels like an intertwining of souls, a merging so deep that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The emotional intensity is intoxicating, drawing you in like gravity, making it impossible to let go. But with that depth comes danger. It becomes obsessive, toxic—even when it’s hurting you, even when it’s draining the life out of you, you stay. It feels like an addiction, like a force beyond your control. And no matter how much you know it’s unhealthy, the thought of losing it feels unbearable.

Venus Square Uranus: The One That Got Away 💞

From the moment you meet, this person feels electric—like an adventure waiting to happen. They awaken a part of you that throws caution to the wind, makes you want to explore, to live. They feel like a best friend and a lover rolled into one, someone you can talk to for hours, someone who makes you laugh like no one else. The freedom of this love is intoxicating. But the problem? You want commitment, and they don’t. To them, this is fun, exciting, spontaneous—but fleeting. They avoid defining the relationship, brushing off your concerns, telling you not to overthink it. And at first, you go along with it. But over time, the thrill wears thin, leaving you feeling aimless, waiting for something they never planned to give.

Saturn Square Venus: Indebted To Your Lover 💞

At first, this connection feels serious, solid—like something built for the long run. It makes you believe you’ve found the one, the person you can build a future with. But as time passes, the weight of this relationship becomes heavy. It no longer feels like a choice—it feels like a duty. You start showing up not out of love, but out of obligation. Dates feel like scheduled tasks. Affection feels forced. The connection becomes more about staying than wanting to stay. The more effort you put in, the more distant you feel. And before long, love turns into labor—a responsibility rather than a romance.

Chiron Conjunct Venus: A Psychological Love 💞

This relationship cuts deep. It forces you to strip away your facades, to expose the most wounded parts of yourself. With them, you feel seen—truly seen—in ways that others have never perceived you. There’s a rawness, a depth, a soul connection that feels irreplaceable. But this love isn’t easy. It isn’t warm and lighthearted. It feels like constant healing, constant pain, constant purging. It’s as if you’re both wounded warriors trying to mend each other’s scars while reopening your own. You find yourselves tangled in cycles of growth and re-injury, of loving and hurting, of longing and retreating. And while the bond is undeniable, the question remains—can love truly thrive when it always feels like a struggle?

[ririright]

hi dove 🫶🏼

I'm the anon who requested the hayden x young wife reader pregnancy headcanons

I keep rereading that post and I am absolutely in love with it !

I was hoping you could do a part two of that, as well as an angsty version of it—where hayden actually decided he doesn't want kids at his age, reader is understanding of that but still feels disappointed about sacrificing the chance at being a mother.

Shock and Panic

When you first tell Hayden you’re pregnant, his face goes pale, and he stammers, “Wait… are you sure?”

He doesn’t mean to sound doubtful, but the shock is so strong that his first instinct is denial.

He spends the next few hours pacing around the house, running his hands through his hair, muttering, “I just… I didn’t think—”

The Overwhelming Guilt

He knows you’re excited, and seeing the hopeful look in your eyes makes his heart ache.

But his own fear overpowers his joy, and he can’t pretend to be happy when he’s not.

He hates himself for making you feel disappointed, especially when he sees how carefully you bring up baby topics.

Overthinking Everything

Hayden is much older than you, and all he can think about is being an “old dad” who can’t keep up.

He starts comparing himself to when his daughter was little, thinking, “I barely survived the first time. How can I do it again?”

He’s terrified of letting you down, of being too tired, too busy, or too overwhelmed to be a good dad again.

Quiet Tension

For a while, there’s a quiet, heavy tension between you. He’s distant, lost in his own thoughts.

You try to bring up baby names, and he just nods with a weak smile.

At night, he turns over, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his fear but too ashamed to say it out loud.

His Daughter Notices

His 10-year-old daughter is the first to sense something’s wrong. “Dad, why are you and (y/n) so quiet lately?”

He tries to brush it off, but she’s sharp—“Is it because of the baby?”

It’s a wake-up call for him. He realizes his fear is affecting not just you but her too.

A Confession in the Dark

One night, you finally break down, “I thought you’d be happy. I thought… you’d want this with me.”

His chest tightens, and he finally admits, “I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m too old. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not a good dad to this baby?”

You tell him you’re scared too, but that you want this baby—your baby with him.

Reluctantly Going to Appointments

At first, Hayden’s hesitant about the doctor visits. He’ll drive you but stays quiet, watching from the corner.

He’s afraid of getting attached, but the first time he hears the heartbeat, his eyes well up with tears.

He won’t admit it, but he’s starting to feel something—something like hope.

Little Glimmers of Excitement

You catch him standing in the empty spare room, staring at it like he’s imagining something.

Sometimes, he’ll accidentally smile when you mention baby kicks, but he quickly hides it.

He keeps looking at his daughter, feeling guilty but also starting to see how much joy she brought to his life.

Small but Meaningful Changes

He starts texting you from work, “How are you feeling? Need anything?”

If you have a craving, he’ll quietly go out and get it without a word.

Sometimes, you wake up and find him with his hand resting gently on your stomach, even in his sleep.

The Moment He Breaks

One night, he’s watching you sleep, hand resting on your growing belly, and it just hits him.

He breaks down, whispering, “I’m scared, but I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t show it.”

He pulls you close, and you wake up to him softly apologizing, over and over.

Slowly Allowing Himself to Dream

He still has doubts, but he starts asking about baby names and looking up parenting tips.

He starts to think about how his daughter will be as a big sister, and the idea makes him smile.

He’ll sheepishly bring you a tiny baby onesie he saw at the store, mumbling, “I thought it was cute.”

Confessing to His Daughter

He has a quiet talk with his daughter, telling her she’s still his little girl and always will be.

She hugs him, grinning, “I get to be a big sister? That’s so cool!”

Her excitement helps ease his fears—she’s thrilled, so maybe it won’t be so bad.

The Protective Instinct Kicking In

When you’re further along, he’s constantly checking in. “Did you eat enough today? Are you comfortable?”

If you’re feeling sick, he’s immediately by your side, rubbing your back and whispering comfort.

If anyone makes you upset, he’s quick to defend you—“She doesn’t need stress right now, okay?”

Quiet Conversations with the Baby

When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll gently talk to your belly. “Hey, little one. I… I’m sorry I was scared. I promise I’ll be here.”

His daughter catches him doing this one night and smiles, hugging him, “You’re gonna be a great dad, Dad.”

Finally Letting Go of His Fear

When he feels the baby kick for the first time, he freezes, eyes wide, then breaks into the biggest smile.

He kisses your stomach, whispering, “Hi, little one. I’m your dad.”

From that moment on, he’s still scared, but there’s love there too—a fierce, protective love.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Aemond Targaryen, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

Enchanted (series) (12/12 parts uploaded)

The daughter of Prince Qoren Martell and the second son of King Viserys—a union forged from political ambition to bind two great houses. Fierce and unyielding, she despises him and everything his bloodline represents. Yet he is utterly captivated, enchanted by her fiery spirit that defies his every expectation—the one force he cannot control.

The Art of Persuasion 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!)

A determined woman uses her strategic charm to win the favour of the powerful Prince Regent. She navigates a delicate dance of influence and intimacy, aiming to transform their fraught relationship into a potent alliance while exploring the limits of their mutual desire.

Desperation and Yearning

• Violence (Aegon gets slapped but that's it)

Confronted by the harsh truth of her loveless marriage to Aegon, she wrestles with deep isolation. A flicker of hope arises through Aemond, who offers understanding and protection. Will she muster the courage to pursue her wants, or remain a prisoner of duty?

Hot Summer Nights 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!), strong language

The relentless summer heat in King's Landing becomes almost unbearable for Aemond's wife, yet her flushed demeanour only seems to arouse him. Seeking relief she turns to a cold bath, which then becomes the setting for a different kind of heat.

Shadow 🌟💓

• None

In the bustling streets of King's Landing, a day of market escapades and a sweet surprise reveal the depth of Aemond's devotion to his wife. Their story defies the whispers and gossip of the realm, proving that true affection flourishes even in the heart of the coldest dragon.

Made for Him 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act (very brief)

She was made for him, a truth never far from her thoughts. Unable to restrain himself any longer and knowing their union was inevitable he simply could not hold back anymore. His need for her was overpowering, compelling him to possess her completely.

Embracing the Unexpected 🌟💓

• Childbirth (brief)

Aemond and his wife navigate the fear, love, and uncertainty of new parenthood, discovering that the joy of new life is irresistible, even when it arrives as an unexpected set of multiple babies.

Hidden Affairs 🌟

• Sexual content (hickeys)

Raised as the sheltered daughter, she yearns for freedom from her family's protective embrace. Evading her guards becomes a thrilling escape until a chance encounter with her uncle Aemond sparks illicit desires amidst the secluded alleys of King's Landing.

Hidden Heat 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!)

In the gardens, tension and desire collide as Aemond fiercely claims what's his, pushing boundaries with his wife in a dangerously public setting, all while others linger nearby, oblivious, or are they?

The Forgotten Princess 🌟💓

• Strong language

Abandoned and exploited by those who promised her safety, she finds herself thrust into a brothel where her lineage becomes a lucrative spectacle. The prince offers her a way out but his intentions blur the lines between salvation and manipulation.

Stockholm Syndrome

• Sexual content (smut!), stockholm syndrome, violence (brief), strong language

She was a spoil of war, a prize taken in a ruthless game. Yet, despite the twisted nature of their circumstances, she found herself unable to resist him. She didn't just want him, she ached for him, a deep longing that left her questioning why she was so drawn to him.

Consequences 💓

• Injury (brief), mild language

After a market scuffle, she's in trouble with her father, all thanks to Aemond. Despite the scolding, she can't resist teasing him for causing the mess. Frustrated, Aemond still enjoys the tension between them, even as she pushes him to the edge with every teasing remark.

Let the World Burn

• Violence (threat?)

In a gripping tale of love and desperation, Aemond's beloved wife is abducted, driving him to unleash his dragon's fury in a relentless search. Fueled by an unwavering resolve, he knew he would let the world burn if it meant finding her and he did just that.

Broken Promises

• Sexual content (smut!), violence

One passionate night together shatters when she must confront her impending betrothal, leading to a tragic betrayal that alters their fates forever. Left with only the haunting memory of their love, Aemond grapples with the consequences of their brief connection.

The Red Wedding

• Violence, injury

They attend a wedding where past promises and deep resentments threaten to unravel their fragile peace—a red wedding soaked in blood and betrayal.

Storms Meet Sunlight

• Sexual content (smut!)

A grumpy Aemond reluctantly follows his sunshine wife on a whimsical adventure with butterflies. Love blossoms between their contrasting personalities. Through teasing and affection, they rediscover how perfectly they fit together—grumpy meets sunshine.

Take All My Inhibitions

• None

Wine awakens a bold, sensually unrestrained side of her, and the evening unfolds into a game of playful seduction, where inhibitions melt and desire takes control. But with the wine's intoxicating effect comes the question—how far will they go when nothing is held back?

Stay With Me

• None

Aemond Targaryen meets a woman who challenges his emotional detachment. As their unexpected connection deepens, they must navigate love's risks amidst the ruthless games of court, discovering that vulnerability may be their greatest strength.

A Dance of Ambition

• None

A fierce young woman meets a brooding Targaryen prince who defies expectations. As tension crackles between them—both verbal and unspoken—she discovers they may be more alike than she thought.

A Tapestry of Us

• Sexual content (smut!)

After four years of parenthood, they steal a quiet moment of intimacy, only to be interrupted by their triplets. Between sword fights and bedtime stories, love, laughter, and exhaustion fill their lives. Though even in the chaos, they are exactly where they belong.

Atlantis

• Injury (mentioned briefly), mild language

A fierce love crumbles under the weight of ambition, pride, and betrayal. As he falls, the scars of their passionate, destructive relationship linger, unravelling the fragile ties that once bound them. In the end, only regret and the haunting silence of lost love remain.

Good to You

• None

Torn between duty and desire, she finds herself trapped. Aemond's dark, desperate longing pushes her to the edge, forcing a choice between loyalty and an intoxicating, dangerous love. In a world of power and betrayal, what will she sacrifice for freedom?

Fire and Ice

• None

Fire and ice may sound poetic, but in reality, they cannot coexist—or can they? Aemond and Lady Stark navigate the clashes of duty and personality. Their bond deepens through honest conversation and secret escapes, challenging the foundations of their destinies.

In Your Arms

• Nightmares?

Haunted by relentless nightmares, the only peace she finds is in her husband's arms. As darkness consumes her dreams, his love becomes her sanctuary—a shield against the terror.

Sins of the Crown

• None

She discovers that her husband, once her trusted partner, has betrayed her in a ruthless bid for power, shattering their marriage and revealing that their love was nothing more than a political strategy.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

[vmiina]

autumn leaves

summary dean finally found peace with the woman of his dreams and their newborn baby girl, believing that he has escaped the supernatural life. but fate is cruel.

warnings angst very little fluff dean does not catch a break GRIEF major character death very mild descriptions of violence dean being the best girldad ever (this is dedicated to the bitches with daddy issues) unfortunately has a couple timeskips

notes based on the song autumn leaves by bts, most of my fics are made with a song in mind but this one deserves a honorable mention !! this song has been going triple platinum with me for the last few years, genuinely one of the most beautiful songs i’ve ever heard. glazing? never heard of that !!. also i do apologize for this fic before anyone even reads it. do not like seeing you guys, or dean winchester happy (that’s a joke)

dean thought he had finally found the peace he has spent a lifetime searching for. after years of hunting, the bloodshed, the loss, and the endless pain, he had settled down with you— the woman who had given him a sense of calm he never thought he could have. the love he felt for you, the way you understood him when no one else could, gave him so much hope. together, you decided to start your own little family, to create a future that didn’t involve the never-ending cycle of monsters and death.

you were pregnant when autumn came, the trees turning shades of gold and red as the world seemed to reflect the new life growing inside you. it felt like a new chapter was unfolding, one where the nightmares of the past could be put to rest. dean spent the next weeks fixing up the house, getting it ready for your baby, feeling more grounded than he had ever before.

then— the best moment of both of your lives’ happened, your baby was born. a little girl with your eyes and dean’s smile. dean could hardly believe how perfect she was, how she completed the family you’d always dreamt of. he spent every moment doting on her, watching her grow with a sense of joy and pride that was foreign to him.

you had been talking about names for months, but the moment dean held her for the first time, he just knew. “layla.” he had said, the name slipping from his lips like it had always belonged to her. and for the first time in his life, he thought that maybe he could have it all. a little family, a home, the whole apple pie life.

but fate— as it always does, had other plans.

one cold evening, as the leaves outside swirl in the wind, an old enemy from dean’s past resurfaced, a demon—one he thought had been vanquished years ago—had come back, angrier and more powerful than before. the first sign that something was wrong when the lights flickered, the house growing unnaturally cold. dean’s instincts kicked in, he knew something was off. but before he could react, the door slammed open, and the demon appeared.

dean immediately rushed to protect you, but the demon was too powerful. it spoke in a voice that chilled him to the bone, a voice dripping with venom and rage. it wanted revenge for something dean had done in the past, and it was not going to stop until it tore everything from him. the creature was relentless, overpowering him, and in the chaos, the last thing he saw was you stepping in front of him, trying to protect him and layla.

“run!” you screamed, voice shaking. “take her and run, dean! please!”

dean tried to fight back, to reach you, but the demon was too fast. in a heartbeat, it lunged and the world seemed to freeze. dean saw you falling the ground, the life draining from your eyes, before the demon turned its focus on him. the demon’s laughter echoed in the room as it vanished, leaving nothing but a deafening silence. dean collapsed to his knees beside you, his hand reaching for your still form.

“no— no please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “not you. not now. i can’t— i can’t do this without you.”

but you were gone. his heart shattered as he had you in his arms, the warmth of your body slowly slipping away. your little girl was crying from the nursery, but dean couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe. the life he had fought so hard for, the future he’d finally gotten, had been ripped from him in a blink of an eye. when he finally gathered the strength to move, he found his daughter, the tiny girl he had promised to protect, innocent face scrunched up in fear. layla had no idea what had just happened, why her mom would not be around anymore, why the world just collapsed around her.

dean took her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, the sound of her crying tugging at dean’s heartstrings. “i’m so sorry,” he whispered to layla, feeling like he had already failed her. the world had become an incredibly cruel place, and he was now the only one left to fight for her.

as the leaves continued to fall outside, the final moments of your life seemed to linger in the air, a harsh reminder of how quickly everything could get taken away. dean didn’t know how to move on. how to face another day without you. how to raise your daughter alone, when he had always relied on you to balance him, to help him see the light even in the darkest moments. but now, all he had was her. the only piece of you left in the world. and as he rocked her to sleep, dean whispered a promise— a vow to keep her safe, no matter the cost. the price of love in his world has always been too high, but he would fight for her, because that’s all he had left.

the days that followed felt like a blur— like time had lost all meaning. the house was too quiet, too empty without you. dean moved through it like a ghost, going through the motions only because he had to. he had a daughter now. your daughter. the only piece of you still here, still breathing. he had no choice but to keep going.

god it hurt.

the nights were the worst. the weight of the silence pressed down on him like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. he would find himself reaching for you in bed, only to be met with the cold, empty space where you should have been. his arms ached to hold you, his fingers desperate to brush against your skin, to tangle in your hair. but you were gone.

and in the next room, layla stirred, her small cries cutting through the silence.

dean forced himself up, dragging his exhausted body to where the crib where she is, tiny and fragile and completely unaware of the hole that had been ripped through his heart. he scooped her up, holding her close against his chest, whispering soft, broken words. “hey sweetie,” his voice cracked as he rocked her gently, trying to calm her. “it’s okay— i got you, i got you.” he didn’t, he didn’t have anything.

dean winchester had faced monsters, demons, and the literal end of the world. he had fought many battles no man should have survived. and yet, standing here, holding the daughter her mother would never get to know, he had never felt so lost.

days turned into weeks. he tried— he really did. he changed diapers, warmed bottles, learned how to hold her just right to get her to stop crying. but nothing calmed the constant ache in his chest. everytime she looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, all he saw was you. and it broke him all over again. he barely slept, barely ate. the grief clawed at him like an open wound that refused to heal. and in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he wondered if fate had been planning this all along. letting dean believe he could finally have happiness, just so it could be taken right away from him.

one night, as the wind howled outside, rattling the windows, dean sat in the rocking chair by the crib, staring blankly ahead. layla had finally drifted off, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. the weight of her against his chest was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. “i dunno what the hell i’m doin’ kid,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “but i swear to you, i’m gonna figure it out. i have to.”

because he had made a promise. to you. to her. and no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he was, he would keep it.

dean never knew how much one little human could talk until layla started stringing full sentences together.

at five years old, she was a force of nature— bright, curious, and full of boundless energy that he often struggled to keep up with. she had your eyes, that same spark of mischief and wonder, and everytime she smiled at him, it was like he was staring right at you as a child. it was the most beautiful and the most painful thing ever.

“daddy, why do cows say ‘moo’?” she asked one morning, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

dean rubbed a hand over his tired face, still groggy from another late night. “uhh… ‘cause that’s just what they do, baby.”

she hummed, seemingly considering his answer, then tilting her head. “but why?”

dean sighed. “i dunno, layla. why do you ask so many questions?”

she grinned at him, cheeky as ever. “'cause i wanna know stuff!”

dean chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his coffee. he never got tired of her endless curiosity, even if it exhausted him most of the time.

then came the question that made his heart stop.

“daddy… what was mommy like?”

he froze, the coffee cup halfway to his lips. his grip tightening just slightly, and he forced himself to breathe. he should’ve known this was coming. it wasn’t the first time she asked about you, but it still hit like a punch to the gut every single time. dean set his mug down and looked at her, his little girl watching him expectantly, her big, eager eyes waiting for an answer. he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“she was amazing,” he said, voice quieter than before. “the best person i ever knew.”

layla’s face lit up. “really?” dean nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “yeah, sweetie. she was kind, and smart, and she was the most beautiful woman ever. just like you.”

“did she like pancakes?” she asked with an innocent smile that had him melting. dean huffed a laugh. “yeah, she did. especially when i made ‘em.” she furrows her brows at his words, not quite believing them.

“but daddy— you always burn pancakes!” she huffs out, crossing her arms.

“hey—” he said, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know that i’ve gotten better missy.”

layla laughed, and for a moment, the conversation felt light, warm— something dean could handle. but then, as kids do, she hit him with another question, this time one that sent a chill down his spine.

“why isn’t she here?”

dean’s chest tightened, he set his coffee aside and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. he hated this part. hated that he had to tell her why you’re not here, why layla would only ever know you through stories and pictures. he looked at her, his little girl who deserved to have both her parents, and felt the familiar ache in his heart. “mommy…” he exhaled slowly, searching for words a five year old could understand. “she had to go away.”

layla’s brows furrowed again. “where..? why?” dean doesn’t know how long he can keep on answering these questions, but he’ll try, and he can’t blame her, she’s just a kid.

“someplace… far, and because she wanted to keep you safe,” he manages to murmur, his throat feeling tight. layla stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his answer. then in a quiet voice, she asked. “did she not want to stay with us?”

dean’s breath hitched. “baby, no,” he said, voice breaking just slightly. he reached across the table, taking her small hand in his. “mommy loved you more than anythin’ in the whole world. she didn’t wanna leave. she just… didn’t have a choice.”

layla’s lower lip wobbled. “i miss mommy.” she whimpers, looking down at her little feet. dean closed his eyes for a brief second, willing himself to keep it together for his little girl. when he opened them, he pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i know,” he whispered. “i miss her too.” layla curled into his chest, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “is she watching us?”

dean’s eyes burned. he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears he refuses to show her away. he presses his chin firmly to the top of her head. “yeah,” he murmured. “she’s watchin’ and she’s real proud of you.”

a moment later, her expression shifted, her usual curiosity returning. “daddy?” she softly says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. dean lets out a soft hum, wanting to hear what the little girl has to say now. “do you think mommy would like my drawings?”

dean chuckled, relieved by the sudden change in subject. “she’d love ‘em,” he said, ruffling her hair. “especially the ones where you make me look like a potato.”

layla burst into laughter. “that’s ‘cause sometimes you look like a potato!”

dean gasped dramatically. “that’s it, you’re gettin' it now.” layla shrieked with giggles as he adjusted his grip on her, tickling her until she was breathless with laughter. for a moment, just a moment, the weight in his chest lifted. the grief, the pain, the emptiness—it was all still there, lingering beneath the surface, but layla’s laughter was louder, brighter, stronger.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

as the golden leaves drifted past the kitchen window, dean held his daughter close, silently vowing—as he always did—to keep going. for her. for you. for the family he had left.

layla was no longer the little girl clung to dean’s hand and begged for bedtime stories. she was too grown up, and though she had your eyes, she wore them with a hardness that dean could barely recognize.

she was angry. at him, at the world, at everything. dean had tried to keep her safe, to protect her from the truth of her mother’s death, to shield her from the supernatural world that had once taken everything from him. but now, with each passing day, layla only pushed him further away.

it had been a long week of arguments. ever since she started high school, layla had been more distant, more independent. she came home late, snuck out whenever she could, and when she was home, she spent most of the time holed up in her room, listening to music that dean did not understand. he had tried talking to her, tried to keep the bond between them strong but she only shut him out.

tonight, something snapped.

“i’m not a kid anymore!” layla shouted, slamming the door behind her shut as she stormed into the living room. dean barely looked up from his beer when she started in on him, her face flushed red. “you can’t keep treatin’ me like one! i don’t need you to follow me around and tell me what i can and can’t do!” dean stood up slowly, fighting the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for weeks now. he did not want to fight, but his patience was wearing thin, and his body was weak from the constant strain of his past. he had never really given himself time to rest. he couldn’t.

“baby, this is about more than just going out late. i’m just tryin’ to keep you safe— i don’t want you out of the house this late, not with everythin' goin' on.“

her face hardened, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. “everythin' goin' on? what does that even mean, dad? you’re just using that excuse again, i’m not a kid anymore, you can’t control me!”

“it’s not about control, it’s about keepin' you safe. you don’t know what’s out there— what could happen—“ he says calmly, his tired eyes meeting his daughters.

“keep me safe from what?!” layla stepped closer, her voice rising, fists clenched at her sides. “you think i dunno what’s out there? i grew up with you! i’ve seen the blood, the pain. i’ve seen how you’ve shut down, how you’ve been miserable since mom—“

the words hung heavy in the air like a sharp blade, cutting through dean like nothing else. he flinched, the rawness of her voice piercing deeper than he ever expected. she was angry, sure, but in that moment it was not just anger. she was hurt, and it was aimed straight at him.

“don’t you dare—“

but layla was not done. “don’t you dare tell me i dunno what you’ve been through, or what’s out there. because i do, dad. you think i haven’t seen how it destroyed you? how it ruined everythin'? you’re just holdin' me back because you’re scared— scared that i’ll end up like her, that i’ll get taken from you too. well guess what? i’m not mom! i’m not her, okay?”

dean felt as though the air had been ripped straight from his lungs. her words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him stunned and speechless. he stood frozen, trying to process his daughters words, the way they felt like the past he couldn’t escape, the past he was trying to outrun. it felt like the air in the room had closed in around him, the words echoing in his mind as his chest tightened. he sees so much of you in her— your eyes, your warmth, pieces of your personality. everytime he looked at her, he saw you. it had been one reason he kept going, the one thing that made his life feel slightly more bearable.

but now she was throwing it back in his face. she was not you. she was not that girl who would do anything to protect him, who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. she wasn’t that innocent child anymore, and she did not want to be reminded of what had been lost.

dean blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that was clouding his mind. he opened his mouth to speak, to tell her everything, to explain that he was only trying to protect her. but no words came out. his throat felt dry, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched layla’s figure fade out of the house, into the night, her anger and pain still hanging in the air like a thick mist.

she was right, in a way. she was not you. she was not the girl who would do anything to protect him, the girl who would hold him together when he was on the brink of falling apart. and dean knew that. he’d failed her, he knew he had. but all he ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant pushing her away. and now he could not stop the fear that gripped him. that same fear that had haunted him since you were taken. and now it was creeping up on him again. the world was not done with him, and it was just starting with layla.

he stood frozen for a moment, the silence of the house, pressing in on him. he tried to shake it off. “layla,” he muttered under his breath, moving quickly toward the door. “layla don’t go out there. it’s not safe, layla!” but it was too late, the door had already slammed shut behind her, and she was gone into the dark night. dean cursed under his breath, his pulse racing as he ran after her. he pushed past the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him, his eyes scanning the yard, the street. she was out there, somewhere, and he could already feel it. the same presence he had felt when she was younger. the cold chill going through him signaling that something was terribly wrong.

he called his daughter’s name again, but the only response was the wind rustling through the trees and the distant hum of city lights. the silence was killing him.

then, he felt it. a sharp pain in his chest. something was coming for them— for her.

his breath hitched as a dark shadow appeared in front of him, the air around him growing unbearably cold. dean’s defenses rising up, his hand already reaching for the gun he still keeps at his side, but his limbs felt heavier than usual. there was something wrong with him. he had been worn down, physically, emotionally. and now, he was not sure if he could even fight back. a dark figure materialized before him. it was the same demon that had killed you, the one that had haunted him for years, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again. it still was not here to kill him, at least not physically, it is here to tear his life apart.

“you thought you could hide from me, winchester,” the demon sneered, its voice guttural, dripping with malice. “you thought you could run and bury your pain. but you can’t. it’s never gone. you and your precious daughter are mine. always have been.”

dean’s breath quickened. he could feel the weight of the demon’s words in his gut, in his bones. but he couldn’t move. not like this. not in the state he was in. his body giving out on him. “no,” dean gritted out, pulling the gun from his waistband. his hand shook as he aimed it at the demon. “not again.”

“you can try, but it won’t matter. she’ll be just like her mother.”

before dean could even react, the demon vanished, and in its place, the air grew colder still. a familiar, hollow silence fell over the street. dean’s heart hammered in his chest, his eyes darting around in fear, desperate to find layla. he took a few steps forward, calling her name, voice as loud as he could get it. “layla!” but his words were lost in the night. and then, he heard it.

a scream.

one so desperate and raw that it stopped dean in his tracks. his heart dropped to his stomach as he ran toward the sound. the closer he got, the more his chest constricted, the more the world around him seemed to close in. when he finally reached the alleyway a couple blocks away, he stopped dead in his tracks. layla was there, her back pressed against the brick wall, her eyes wide with terror. she was shaking, her hand gripping her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but blood was slowly spilling from a wound— the same wound that had taken you. a deep, gaping hole in her chest, just like that he had seen all those years ago.

dean’s breath caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her. “no! layla, please—” he practically yells out, voice cracking as his hands reach out.

“dad…” layla’s voice was barely audible, a whisper carried on the wind. ”i’m sorry, i’m sorry— i didn’t… i didn’t mean what i said.”

dean’s hands shook as he pulled his daughter into his arms, cradling her tightly to his body. “i know baby, i know. it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers against her head, pressing a gentle kiss there. he could feel her body growing colder, her pulse slowing. “layla, please… stay with me, baby. i need you. don’t leave me— please, please don’t leave me.” but she didn’t respond, her breaths labored, shallow. the life in her was slipping away, just like her mothers had. dean’s vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. the same helplessness he had felt when you were taken crashed over him, drowning him in an ocean of grief he had never truly recovered from.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “don’t go, please. you’re all i have left— you’re my world, layla.” her breaths quieting, the life fading from her eyes. her body falling limp in his grip.

dean didn’t remember screaming, but his throat was raw, burning with agony of a loss too great for anyone to bear. he held layla’s cold body against his chest, his hands gripping her too tightly, as if sheer will could keep her there, keep her from slipping away completely. but she was already gone. his baby girl. his layla. his world.

the night around him was too still, too quiet, as if the universe itself was mocking him, watching as he broke apart all over again. his tears dripped onto her blood-stained shirt, and his mind flashed back— his daughter at five years old, making dean play with her dolls. his daughter at ten years old, stubborn but sweet, sneaking into his rooms during thunderstorms because she was too proud to admit she was scared. his daughter at thirteen years old, rolling her eyes at his dad jokes and cringing, but laughing anyway. and now, she was gone.

his chest burned with something raw and ugly. grief. guilt. rage.

this was his fault.

he should have stopped her, should have forced her to stay inside, should have done something.

she had been angry. she had been hurting. and now, the last thing she would ever remember was their fight. the way she had yelled at him. the way she had thrown your death in his face like it was a weapon, cutting him open right before she was taken away from him too. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “i’m so sorry, baby. i should’ve protected you. i should’ve kept you safe. i should’ve—“ but the words didn’t matter, nothing did anymore.

his entire world is gone, first you, now her. and for the first time in decades, he had no reason to keep fighting.

[omeganronpa]

Home Headcanons

A/N: Happy VERRRRRYYYYY Late Birthday to Amy @animeomegas. NGL I had ideas when you sent me your request but then I sat down to write them out and they all abandoned me. But I made you collages that fit the vibe I am going for to make up for it. Request: "Could you maybe pick a few Naruto Omegas and describe how you see their home with alpha? Like size, interior design style, amenities, any details that you always imagine for them. I love reading about how people design spaces for fictional characters. Just bullet points, no prose." Warnings: mentions of abuse, poverty, death

Naruto Uzumaki

Naruto's home evolves the longer he is with his Alpha. The very beginning of moving in together opens Naruto up to a new life he hadn't been exposed to - one outside of poverty. He, even without his Alpha, is comfortable but he didn't realize that comfortability meant he no longer had to 1) hoard possessions, 2) get used to going without, and 3) use things until they were beyond fixing. Everything Naruto brought into the home was decades old, in disrepair, and beyond saving and it took months before he could part with any of it in favor of getting new items - something he never had before.

Once Naruto overcomes some of his poverty trauma, the home becomes a mix-match of things that do not work but somehow do. You both buy things that you like and figure out how to make it work. He wants his home to be A HOME and not something from a magazine cover. He wants it lived in, where everything sparks joy. He also likes having the ability to change things as he likes and still prefers DIY over buying new.

The home is always a little messy but he keeps his home clean because he is used to taking care of what he has so nothing breaks or tears. There is a ball of laundry on the floor but there are no disgusting dishes hiding under the bed type shit.

You decide to buy a medium-sized home with an emphasis on bedrooms because you had discussions of children. Naruto really wanted a big house in the beginning but whenyou both toured one, he realized just how...disconnected everything felt. Even the open concept plan were too spacious. It made him feel like everyone would be too far away even if he could physically see him.

Loves colorblock accents on the walls and on decor items. Also loves weird looking furniture or furniture that is made of things people normally dont make furniture with. (Think - a side table made using records and metal dowels or old glasswear used as a chandelier)

Naruto also gets a lot of stuff as gifts and souvenors. He's made so many friends in different places that when he travels, he always comes home with something reflective of his destination. The house is maximalist not because of you spending money (even though you both like to buy cool things) but because he gets a lot of presents. This reflects...all over the house. You have a weird stature watching you poop now. Congrats.

He has a nook of your home that is dedicated to all his old things. He has some sentimental items from back when he had very little that he doesn't want to get rid of but they are bare bones. He also keeps mementos of your relationship (pre-moving in together) there.

Ceiling hammock. That is all.

Absolutely hates blinds (the white ones that go up and down) and yes, it is because he always gets them wonky or tangled. He wanted to replace all the doors with bead strands because they were shiny but you veto-d that with a quickness.

The nursery is the only room in the house that is somewhat less chaotic looking. There are lots of colors but they are softer and everything is a lot more purposeful. Naruto got a lot of advice from other parents about what he should do there and he is very strict about keeping it less chaotic.

Neji Hyuuga

Clean girl aesthetic but home edition. Clean lines. No overpowering bright colors. Open concept. Neutral. Kind of boring but its very calming and incredibly organized. He wants all the hard furniture - tables, dressers, cupboards, cabinets, etc to be sturdy and all the soft furniture - couches, chairs, rugs, etc - to be the softest and comfiest things you've ever felt.

He does not want to buy things and have to replace them so you both budget to get the best top quality items that last 30 years. He is infinitely grateful that his mate let him take over the majority of the decorating because he goes nuts when it clicks that 'oh, all of this new life is mine. I have autonomy and control.'

Neji is fanatical about the way his bedroom looks and feels. Due to years of trauma, he has his bed hidden surrounded by moveable walls that he can close and open at will (or with chakra.) Before kids, he only has all the walls closed. After kids, he keeps the wall closest to the door open so they can see him and he can see them.

The only things he lets go of are his pup's bedrooms and their bathroom. He had to come to terms with the fact that they will grow into their own people with their own tastes and they deserve what he never got as a kid - a personalized space thats just for them. As long as they keep it clean, he's fine. (He 100% gets excited when they want him to go shopping with them because while it may not be to his taste, he is great with decorating and matching their growing tastes)

You surprise him with a mini jacuzza bath built off the master bathroom when he went away for a mission for two months and he wants you to fuck him in it like twice a week. (Lives for the 'prince being bathed by their servant' roleplay). He didn't know he wanted one until he got it and its his favorite part of the house XD

A slut for furniture with compartments and small cozy nooks.

Hates clear tiny, peek-a-boo windows. If they are frosted, its fine. He wants floor to ceiling windows whenever and wherever possible. Loves the natural light they let in.

Takes pride in the outside of the home as much as the inside and obsesses over his pond. He likes to mediate and practice new jutsu there.

Loves a home renovation project so his home started off as a one bedroom apartment-type building because he and his Alpha were broke-broke when they moved in together and it has expanded into a fucking manor. Man said "I deserve luxury" and his Alpha said, "Yes my love."

Overall, his home is a reflection of his freedom to choose but also a reflection of his need for stability. It is a home that started from nothing and was given life by love, just like him.

Chouji Akimichi

His home is on Akimichi Clan land, a wedding gift from the clan to Chouji. The original plan was for you and Chouji to live in your apartment for another year after the wedding to save money to buy your own plot on clan land and build a home but the clan surprised you with the home a few months before the wedding. You did not tell Chouji because you had your own wedding gift to add onto it in mind.

Like most Akimichi, his kitchen and pantry are a focal point in his home. He was very specific in what he wanted and what he needed when you were discussing your furture home. The kitchen is large and spacious so he had the space to cook. The pantry is more of a walk-in closet than anything because Chouji loves to collect different ingredients from around the world and he needs the space.

The kitchen leads out to the backyard, where you designed and built a huge barbaque and cook-out area as his wedding gift. When the clan told you about the house, you began your own construction when the kitchen was done. You made sure to give it a different vibe from the inside. Chouji in the kitchen is different than Chouji on the BBQ and no, you will not elaborate.

Everything in the home is reinforced to hold an Akimichi. They are a big people. A dense people. A people who can and will make themselves bigger, sometimes just for shits and giggles when they have a little too much to drink. Their homes need to fit them. There is nothing short of a catastrophic event that is going to take the house down.

Chouji's nest area is different than his shared bedroom with you. The nest is in its own room and is shaped similarly to his pup's/pups' beds, except bigger. Its a two-level bed with stairs, curved and lined with dense stuffing and sturdy cushions on both 'floors'. The bottom area has shelves that store his heat aids and supplies. The top area is used mainly for storing back up blankets, pillows, and sheets since his heats get messy.

The pup's/pups' room - in the nursery and childhood years - start as being very whimsical in design. The beds are built into the wall and act as a sleeping space and a small play area. If any of the pups are Omegas, it also makes for a great 'first nest' area, with curved areas and hidden nooks. The rooms are also filled with all sorts of learning toys alongside several numerous large plushies.

Speaking of pup rooms, they have their own section of the house. There is a hallway that leads from the main room that lead just to bedroom doors. Chouji is Oma-shaped and he wanted at least three pups. Its in the opposite direction of your master bedroom and Chouji's nest room -for obvious reasons.

Every room has some color in it but not a lot. He likes his spaces to be calming - like Neji - but still a little colorful - like Naruto. The bathrooms are basic because he doesn't see why they need to be decorated. People aren't hanging out in there. They are in there to shit, shower, shave so why???

Fucking hates subway tiles - the white and black ones. You had to redo one of your bathrooms after a pipe burst and when the contractor put them on the table, Chouji immediately shoved them back into his bag with prejudice. He also hates mirrored surfaces - especially if they distort the reflection.

There are an abundance of random snack hidey-holes fucking everywhere. Behind paintings, in the storage ottomans and baskets, under beds, between cushions, in at least one drawer in every room. Snacks everywhere. Its very convienent.

Kankuro

The homes in Sunagakure are very different than in Konohagakure - in that they are closer together, rounder, and dusty as hell. Beehive looking ass buildings. They also look like they have hallways that link buildings together. It also looks like the housing options are either condos, duplexes, or apartments. No actual independant standing homes. As such, Kankuro and you live in a three-ish story condo.

Because you live in the desert that has sandstorms, there are not many windows. Maybe one on each floor. Not a whole lot of natural light coming in. This works well because the desert is hot and the less sun inside, the cooler the inside stays. The walls are also very curved - which might just be a stylistic choice but who knows?

The condo is very open but yet it gives the feeling of it being underground. You can see the first floor from the second floor and vice versa. There is a staircase on one side that connects the two floors. The third floor is technically an attic but it was pretty big and - when you renovated it - became a liveable, useable area. This is where you banished Kankuro's puppets to.

You were not about to have Kankuro's puppet's everywhere in your new home. You saw the state of his apartment - with random ass body parts everywhere - and decided that you were going to turn the attic into his workshop. Kankuro protested until he saw what you had done and proceeded to immediately make it the creepiest place you've ever been but hey, at least there aren't eyeballs sitting on the coffee table.

Kankuro does not give a fuck about decorating. As long as every room has the basics, he does not care. His home before you was a mixmatch of furniture that he was given from random people. The only thing he is particular on is his puppet work station. You cannot get him to choose anything to save your life and he will complain every time he sees you eyeing the homes and garden section of the store.

Because the home is technically just a building mostly made of solid earth, much of it is just one solid piece that has nooks and crannys carved into it. The bathroom is no exception. Everything is either straight lines or curved edges with no in-between but everything is a single solid smooth surface. You have one of each. They both look weird for different reasons. One of them has two different style bathtubs in it - an above ground and an in-the-ground. You don't make too much of a fuss because Kankuro likes to have sex in there more than any other room so....

You comissioned a vanity for Kankuro for his birthday so he would stop leaving his face paints everywhere in the bathroom. Its quite simple but it has three mirrors and many drawers. He sticks to purple for the most part but he has used other colors for different events. Its his favorite thing he's ever gotten from you (besides the mold of your dick. )

Kankuro's nest is wherever he wants it to be. It could be in the middle of the living room or in the kitchen or in his workshop, etc. He doesn't like having a dedicated space for his nest much like he doesn't like wearing clothes when he is home. He figures 'this is my house. If I wanna nest here (or be naked), then I can and no one can tell me no because this is my house.' However he does have a indoor hammock that he uses a lot as a nest spot.

The bedroom is...reflective of your sex life and thats all I'm going to say and you probably should never let anyone in there. Keep it locked always. The tamest thing in there is the LED sign that spells out SEX that Kankuro, the troll that he is, turns on to tell you he wants to fuck.

Kakashi Hatake

This man JUMPED at the chance to move in with you. All you did was mention your lease was ending and he was handing you a key to his family home. (Yes he had been carrying it in his pocket trying to figure out how to give it to you without making it weird....he made it weird anyway) He had avoided the house for so long but he was ready to face those ghosts as long as you were there with him. He wanted to reclaim it.

After a LOT of clean-up and some renovations, the home shaped up quite nicely. Its only a one story, one bed-one bath because fuck you if you think he's inviting people over XD. Nah this is yours, his, and the dog's space. No one is invited. (Gai doesn't count. The man comes over whether he's wanted or not and he was a part of the deal when you got Kakashi)

He specifically wanted to expand the backyard so the dogs could have space to run and play so you bought a patch of land behind the already established backyard to extend it. He got a little crazy with the privacy plants so you now have a small forest around your home. TBH this just means he can walk around with no mask and no clothes in front of the windows.

Speaking of dogs, a lot of the furniture doubles as dog beds. Dog beds everywhere. It looks like y'all collect them at this point. (And for why? The dogs end up in your bed anyway)

A reading nook doubles as a nesting space for Kakashi. For heats, Kakashi will nest in the bed but for other things, he will curl up in his reading corner and relax. He reads things other than Icha Icha but one of the bookshelves is soley dedicated to it and its on display because 'fuck you this is my house and if I wanna display my porn, I'm gonna' - said Kakashi but in nicer words. (When he feels vulnerable and you aren't around, he will put up a hanging curtain and hide)

Kakashi favors cool tones and graviates towards blue and that shows throughout the home. He originally had no interest in decorating but he wasn't about to let you go alone (because no, he needs to be with you at all times like the worlds biggest tick) so he went and it became very apparent very quickly that he had a preference. Everything he picked - at your prompting - was matching a white, grey, light blue-green sort of color scheme. Its calming for him so you went with it and incorporated your own stuff with it.

The bathroom is bigger than the bedroom and this is on purpose. Kakashi comes down from subspace after sexytime the easiest when he's being washed so the tub and the shower are much larger than normal since it has to fit two people a lot of the time. Kakashi also lives a life of constant "bruh I'm so tired I will pass out in the living room covered in filth unless someone takes me to the bathroom" moments and its infinitely easier to deal with a large bathroom.

He hates floor to ceiling windows and any furniture that is L-shaped. Something about too much sun and too many unnecessary corners. He also really hates that there are so many drawers in the kitchen but like....the counters came with them. (yes you have to keep him from shoving everything into one drawer)

The bedroom is pretty standard. A bed. A rug. Two dressers. Some pictures on the walls. A small writing desk. A bird perch on the window for messenger birds. But there is one thing that looks like it belongs but it is not what it seems. An armoire. Now, many would see it and think "oh more room for clothes" and they would be wrong. That is the sex armoire. It holds all the kinky funtime toys that Kakashi likes. (And yes, that thing is locked down more securely than Area 51. It only opens for you and Kakashi.)

Kakashi does have a memorial place in the yard for the people he loves that died and a wall inside the house for all the people he loves that are still alive. He needs the two spaces to be separate and as far away from eachother as possible. The backyard memorial is a small patch with a bunch of stones with people's names on them with a bench next to it. He sits there and talks to them sometimes. Its easier for him to be open and grieve in the comfort and privacy of his home, with his love and mate, than do it alone at the Village's Memorial Stone.

[damiansgoodgirll]

Hiii!! I hope that you’re doing good and feeling better!!

I was wondering if I could request a Jey Uso x reader where Jey and reader are celebrating because they both won their Royal Rumbles (still so proud of Jey 💖) and it goes from a cute and fluffy celebration to steamy pretty quickly? Thank you so much and I hope you have an amazing day!!

jey uso x reader

‼️love, soft moments, fluff turned into smut, stay away kids‼️

royal winners

you could still feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you stepped into the hotel room, jey’s hand wrapped tightly around yours. your body ached from the war you had just survived, bruises forming beneath your gear, but none of it mattered. not when jey was here, his fingers laced with yours, both of you still high off the biggest moments of your careers.

“we really did that…” you breathed, laughing softly as you kicked off your shoes. your ribs ached, muscles sore from the chaos of the royal rumble, your gear was half broken but the sheer excitement humming through you overpowered everything.

“hell yeah, we did!” jey’s grin was wide, pure joy radiating off him. then his eyes found yours again, dark and gleaming with something else “we are really going to wrestlemania!”

a shaky exhale left your lips as the realization fully sank in. both of you had done the impossible. fighting 29 others, carving your names into history and you had done it together.

“this is insane…” you whispered, running a hand through your damp hair. before you could say anything else, jey’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his body warm against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“nah…” he murmured, his lips kissing the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine “this is perfect.”

your breath hitched slightly at the softness in his voice, the way his fingers brushed against your stomach beneath your shirt. his touch was slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.

“we should celebrate…” he murmured against your skin, his lips barely touching, just enough to make you shiver.

you let out a quiet hum “we already celebrated with everyone.”

“not how i wanna celebrate” - a smirk appearing on his face. his voice was lower now, thick with meaning. before you could respond, his lips pressed a lingering kiss beneath your ear, his hands sliding up your sides. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

“jey…” your voice came out softer than you intended, breathy, already sinking into him.

he turned you in his arms, your chest pressing against his, your noses brushing. his hands found your waist, steady and sure, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

“lemme take care of you, baby” he murmured, voice rough with want and desire. desire for you.

before you could speak, his lips were on yours - slow, deep, desiring and savoring you. you melted into him, fingers slipping into his hair as he walked you back toward the bed, his hands wandering with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

the celebration was just getting started.

you sighed against his mouth, your body already molding against his. jey deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, the heat between you two sparking into something undeniable. his grip on your waist tightened, and before you knew it, he was guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“sit baby…” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. his dark eyes were heavy with hunger, his breathing slightly uneven.

you did as he said, watching as he pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath and the tattoos you loved so much. your fingers twitched to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. as if reading your mind, jey smirked and leaned down, his hands blocking either side of you.

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for this?” he murmured, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the side of your neck. “watching you in that ring tonight, being a damn star. you were born for this. fighting charlotte, fighting liv, raquel, bianca…you were the best one out there baby…you had me going crazy, fucking insane.”

your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your skin, his tongue soothing over the spot immediately after “jey…” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair. you felt your panties getting wetter and wetter, your stomach aching with pleasure.

he hummed against your throat, one of his hands sliding beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your bare skin “tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with need “i wanna hear you say it…” - while his hands played with your breast, teasing your nipples, making them hard.

making you whimper. moan.

your heart pounded as you met his gaze, your body already burning for him “you…”you breathed “i want you.”

that was all he needed.

jey pulled your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his eyes raking over you like he was committing every inch of you to memory. his hands roamed your body, slow and deliberate, igniting sparks everywhere he touched. his lips followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, across your chest, taking your nipples into his mouth, playing with them, making you shudder beneath him.

his hands found the waistband of your already broken gear, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. like he was taking his time, making sure you knew just how much he wanted you.

“you good?” he asked, his voice softer now, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip.

you nodded, your fingers trailing down his abs before slipping beneath the band of his sweatpants “i need you, jey.”

a groan rumbled from his chest. in the next breath, your gear was gone, and his sweats followed, leaving nothing between you but heat and skin and pure, aching need.

his hand found your leaking pussy. wet, dripping for him. his middle finger testing the water as he circled your swollen clit.

“oh shit…jey” you moaned, already lost in the pleasure.

jey hovered over you, his forehead resting against yours, his breaths mingling with yours as he lined himself up “hold on to me, baby” and then he was pushing into you, slow and deep, stretching you in the best way, making your body arch into his. a gasp escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.

jey cursed under his breath, his grip on your thigh tightening as he gave you a moment to adjust “you feel so good…” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again, this time rougher, needier “so perfect for me.”

you moaned into his mouth, rocking your hips slightly, urging him to move. and when he did - when he started rolling his hips into you, setting a slow, deep rhythm—you swore you saw stars.

“oh…jey fuck…” you moaned into his mouth as he was hitting every right spot.

jey took his time, dragging out every stroke, making sure you felt every inch of him. his hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, worshipping. his lips never left yours for long, alternating between kissing you breathless and whispering praises into your ear.

but soon, slow wasn’t enough.

“jey - faster” you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair “please faster, fill me up so good” - you were gone now.

he groaned, gripping your hips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts rougher now, deeper. the sounds filling the room, his low curses, your breathy moans, the rhythmic slap of skin only fueled the fire building between you.

“damn, baby” he muttered, his teeth grazing your shoulder “this what you needed, huh?”

you couldn’t even form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure crashed through you. jey shifted slightly, hitting a spot that had you crying out, your back arching off the bed.

“that’s it love” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck “let go for me, baby.”

his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot, and the combination of his touch and the way he moved inside you sent you spiraling. your release hit hard, your body tightening around him as pleasure consumed you.

jey wasn’t far behind, his pace stuttering as he buried himself deep, a low groan escaping him as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside of you.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the aftermath. jey pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before rolling onto his side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest as you were still catching your breath. his fingers traced lazy circles on your back, his breathing still uneven.

“best celebration ever…” he murmured, making you laugh softly.

you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “yeah” you whispered, smiling “and it’s just the beginning” you teased.

he grinned, pulling you closer. “hell yeah, it is…”

you were born ready to take over wrestlemania and you couldn’t wait for that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[w1w2]

A Taste of Love

Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 4k

Synopsis: Yn brings homemade food in Jennie's studio.

Requested by Anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of Y/N’s cozy apartment, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. The gentle clinking of utensils and the soft hum of an old favorite playlist filled the air as Y/N meticulously prepared a special meal. Today wasn’t just any ordinary day—it was a day she had set aside to surprise Jennie, her lover, with a home-cooked meal after weeks of intense work on her solo album.

Y/N stirred the pot of soup gently, inhaling the comforting aroma that filled the space. The rich scent of kimchi stew—spicy, tangy, and deeply savory—wrapped around her like a warm embrace. The broth bubbled gently, small ripples forming on the surface as steam curled upward, filling the air with a homey essence. She reached for a wooden spoon, giving the stew a careful taste. The balance was just right, the spice level perfect—not too overpowering, but strong enough to bring a satisfying heat to Jennie’s palate.

Turning to the cutting board, Y/N’s hands moved with practiced ease as she sliced fresh fruits into delicate pieces. The blade slid smoothly through ripe strawberries, their sweetness releasing a subtle fragrance into the air. Golden kiwi, its vibrant hue glistening under the light, joined the neat arrangement. Crisp apple slices, perfectly fanned out, completed the edible mosaic. She reached for a small container, carefully layering each fruit with precision, ensuring a visually appealing presentation. Jennie always appreciated the little details—Y/N knew that well.

Next, she moved on to plating the side dishes. The tteokbokki sat in a deep bowl, the rice cakes bathed in a thick, fiery-red sauce that clung to their smooth surface. A sprinkle of sesame seeds and finely chopped green onions added the finishing touch, making the dish look as appetizing as it smelled. A separate container held fluffy white rice, its warmth radiating through the container as Y/N carefully packed it. Beside it, a small dish of homemade kimchi sat, its deep red color hinting at the bold, tangy flavors within.

As she wiped her hands on a dish towel, Y/N paused to admire her work, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. The sight of the neatly packed meal filled her with a quiet sense of joy. It wasn’t just food; it was a piece of home, a reminder for Jennie to slow down and take a moment for herself amidst the chaos of her work. Y/N knew how much her girlfriend loved her cooking, but more than that, she knew that this meal was an expression of love in its purest form—one Jennie would understand without words.

Her thoughts drifted to Jennie, as they often did. Y/N could still picture the soft crease in Jennie’s brow when she talked about her album. This solo project was everything to her, a culmination of her talent, effort, and dreams. Late-night texts filled with song ideas, the endless hours she spent in the studio, and her drive to create something truly special—it was all evidence of Jennie’s passion and dedication. But it came at a cost.

Y/N frowned slightly, recalling how tired Jennie had sounded the last time they talked. Her voice, usually so bright and lively, had carried an edge of exhaustion. She’d joked about surviving on caffeine and protein bars, brushing off Y/N’s concerns with a laugh. But Y/N knew better. Jennie might be fiercely independent, but she had a habit of neglecting herself when she was deep in her work.

That was why Y/N was here now, standing in her kitchen, determined to remind Jennie that she didn’t have to carry everything alone. Y/N’s gaze fell on the small note she’d written earlier, now resting atop one of the boxes. The words, scrawled in her neat handwriting, were simple but heartfelt:

“To my Jendeuk, You’re doing amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Please remember to take care of yourself, too. Love you always. – Y/N”

The corners of Y/N’s lips curved upward as she slipped the note into the bag. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would make Jennie smile, maybe even give her the strength to push through another long night in the studio.

Y/N carefully adjusted the lid of the boxes one last time, ensuring it was sealed tightly. She wrapped the containers in a soft kitchen towel, tucking them securely into the tote bag. The bag itself was simple but cute, adorned with small heart patterns, a detail that Y/N hoped would make Jennie smile.

Satisfied with her preparations, Y/N slipped into her favorite sneakers and reached for her coat. The cool, crisp air outside hit her as she stepped onto the street, and she drew her jacket tighter around herself. It was a quiet evening, the kind where the city seemed to breathe a little slower. The faint hum of distant traffic mixed with the rustling of leaves, creating a peaceful atmosphere that mirrored Y/N’s calm but focused mood.

She made her way to her car, pausing for a moment to glance at the tote bag in her hand. Y/N placed the bag gently on the passenger seat and started the car, the engine humming softly to life.

As she drove, Y/N allowed herself to relax, the familiar route to the studio giving her time to think. A soft playlist played in the background, and she smiled as a song Jennie loved came on. It was one of those tracks that Jennie always hummed absentmindedly while doing mundane things, like tying her hair or scrolling through her phone. Y/N found herself humming along, the melody stirring a warmth inside her.

Her thoughts wandered to the beginning of their relationship. Jennie had always been so radiant, so captivating, that Y/N often wondered how she managed to catch her attention in the first place. She recalled their first date, a simple coffee shop outing where Jennie had ordered an iced latte, even though it was the middle of winter. "I like the contrast," Jennie had explained with a sly grin, and Y/N had laughed, completely charmed.

Those early days felt both vivid and distant now, like a golden blur of laughter and stolen glances. Over time, they’d grown closer, learning to navigate each other’s worlds. Y/N had learned to find joy in Jennie’s quirks: her obsession with her pets, the way she’d suddenly burst into song while cooking, and her habit of curling up like a cat whenever they lounged on the couch.

More recent memories bubbled to the surface. Y/N thought of the mornings when Jennie would groggily pull her back into bed, mumbling, “Five more minutes,” as she clung to her like a sleepy koala. Or the evenings when Jennie would surprise her with takeout, claiming she “just happened to pass by” Y/N’s favorite place, even though it was miles out of the way.

But tonight wasn’t about reminiscing, it was about being there for Jennie when she needed it most. Y/N’s smile softened as she turned into a familiar street, the studio building coming into view. Its tall, modern structure loomed against the dusky sky, the warm glow of its windows cutting through the twilight. Jennie was inside, no doubt immersed in her work, her focus so intense that she’d likely forgotten to eat again.

Y/N parked the car and turned off the engine, letting the quiet settle around her. For a moment, she sat there, looking at the bag in the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed over the strap as a wave of fondness surged in her chest.

“Here we go,” she murmured to herself, grabbing the bag and stepping out into the cool evening.

The walk to the entrance was short, but every step carried a mix of anticipation and excitement. Y/N’s mind raced with images of Jennie’s reaction, how her tired eyes would light up, how she might laugh and call her “too sweet” before pulling her into a hug. It wasn’t much, but Y/N hoped it would remind Jennie that she wasn’t alone in this journey.

Reaching the doors, Y/N took a deep breath, clutching the tote bag a little tighter. With a determined smile, she pushed them open, ready to bring a moment of love and warmth into Jennie’s busy night.

The faint buzz of music filled the sleek lobby as Y/N entered the studio building, her tote bag securely slung over one shoulder. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of studio equipment. A few staff members milled about, some reviewing clipboards while others chatted casually. The warm, familiar atmosphere put Y/N at ease.

As she approached the front desk, Minji, the receptionist, immediately lit up. “Y/N! Long time no see!”

Y/N grinned and leaned on the counter playfully. “Hey, Minji. How’ve you been?”

“Busy as usual, but not as busy as Jennie,” Minji replied with a chuckle. “You here to check on her? She’s been practically living here.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Y/N said, holding up the tote bag. “She’s overdue for some real food. Don’t tell me she’s been surviving on just coffee again?”

Minji sighed, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “You know her too well. She’s in Studio 3, probably hasn’t budged from her seat in hours.”

“Thanks, Minji,” Y/N said, giving her a small wave as she made her way toward the hallway.

As Y/N walked through the building, a few staff members greeted her with warm smiles. She was a familiar face here, and Jennie’s colleagues had grown used to seeing her drop by.

“Y/N! What’s in the bag this time?” one producer called out, his tone teasing.

“Tteokbokki, stew, and a side of love,” Y/N shot back with a laugh, making the man chuckle.

“You’re spoiling her, you know,” another staffer added with a grin.

“That’s the plan,” Y/N quipped, her pace quickening as she approached the quieter section of the hallway.

The noise faded as Y/N reached the doors to Studio 3. Through the small glass window, she could see Jennie sitting at the control board, her slender frame illuminated by the soft glow of the equipment. Jennie was in her zone, headphones covering her ears as she leaned forward to adjust the sliders on the mixing console. Her lips moved slightly as if silently singing along to the track playing in her ears.

Y/N paused for a moment, watching her girlfriend in her element. Jennie’s focus was magnetic, her passion radiating from every movement. But even in the dim light, Y/N could see the faint signs of exhaustion etched into her face, the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the way her shoulders dropped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside with practiced stealth. She set the tote bag down on a small table near the entrance and leaned against the wall, watching Jennie work.

Jennie’s head tilted slightly, her attention fully on the music. Her hand moved to adjust a knob, her brows furrowed in concentration. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight, it was moments like these that reminded her of how much Jennie loved what she did.

Finally, as if sensing the presence behind her, Jennie turned. Her eyes widened in surprise before softening into a radiant smile. She pulled the headphones down, letting them rest around her neck.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice was warm but tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N stepped forward, shrugging playfully. “Checking on my favorite superstar. Heard she’s been skipping meals again.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry grin. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, I have my sources,” Y/N teased, crossing her arms. “And I’ve got proof too. You’re looking a little too thin, Jendeuk.”

Jennie rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped her. “I’m fine, really.”

Y/N shook her head, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from Jennie’s face. “You’re amazing, but you’re not invincible. That’s why I brought this.”

Jennie’s eyes followed Y/N’s gesture toward the tote bag, her curiosity piqued. She stood and walked over, peeking inside before letting out a soft gasp.

“Tteokbokki? Stew?” Jennie’s voice rose slightly with excitement. She turned to Y/N, her tired expression brightening. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did,” Y/N said, smiling. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t starve while you’re making history.”

Jennie chuckled, stepping closer to wrap her arms around Y/N’s waist. The hug was warm and grounding, and Y/N felt Jennie’s head rest lightly against her shoulder.

“You’re too good to me,” Jennie murmured, her voice muffled.

Y/N kissed the top of Jennie’s head. “I just love you baby. That’s all.”

Jennie pulled back slightly, her gaze tender as she looked up at Y/N. “You’re going to make me cry,” she said with a playful pout.

“Well, before you do that, why don’t you eat?” Y/N teased, poking Jennie’s cheek lightly.

Jennie laughed, her tiredness momentarily forgotten as she grabbed Y/N’s hand and led her to the table. “Okay, let’s see what you made. I’m starving!”

Y/N sat by a small table in the corner of the studio, away from the clutter of Jennie’s workstation. The soft glow of the equipment lights cast a cozy ambiance in the otherwise quiet room. Jennie leaned against the console, watching with unrestrained curiosity as Y/N carefully unpacked the tote bag.

One by one, Y/N placed the dishes on the table. First, the tteokbokki, its fiery red sauce still steaming as Y/N removed the lid. The glossy rice cakes gleamed under the soft lighting, sprinkled with sesame seeds and tiny green scallions. Then came the rice, perfectly fluffy and fragrant, followed by a container of soybean paste stew, its aroma earthy and comforting. A small side dish of homemade kimchi completed the savory spread. Finally, Y/N retrieved a box of neatly arranged fruits. Jennie’s jaw dropped slightly as she took in the sight of the feast before her. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed, stepping closer. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Y/N, this looks amazing.”

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased by Jennie’s reaction. “Only the best for my Jendeuk,” she replied, pulling out a pair of chopsticks and handing them over.

Jennie accepted them with a playful pout. “You’re setting the bar way too high. How am I supposed to go back to cup noodles after this?”

“You won’t have to,” Y/N quipped, sitting down across from her. “Not if I keep showing up with meals like this.”

Jennie laughed, a sound that made the room feel warmer. “You’re going to spoil me,” she said, though her teasing tone couldn’t hide the gratitude in her voice.

“Good,” Y/N shot back with a wink. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

Jennie didn’t need to be told twice. She picked up a piece of tteokbokki, the sauce clinging to the soft rice cake as she took a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed as she chewed, a soft hum of appreciation escaping her lips. “This is so good,” she murmured, savoring the flavor.

Y/N rested her chin in her hand, watching Jennie with a fond smile. “I knew you’d like it. You’ve been talking about craving tteokbokki for weeks.”

Jennie opened her eyes, a mock-serious expression on her face. “That’s because you make it better than anyone else,” she declared, pointing her chopsticks at Y/N for emphasis.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Y/N replied, laughing as Jennie reached for the stew next.

As they ate, Jennie’s initial excitement gave way to a quieter sense of contentment. Her shoulders, which had been tense and hunched from hours of work, gradually relaxed. She alternated between bites of rice, tteokbokki, and the rich, savory stew, her hunger evident but her pace unhurried.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Jennie said softly after a while, glancing at Y/N with a mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“I did,” Y/N replied, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been working so hard, Jendeuk. I just wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself, even if you won’t do it on your own.”

Jennie’s expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed lost for words. She set her chopsticks down and reached across the table to take Y/N’s hand. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Y/N smiled, squeezing Jennie’s hand lightly. “And you’re even more amazing. I’m just here to remind you of that.”

Jennie let out a soft laugh, her gaze dropping briefly as she composed herself. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she admitted quietly.

“Well, for starters, you’d probably be eating instant ramen right now,” Y/N teased, lightening the mood.

Jennie laughed again, the sound bright and genuine. “True. But you know what? I think you’re more addictive than any tteokbokki.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed at the compliment. “If this is your way of convincing me to make this a weekly thing, it’s working.”

Jennie grinned and picked up a piece of strawberry from the fruit box. Holding it up, she leaned forward slightly. “Open up,” she said, her tone playful.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are we really doing this?”

Jennie tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What? I just want to share.”

Suppressing a laugh, Y/N leaned forward and let Jennie feed her the strawberry. The sweetness of the fruit was matched by the teasing smile on Jennie’s face. “You’re ridiculous,” Y/N muttered as she chewed.

“And you love it,” Jennie shot back.

The lighthearted exchange continued as they worked their way through the meal. Jennie fed Y/N more fruit, laughing every time Y/N playfully protested, and Y/N retaliated by sneaking extra pieces of kimchi onto Jennie’s plate. The room seemed to fill with their shared warmth, the earlier tension of Jennie’s workday melting away completely.

Eventually, they slowed down, both full and content. Jennie leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “I don’t think I’ve been this full in weeks,” she admitted, her voice drowsy with comfort.

“That’s what happens when you don’t eat properly,” Y/N teased, starting to pack up the empty containers.

Jennie watched her with a soft smile, her earlier playfulness replaced by something gentler. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything. Not just the food, but… for being here. For caring.”

Y/N paused, looking up at her. “Always,” she said simply, her voice filled with sincerity. “That’s never going to change.”

Jennie’s eyes glistened slightly as she reached for Y/N’s hand again. “You’re really the best thing in my life, you know that?”

Y/N chuckled, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Jennie’s forehead. “And don’t you forget it.”

Jennie laughed, her cheeks pink as she leaned into the touch. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested, her heart lighter than it had been in a while.

Jennie sat back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her cheeks were still faintly pink from laughing, and her hands rested on her lap as if she were trying to savor the comfort that had settled between them. “I don’t even know how to thank you, Y/N,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

Y/N, who was tidying up the remnants of their meal, glanced at Jennie with a playful smile. “You could start by eating like this more often. I can’t have my superstar girlfriend surviving on caffeine and willpower alone.”

Jennie laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t deserve you.” Her gaze softened, and she added, “But I’m so glad I have you.”

Y/N studied her for a moment, noticing the way Jennie’s posture had shifted, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze lowered. She recognized that look. It was the one Jennie wore when she was trying to carry too much on her own.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Y/N asked gently.

Jennie exhaled slowly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the table. “I just…” She paused, pressing her lips together before looking up at Y/N. “I’m scared.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She reached across the table, resting her hand over Jennie’s. “Scared of what?”

Jennie swallowed, her eyes searching Y/N’s as if trying to find the right words. “Of disappointing everyone,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “My fans, my team… you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she squeezed Jennie’s hand. “Jennie, love… you could never disappoint me.”

Jennie let out a small, humorless laugh. “You say that now, but what if this album isn’t good enough? What if people hate it? What if—”

Y/N cut her off by bringing her hand up to Jennie’s cheek, cupping it tenderly. “Hey. Stop that,” she whispered. “You’re incredible, Jennie. You always have been.”

Jennie blinked, and Y/N could see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes.

“You work so hard,” Y/N continued, brushing her thumb gently over Jennie’s cheek. “You put your heart and soul into everything you do. That’s why people love you—not just because of your talent, but because of the passion you pour into your music.”

Jennie bit her lip, looking away for a moment. “But what if it’s not enough?”

Y/N tilted her head, waiting until Jennie met her gaze again. “Then I’ll be right here to remind you that it is. That you are.”

Jennie let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around Y/N’s. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Because I know you, Nini. And because I love you.”

Jennie’s smile grew, small but genuine, and she reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Maybe,” Y/N teased lightly, her tone softening. “But seeing you smile like that? That’s all the thanks I need.”

The moment lingered, a shared stillness that felt heavy with meaning. Finally, Jennie pulled Y/N into a tight hug, her arms wrapped securely around her waist. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she murmured against Y/N’s shoulder.

“I know darling,” Y/N replied, her voice laced with gentle humor as she hugged Jennie back just as tightly.

After a while, Jennie pulled away, her energy visibly restored. “I feel like I can take on the world right now,” she said, her eyes sparkling with determination.

“Good,” Y/N said, standing up and stretching. “But maybe start with one track at a time, yeah? I’ll save the ‘taking on the world’ part for later.”

Jennie laughed, shaking her head. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep bringing me those meals.”

“Done,” Y/N said, flashing her a grin as she grabbed the tote bag. “But remember, studio visits come with conditions now. No skipped meals, and no falling asleep in the control room.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “I’ll try my best.”

“No, you’ll do it,” Y/N corrected, wagging a playful finger. “Otherwise, I’ll show up with a megaphone and drag you out of here myself.”

Jennie burst out laughing, the sound rich and unrestrained. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” she said, still smiling.

As Y/N walked toward the door, Jennie followed, lingering in the doorway as if reluctant to let her leave. “Thank you again, Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “For being here. For knowing exactly what I need even when I don’t.”

Y/N turned, her expression tender. “That’s what I’m here for, Jendeuk. To remind you that you’re not alone in any of this.”

Jennie’s lips parted as if to respond, but instead, she stepped forward, cupping Y/N’s face with both hands and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. When she pulled back, her smile was radiant, her eyes filled with gratitude and love.

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” Jennie said finally, her tone lighter but still warm.

“You’d better,” Y/N replied with mock sternness. “And don’t even think about pulling an all-nighter.”

Jennie raised a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

With one last wave, Y/N stepped into the hallway, glancing back over her shoulder as she left. Through the small glass window in the door, she could see Jennie already back at her station, her headphones in place and her hands moving confidently across the console. But there was something different now, an ease in her posture, a brightness in her expression.

As Y/N walked out into the cool evening air, she felt a sense of quiet pride. The city lights twinkled above, and the hum of distant traffic filled the air, but her thoughts were focused on Jennie. She could already imagine the music Jennie would create tonight, music filled with the same passion and brilliance Y/N saw in her every day.

“I’ve got you, Jendeuk,” Y/N whispered to herself, a small smile on her lips. She adjusted the bag and headed home. She was already looking forward to the next time she could surprise Jennie again.

Because loving her? That was the easiest thing in the world.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo x wifey reader request! :D They are both training and wifey does something that surprisingly turns Gojo on

Hehe this request is everything, that was soo fun to write! Let me know what you think <3

Gojo getting flustered by his sweaty wife and smacked at their training session

Pairing: husband!Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: Your beloved husband never fails to beat you without mercy when training together. But this time, something seems to catch his eye - your chance to finally hit him with your best shot.

Warnings: not that much plot, but a lot of comedy, it's also fluffy with slight mentions of smut, a little bit of heat hehe, enjoy

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3

„Good morning beautiful“, Satoru’s sleep drunken voice mutters in your ear, making your eyes flutter open against the soft daylight.

“Is it already morning?”

You stretch your sleepy limbs out in his inviting arms with pleasure, enjoying the warmth of his body heat for just a little longer. Oh, how much you love waking up next to your husband in the morning. Despite you hate getting up early, feeling his strong arms while you wake up seems like a reparation for that.

“Not a random morning, today is training day!”, your husband announces, placing himself on top of you with one swift motion of his huge body.

You giggle uncontrollably underneath him, trying to shield yourself from the endless kisses he attacks you with.

“What does that even mean?”, you laugh out, tears already stinging in your eyes.

You look so breathtakingly beautiful underneath him with little chuckles escaping your lips and your gorgeous eyes wet from joy. Satoru will always be thankful for the day you decided to be his, for the day he was finally able to call you his wife. What a privilege it is to wake up next to you, how lucky he is to hold you in his arms, to see you even at work.

“That you and I’ll be training together today. Hope you’re ready to get your ass beaten”, he teases you.

“So sure of yourself, huh? You might be the strongest, but I can make you look weak like a baby”, you purr back, hands holding onto his broad chest.

“We’ll see. Ooopsie, you’re gonna be late. Better get going my love”, he hushes against your ear, making your eyes widen in shock.

Fuck, is it already this late? As much as you hate to admit it, but it seems like you’ve already adjusted to Satoru’s bad habits like always being late and leaving your socks laying on the floor. As fast as you can you roll over the bed, putting on your uniform so hastily that you bottom it up the wrong way. You have a lesson this morning with the first years. How can you tell Yuji over and over to be on time when you’re late yourself the next day? You need to hurry up, maybe you’ll be punctual. 

“See you later”, you breathe against your husband’s cheek along with a kiss before storming out of your shared apartment as fast as you can.

-the training session-

“Better get going or you’ll be late”, you warn your students while walking past them.

“Where the hell is she going this motivated?” Nobara questions, looking after her teacher as if she’s seen a ghost.

“Training with Gojo-sensei”, Megumi explains briefly.

“Maybe you’ll be as good as her if you start training more, Nobara”, Yuji comments with a small smile.

“What does that mean, huh? I’m already training hard!”

“Oh…really?”

“Oh, there you are. I already waited.”

Your heartbeat picks up in an instant when your hungry gaze meets him, the sheer presence of his voice overpowering the mumbling of your students entirely. He’s still in his uniform, sitting on the edge of the training field with his long legs stretched out just the way you like it. Oh, why does your husband have to be not only the strongest, but also this attractive on top of it? This won’t be an easy training session, that’s for sure.

“Well, some of us have to work earlier than others”, you tease him, watching as he lifts himself up and now towers over your frame.

He’s so close you’d be able to touch him, so close that the possibility to caress his chest with the tips of your fingers becomes almost unbearable. Focus, you are at work. Nobody at Jujutsu High knows that Satoru Gojo is in fact your husband. Oh, moments like that definitely make you question keeping your relationship private.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? Are you somehow distracted?” he questions all innocently, teasing you through the shade of his sunglasses so skilled that your knees go weak.

“Not at all. Just thinking about how I’ll beat your ass.”

“Is that so, huh?”

He comes closer. Just a few inches, but certainly enough to let your mind wander. How much being alone with your husband sounds like heaven itself right now.

“Show me, then. And hope I don’t beat yours like I always do”, he hushes.

“Satoru”, you breathe out.

Your cheeks redden instantly, eyes darting around the area. Oh god, if someone heard that…He has some nerve, talking to you like that while standing at the training area where everyone can watch and listen.

With fast steps, you walk over the large field, putting some distance between you and your husband. You will make him pay for every little dirty word coming out his mouth, one way or another.

“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” you shout over, letting your katana glide from one hand to another.

“As you wish.”

He is neck breaking fast, rapid movements way too fast to be caught by your eyes. Just before his fist slams into your body you are able to let yourself fall into a split, aiming to sweep him off his feet.

“Nice try sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that”, you warn him, aiming for a hit with your blade.

Hopeless. Everything looks so easy when he does it, escaping your every hit without even trying hard.

“I hate training with you”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Sweat runs down your forehead like a waterfall, eyes desperately trying to focus on his figure. Damn, how is he so rapid? He even shoved his hands in his pockets, how rude. And why the hell does he take off his glasses right now?

“Fuck”, he mumbles to himself, eyes roaming all over your body.

You look like a mess, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead, uniform now completely covered in dirt, panting hard while waiting for his next move.

Why is he suddenly so turned on?

Before he can help himself, his feet carry him towards you, widen eyes looking up at him with oh so sweet confusion sparkling in them. What is on your mind? Are you as flustered as he is? God, you look even better from near, pieces of grass sticking to your face like glue.

“Are you trying to distract me? I know your dirty tricks, this isn’t working”, you huff.

You look you beautiful with your skin glistening in the harsh sunlight on this random summer day. When is this training session finally over? Are you free after it? The things he wants to do to you, things he always held back when being at Jujutsu High. After all, it is best for your relationship to be private, it is best keeping a certain distance at Jujutsu High.

The way your sharp and fast breath hangs in the air between both of you makes him lose his mind completely. Before he can stop himself, he lunges himself straight towards you, ready to kiss you with so much passion that it’ll take your breath away, ready to give you a real reason to sweat.

You smack him.

Hard.

Flat hand against his cheek.

Satoru can’t believe what just happened, rubbing his aching skin while staring down at your confident smile.

“Your dirty tricks don’t work for me, Sir!” you shout out self-assuredly.

There he stands, completely bamboozled while you begin to happy dance because you hit him.

Because you slapped him. Hard.

“I was about to kiss you, idiot”, he barks at you.

“Don’t talk yourself out of that. I was definitely able to hit you”, you remark.

Satoru has to close his eyes for a second, needs to stop the pounding in his pants. You are really something else.

“Just wait until we get home”, he mutters into your ear.

How much you love to mess with him. It isn’t hard to notice the enormous bulge in his uniform, how flustered he looks all of the sudden. After all, the man standing in front of your eyes is none other than your husband-

Your horny husband.

You aren’t exactly sure what made him feel this way. A little flirting was never enough to sweep someone like Satoru Gojo off his feet. Are you somehow exposed? Did he see something he shouldn’t? You look down on your body, uniform sitting just as it should.

Huh. Who knows what’s on his mind. As much as your mouth waters by the delicious sight of him, how much your body pushes you to close the distance between your bodies, you have to keep your composure. This isn’t the place for the things your husband currently thinks about.

“I’m definitely looking forward it. But for now, get yourself together. We still have a workout to do”, you reply with a sly grin, brushing over his arm ever so slightly.

[fratttymatty]

The Prank

(All characters are 18+)

Once upon a time in a quiet town, there lived an 18-year-old high school boy named Oliver Miller. Oliver was the type of person who spent most of his free time reading up on current events, science fiction novels, and philosophical articles. His friends often referred to him as a "nerd" in the kindest way possible, and he wore the label with pride. He had big glasses, messy brown hair, and a wardrobe that consisted mostly of graphic tees and flannel shirts. Oliver was liberal-minded, with a passion for environmental issues and social justice causes, and he often spent his weekends volunteering for local initiatives. He was a kind-hearted, introspective soul, and despite his awkwardness, he knew what he wanted from life.

Then there was Lily Harris, a girl he had met online just a few months ago. She was smart, funny, and just as passionate about politics as Oliver was. They bonded over late-night conversations about the issues that mattered to them — climate change, social inequality, and the importance of standing up for what's right. Lily, like Oliver, was a nerd through and through. She loved indie films, debated comic book lore, and was just as comfortable discussing quantum physics as she was talking about her favourite dystopian novels. She was liberal, she was strong-minded, and she was everything Oliver admired.

One Tuesday evening, after hours of exchanging memes and debating the latest political scandals, Oliver and Lily decided it was finally time to meet in person. They had spent weeks talking about how much they clicked, how their shared values and interests made them feel like kindred spirits. So, on that Tuesday, they agreed that Friday would be the day. They would meet at the local park, where they’d talked about all the things they wanted to do in the future — from travelling together to marching for causes they cared about. It would be the start of something beautiful, or so they thought.

Little did Oliver know, everything was about to change in ways he could never have imagined.

The very next day, Wednesday, Lily’s life took an unexpected turn. Her brother, Kyle, had always been a prankster, but this time, he was up to something more sinister than just stealing her favourite hoodie. Kyle had recently stumbled upon an ancient, arcane spellbook he'd found in the attic. He had no idea how it worked, but curiosity got the best of him.

Sitting in his room, Kyle began reading the incantations out loud, unaware of their potency. As the words left his lips, Lily, who had been browsing through her phone on the couch, suddenly felt a strange sensation washing over her. She looked down at her hands, watching them shrink and soften. Her body seemed to change in real-time, becoming more... feminine... and less of the confident, intellectual woman she had once been. Her long, curly brown hair turned platinum blonde, and her once thoughtful eyes now sparkled with a shallow, distracted energy.

In a matter of moments, Lily stood up, feeling like an entirely different person. Gone were her thoughtful expressions, her sharp intellect, and her love for deep conversations. In their place, she felt an overpowering urge to talk in valley girl slang. “Like, oh my God!” she said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her voice was higher pitched, and she felt a strange, dizzying sense of joy, as though she'd suddenly adopted a new identity. Her glasses were gone, replaced by oversized, trendy sunglasses, and she had to admit, she kind of liked how she looked now. She was, after all, totally hot.

“Ugh, Kyle, like, what did you do to me?” she asked, but it didn’t sound like her at all. Her voice was laced with a giggly, ditzy tone she never thought she could produce. Kyle, smirking, leaned against the doorframe. “You’ll thank me later, Lil. Trust me.”

Later that night, Lily couldn’t stop texting Oliver, trying to keep up the appearance of the thoughtful, political girl he had fallen for. But every text she sent felt more and more difficult to write. By the end of the evening, she simply couldn’t resist the urge to call him, feeling an odd excitement to speak to him as the new version of herself.

Thursday came, and the transformation continued. At dawn, something strange happened. Lily, in her new bubbly, cheerleader-like state, felt a sudden compulsion to call Oliver. She wasn’t sure why, but the impulse was too strong to ignore.

On the other end of the phone, Oliver picked up the call, his voice soft and curious. “Hey, Lily, what’s up?”

“Like, heyyy, Oliver!” Lily cooed, the valley girl persona pouring out. “I, like, totes can’t wait for us to, like, meet tomorrow. It’s gonna be soooo fun, you know?”

Oliver blinked in confusion. “Wait… what happened to you, Lily? You sound... different.”

“Oh my God, babe, like, nothing happened,” Lily replied, tossing her hair back and giggling. “I’m just super excited, that’s all.”

Then, with a sudden flash, a strange energy washed over Oliver. He felt his body tense up, as if he was being pulled from within. His nerdy, liberal self was slowly slipping away. His posture straightened, his muscles began to grow, and before he could even process what was happening, he felt like a completely different person. His hair shortened into a messy, yet perfectly styled bro cut, and his glasses vanished. His clothes magically changed into a fitted, athletic tee, and his once soft, geeky demeanour now turned into a dominating, cocky confidence. He felt like he could rule the world.

“Bro,” Oliver muttered to himself in awe, looking at his reflection. His voice was deeper, more assertive. “What the hell just happened?”

Across the phone, Lily’s new voice came through again, teasing. “Babe, like, you’re gonna love the new you, trust me. You’re totes hot now. Like, you’re an alpha, and it’s gonna be, like, amazing when we meet.”

By Friday, both Oliver and Lily were standing at the local park, not as the people they once were, but as someone completely different. Oliver, now a jock with a cocky grin, and Lily, a cheerleader who looked like she had stepped out of a reality TV show, locked eyes and felt a magnetic pull.

“Hey, like, Eric,” Lily said with a laugh, addressing him with his new name. The transformation had been so complete that the name “Oliver” felt foreign now.

Eric—he didn’t even remember the person he had been—looked at her with a grin that could melt hearts. “Cassie, babe, you look amazing,” he said, his deep voice dripping with confidence. He was tall, athletic, and ridiculously good-looking now.

Cassie flipped her new blonde hair and giggled. “Totes. You look, like, way hotter than I imagined. I, like, can’t wait to see what happens between us.”

Eric smirked. “Just so you know, I’m gonna be, like, a really bad boyfriend. I mean, I’m toxic, and I’m all about the bro life. I’m not gonna be super caring and stuff.”

Cassie’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and she didn’t hesitate for a second. “Like, that’s totally fine. I’m, like, soooo down with it. You’re, like, hot, and that’s all that matters, babe.”

Eric, feeling a little bewildered by her nonchalant attitude, leaned in closer, his arms circling her waist. “You sure?”

Cassie giggled, pulling him in closer. “Like, for sure. Let’s just have fun, Eric. I’m, like, totes happy with who we are now.”

And just like that, their personalities had merged in a way neither of them could have predicted. They were no longer the nerdy, liberal-minded teenagers who had spent hours debating the world’s problems. Now, they were Cassie and Eric, a power couple made for the jock-queen lifestyle, and neither of them cared about going back.

They kissed, their new identities solidifying as they embraced who they were now, not caring about the people they had been before. For the first time, they were truly happy — they were confident, carefree, and together. The world felt like their playground, and they didn’t need to look back.

As they walked off into the sunset, hand in hand, they knew there was no going back. And, honestly, they didn’t want to.

And so, Cassie and Eric’s new lives began — full of confidence, laughter, and a whole lot of valley girl slang. They were the perfect couple, living for the moment, and completely happy in their new skin.

[girlberrie]

The most powerful love potion: Amortentia.

It does not scream. It sits quiet in its cauldron like Eros sleeping, waiting to make you weak in the knees. The trick is: you don’t choose what you smell, the potion does. It pulls from the longing in your bones and the prized possessions of your brain—your memory, whether you’ve named it or not. It is not necessarily romantic, it is just whatever pleases you most (and if someone that pleases you most is what you smell… than that is between you and the potion).

Bowie Stark smells three things.

First: the scent of burning logs in the Gryffindor common room. The smell of warmth—dry wood crackling, light licking the stone walls like magic that remembers your name. It isn’t the warmth he grew up with. His childhood was radiators and scratchy wool blankets, modern heat and no soul. But this fire... it is different. It makes his skin tingle, seeps into his ribcage. It curls around his heart like a cat settling in for a nap. It smells like something ancient and forgiving, the kind of warmth that doesn’t just thaw fingers but regrets, too. And it smells like belonging. Like laughter echoing in the stone tower, like tired joy shared with people who know when to be loud and when to be quiet. It is the smell of everything Bowie didn’t know he missed until Hogwarts gave it to him.

Second: heavy chamomile, musk, and soft wood grain—the wretched cologne that lives in the collar of Tom Riddle’s robes. It makes Bowie feel like a moth repeatedly slamming into the same porch light because it is maddening, and it is lovely. He didn’t mean to become addicted to it. He didn’t mean to notice the way Tom smells when he leans too close during whispered debates in the library, or how the scent deepens when Tom is angry, softens when he’s tired. It’s somewhat undetectable when they’re face to face—like the moment itself is too sacred for awareness—but once Tom leaves, the perfume hits like an afterthought that ruins his day. Tom smells like secrets well kept, like quiet storms and badly buried guilt and something barely sweet underneath it all. He smells like a cliff’s edge. Bowie keeps leaning closer.

Third: the ocean. Not the manic, crashing kind poets always write about, but the gentler one—salt air and wind that tugs your sleeves, water so cold it feels like clarity. Bowie loves to stand in the sea as the sky turns lavender and the sand soaks in the light like a mirror. That in-between place where land gives way to water, where the air smells like salt, oxygen, and maybe the divine. And it feels like freedom. He doesn’t know if it’s the water or the way light bends over it, but he always feels like if he shouted into the sea, it might answer. Like the ocean might carry his voice somewhere important.

That is what Bowie smells. Home. Obsession. Freedom. In that order, or no order at all.

And Tom Riddle?

First: eucalyptus. The tree planted for him at the Riddle Estate—his grandfather’s idea, though he denies it. He remembers watering it with a hose he could barely hold in his grubby, toddler hands. The scent is sharp but clean, minty but not really medicinal. There’s a barely noticeable sweetness behind it, like honey diluted in tea. It’s a scent that lives on the back of his hands and behind his teeth. He smells it with every breath in. To others it might smell like a garden. To Tom, it smells like proof. That he is wanted. That something was planted in his name, and it grew. That he is something other than ambition and a perfectly pressed uniform.

Second: citrus. Bowie Stark’s perfume, or maybe his skin, or maybe some strange alchemy between the two. Tom isn’t sure if Bowie wears it or is it. All he knows is that oranges and lime hit him like a slap every time Bowie is in the room. And it's not overpowering—just specific. There could be dozens of students at breakfast, but Tom will always know exactly where Bowie is sitting. The scent is maddeningly stubborn, sunlit and cheery. Like something that should live in a summer orchard, not on a snarky half-Veela with a temper and a potion-stained tie. The smell is seared into him now. It smells like curiosity. Like color. But Tom loves it.

Third: books. Not just any books—his books. The restricted ones. The banned ones. The books that whisper when no one’s listening. But also the books in his father’s study, lined up like dominoes, and the ones Bowie gives him on birthdays, and not-so-special other days, scrawled with ridiculous inscriptions. The smell of the old parchment and the ink shaped as prose is more than comfort to Tom. He can navigate it. He speaks it well. When the world is too flesh-and-bone, he turns to the leather bound treasures. And if he imagines Bowie in that scent too—legs folded under him, nose buried in a chapter, his perfume curling into the pages—well. That’s nobody’s business but his own.

These scents don’t lie. That’s the thing. They’re not fantasies. Instead, they are the truest mirror love can offer. The potion reads you cover to cover. And the scent is the one thing you won’t forget, because the important things stay on your skin longer than perfume.

ib: @chaaistained and @kerryshifts <33