#political theory has my heart

[snekdood]

the problem with vaush’s anti theist argument is he assumes that people just blindly follow whatever a book or religious leader tells us the gods want rather than ever thinking on our own also he’s heavily relying on an argument that religious ppl think their gods word isn’t anything you can go against ever so if they tell you to rape and murder people then its fine to do so but like.... i really dont think any religious person is like this?????? i dont even think rapey serial killer religious people are like this??? like religion is always a front or a justification for their actions i dont think they genuinely believe god came down and told them it was fine i think they know they twisted what they heard/read to their benefit. the problem is with manipulative ppl who are able to take leadership of some sort over a group of people and twist the narrative to their benefit for whatever they’re gathering for, which can obviously happen in literally any kind of setting

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[xiao-come-home]

Boothill relationship headcanons;

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✰ Characters: Boothill x reader.

✰ Words: ~1k.

✰ SFW+N//SFW ; SFW mentions no pronouns or gender of the reader. N//SFW section was written with fem!reader in mind.

Warnings: THIS HAS A NSFW PART. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS skip this section if possible. some of these hc are based on this post, since i wanted to write a little more about it.

A/N: BRAINROT gRR he truly gives me doctor by Miley Cyrus vibes. idk how to explain it but take it

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Boothill:

SFW

he's such a gentleman! opens doors for you, pulls out a chair, kisses your hand when he sees you first for the day, it doesn't get boring for him at all. if you ignore some of his unhinged behaviors, then he's a perfect man.

like i mentioned in my previous post, he's VERY possessive of you. he does like to go to unknown clubs or bars with you to try out their best drinks in his spare time, though he doesn't have you attached to his hip (even.. if he wouldn't probably mind at all), he does keep a sharp eye on you. if a weird guy approaches you and you're clearly uncomfortable, he tries to intimidate the guy away and clearly let him see that you're his (aka placing his arm around your waist and pushing you into him), if being polite doesn't work, well, they have a rough night. not in a good way.

this man SCREAMS BACK HUGS!! since his body is like 90% metal and machines, he loves to embrace you from behind and wrap his arms around your tummy, while his chin rests on your shoulder. he misses the softness of his own skin, so having you gives him a lot of comfort; the warmth you're radiating makes him reluctant to ever pull away. boothill often finds himself touching his cheeks with his robotic arms, when they get warm enough - the feeling almost long forgotten in his mind.

speaking of back hugs: he's also very big on neck kisses, mostly giving than receiving, depending on how he feels, they're either very innocent and loving - very soft, paired with butterfly kisses, or biting you and then kissing it better, when things get steamy.

boothil finds it funny when his hair tickles you when he hugs you from behind. if he's feeling particularly like a little shit that day, he can annoy you the entire day like that, only to respond with "hmm? what do you mean? I'm not doing anything, baby!" ...don't tell him his smirk gives it away, but honestly, at this point, he probably doesn't try to hide it that well.

he DOES slap your ass when you go past him. EVERY time. it doesn't get boring for him, he likes the sound it makes AND how soft it is, bonus if it jiggles, then he's even more proud. he might offer "an apologetic massage," which you rarely agree to (but he'll try until u say yes).

if someone ever tinkers with his Synesthesia beacon, he cannot swear for his life. you might catch him trying to cook, spilling something, and then hearing loud "YOU LITTLE DAISY FLOWER! CUTIE PIE! CURSED FROG!" it's kinda impressive how colorful they can get...

speaking of his voice, he's probably able to manipulate it so it sounds the best according to your taste. although his flesh heart has been gone for so long, he still feels that familiar, warm feeling and squeeze of his own, mechanical one, when your answer is always the same - to modulate it so it sounds the closest to what it used to be, or that the current one is just as pleasant to hear.

he likes to kiss you. no matter where, or when. if he wants to, he'll get one, pressing you against him, cupping your face with one hand, and kissing your puckered lips. once you give in, he kisses you properly, caressing your cheek ever so slightly to ease any discomfort left, only to hold you tightly on your hips and whimper on purpose just to tease you more (i believe in boothill is a little shit theory).

if we assume his face is the only human part of him left (besides his eyes). In that case, he just truly loves the softness of your lips on his. he kisses you as much as he can, and will get all fussy and whiny if he doesn't get his good morning kiss, we-see-each-other-for-the-first-time-today kiss (note: this is not the same as good morning kiss), goodnight kiss and so on. yes, he could get it by himself, but he wants it from you first. he's just very stubborn.

watch out! he likes to draw blood on your lower lip when his intrusive thoughts win. he licks the blood off later, and gives it a loving kiss.

his hair is genuine, so he loves whenever you play with it, brush it, or take care of it in general. it's probably one of the very few human features of his, so if your boothill lets you carefully pamper it, let alone without flooding his cords, he's not only very impressed, but also very willing to indulge in more sessions.

finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his hat when he isn't looking. or, well, when you think he isn't looking.

N/SFW. minors and ageless blogs shoo!

the council has decided that he has a vibrator in place of his real junk. but if you're into experimenting and want him to feel a bit more, hm, natural - he's more than happy to change his parts. shape, size and pace - everything for his lady.

you can probably guess, but that's an absolute ass man. he sees you in tighter pants that hug you just so nicely and might go feral.

eats pussy like a starved man. he has no shame and licks, sucks, and fucks you with his tongue and THE SOUNDS could put the devil himself to shame. boothill always wants everyone to know that you're his, how you scream and moan for him, so in return - he never lets a drop of your juices go to waste, slurping and moaning into your slit.

he's literally so flexible, that he'll fuck you in every position you want him to. if it means he'll get deeper, he's on board. and probably on top of you too.

likes to grope you through your clothes. sounds very tame, but it really gets him going, and might sometimes cause trouble in public.. unless you WANT that trouble.

adding to the headcanon above - he truly just gets turned on by your skin, especially imperfections. stretch marks? he'll kiss them all, scars? he has them all memorized. when he touches you through your clothes, he already remembers what is where, it's like he's edging himself knowing that soon enough he'll undress you completely and see it clearly; he quite literally worships what truly makes you... you.

he. is. so. SO over when you pull on his hair. when you make out, when he fucks you - doesn't matter. DO IT and he'll go absolutely crazy, hissing in pleasure and grinding into you.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

My thoughts about the Trump assassination attempt

After having a few hours to process this whole thing and see reactions from across the political spectrum, I'm having some thoughts and some feelings.

First off, as I said earlier, Trump is a fucking boss. Take anyone who ran for president in the last 20 years, put them in that exact situation, and I don't think a single one responds by raising his fist and snarling in defiance and righteous anger. They run. They cry. They keep their heads down and the first statement you h ear from them is hours later filtered through 20 different speech writers. Today proved to me that, whatever else he may be, Trump is a genuine bad ass. He's exactly the person I want at the end of a sword pointed the United States. Because he's going to have a sword of his own pointed right back, and he's not going to run and hide when it comes time to use it.

Second, the modern left is full of monsters. The amount of people screaming and crying because this assassination attempt failed actually sickens me. It's one thing to have fantasies about easy solutions to the things that scare you. Hell, I'm not innocent. I've thought about how much better things might be if this politician was no longer around or this activist group got axed. But one of the things I did today was think about how I would feel if the assassin succeeded. And then I thought about how I'd feel if someone took a shot at Biden and he didn't survive. Neither thought gave me any good feelings. Obviously I'd be more upset if Trump died, but today showed me that I don't want us to start down the path of shooting political leaders. But too many people on the left, people who should know better, at least enough to hide their true feelings, have no problem publicly wishing Trump was dead right now. That assassinating presidential candidates was a legitimate tactic--but only against the politicians they don't like, of course.

Fuck that.

Fuck them.

America is better than that. Americans are better than that. We're not some third world shithole like Mexico. We're the greatest country in the world. We're the last bastion of representative government. The last place in the world where freedom exists. And it's time we started acting like it.

Third, I ain't got no time for conspiracy theories. Sorry guys, but this wasn't staged and this wasn't a CIA hitman. Unless real, hard evidence comes out otherwise, you won't ever get me to believe any of the nonsense I've seen floated around. Don't be so lost in the true things the media has dismissed as "conspiracy theories" that you immediately jump to the most conspiratorial explanations first for everything that happens. It's lame and cringe and a lot of people I've seen seriously putting these theories forward should know better. I know we're in our emotions right now, but keep your heads.

Fourth, my heart breaks for the families of the people who were hit with the bullets meant for President Trump. But that's the kind of evil we're facing. Whoever did this decided that the idea of a Trump presidency was so awful that they were okay with shooting innocent people just to stop him. And this is after he was already president and none of the things the media is fear mongering about happened during his first term. Those people just wanted to see a man speak. To have some hope for the future. And some piece of shit shot them because he didn't like a presidential candidate. Or worse, because the TV made him scared.

Fifth, fuck the media. You think you hate them enough, but you don't. The media is the driving force behind our enemies, and there's no such thing as a good journopig. They're all lying propagandists. We just like some of them because their propaganda occasionally hits on the truth.

And that's all I got. None of this is organized, none of this is proofread. These are just the thoughts I've been wrestling with for the past few hours. This is the only place I can get them all down without being interrupted or feeling like I need to censor myself. Do with them what you will.

[tteokdoroki]

VOICEMAILS AND DIAL TONES - yuuta okkotsu.

✩ — about. “back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand.” there are rules to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s has. the first being that you tell each other everything. the second, try not to fall in love. all you know, is that you’ve failed at both, and now your best friend is half way across the world without any idea as to how much you truly love him. is that something you can say over text or voicemail? ( 8.7K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, with a happy ending - video banner! characters are in their 20s. coffee-shop!au, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden romance, long-distance, misunderstandings, miscommunication, situationships, arguments, hospitalisation mentions, death mentions (non-major characters), cucking, somnophilia, praise, fingering (f!receiving), oral sex (f!receiving), phone sex-ish, clothed sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampies, fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. hi everyone!! jumping on the yuuta hype and dropping this fic i wrote as a commission last year!! it's so interesting to see how much my writing has changed, but i remember having fun when writng this. either who!! i hope you all enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

absence makes the heart grow fonder — at least that’s what they tell you so that the feeling of missing someone hurts a tiny little bit less. 

you’ve always wondered if that were true. if willingly putting space between yourself and the person you loved truly helped soothe the soreness as if it were medication for the body’s aches and pains. perhaps the theory could best be applied to your friendship with yuuta okkotsu. 

he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember — from the moment he moved in next door, his bambi eyes were big and brown, safe and inviting…who were you to keep hiding behind your mothers leg and deny him an invitation to play on the swing set his parents had put up for him in the garden just over the fence? yuuta was the sweetest boy to date, he was always polite with your parents and asked their permission before taking you into the depths of his cardboard fort in the front yard. 

he would walk home with you from pre-k, your chubby little fingers tightly intertwined and the matching charms on your backpacks swinging about the place jingling with every step you took towards home. when you got to middle school and kids were meaner, yuuta stood by your side while you were teased for being quieter than most. he defended you, his shy, patient best friend. 

okkotsu still walked you home, his pinky finger hooked over yours — greeted your mother with that same shy, yet charming tight lipped smile and offered to help her with cooking dinner with that same airy voice of his. your mother would reward you both with a kiss to the forehead and a plate of warm walnut and chocolate chip cookies and your pinkies — still linked underneath the table.

you were always linked. it’s always been yuuta and you. back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand the butterflies in your tummy and the blistering temperature to the back of your neck and your ears — maybe too naive to understand a metaphorical doctor’s diagnosis of a case of early on-set puppy-love. knowing back then would’ve explained why you wrote yuuta’s name on a heart alongside your own or why you squirmed every time you touched.

there was only one explanation. you liked yuuta, loved him. 

you wished that you’d known what that feeling was…because it's soon ripped from your grip and your whole world changes when rika orimoto enters your lives. she was pretty, had a beauty mark smeared daintily across her cheek and gentle eyes that made you feel safe. she was pretty and yuuta thought that too — inside and out. that’s why they became fast highschool sweethearts and why you were left in the dust. 

rika easily made a mess of him, tearing yuuta into a million tiny pieces that only she could put back together. she asks him out on white-day, okkotsu a bumbling mess by the lockers in between gym class and economics as he clutches her neatly written love letter — hearts over the I’s and T’s crossed ever so cutely. she had done to yuuta what he’d been doing to you all of your lives and you’d hardly seen her talk to him around school until that day. 

much to your dismay, they date throughout the rest of highschool and it nearly kills you, having someone that you were once so close to fade-away into near nothingness with growing distance. life where yuuta has a girlfriend ( that isn’t you ) drains the happiness that you got from being around your childhood best friend. it’s selfish, you know, to have wanted to keep him all to yourself. to have him want you instead of her. 

they make plans for after school, babies with names that start with the same letters as theirs and a wedding that’ll be small and flowery and whatever rika wants because yuuta okkotsu would give the girl he loves the entire world. you so badly want to be her. that person who is the centre of his universe. it should be you, it should have always been you — making plans with yuuta and imagining the perfect ring, the one that he would give you in the front yard of his childhood home. it should be your life with him, one that you’d dreamt up with him…and the sick thing is, you can’t have him — because you’re best friends and you’d be risking it all in the name of childish love.

rika, dies just days shy of your highschool graduation and it changes your best friend. a tragic car accident violently takes her life and okkotsu along with it. he’s a shell of the person he used to be, void of his dazzling smile and the comforting warmth that was unavoidable if you spent even just a minute with him. yuuta used to be like sun rays on a sunday morning but after the incident, he felt like blizzards on a dark november's eve. he lost his love, and you were starting to lose him even more than before.

his first love is memorialised at the graduation ceremony and while everyone sends her their thoughts and prayers — you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that for a brief second you’d felt relieved that your competition was gone. loving him was forbidden, he’d just lost his person and so despite your guilt you had to stick it out. be there for him. be there for your friend above all else and hold him up so that he didn’t sink in the deep water of his own grief. you’d save him, at all costs, you’d stop him before he drowned. 

things start to look up when the pair of you head to college — you both get into the same school and find the cutest little off-campus apartment to share. it feels like a home away from home to you both, since your nights before semester begins are spent attempting to master your mother’s famous cookies while practising how to introduce yourselves since you’re both nervous as hell for this new beginning. everything feels like it was when you were both children and didn’t have a single thing to worry about — except now there’s crippling student debt and a four year workload ahead of you…but you’re both excited, together again and it seems like the distance between you has shrunk just a little.

then your love life takes a turn for the worst ( yet again ) and yuuta finds himself running around town with a new crew of friends that he met in a club run by one of your elective professors, satoru gojo. they stay out later than you’re used to and your best friend comes home smelling different too, of strong perfumes and cigarette butts even though you know he doesn’t smoke. as it turns out, there’s another girl. 

maki zenin.

you don’t like her, and to be fair, she doesn’t like you either. so you keep your distance once more, keep your head down when maki does her faux walk of shame out of your best friend’s room — her thighs and her neck covered in bite marks and scratches, his shirt slipped over her body to cover the rest of her decency. he made her breakfast with your food and tea in your designated mug. it hurts to hear her mewl the sweet syllables of his name late at night while you’re stuck with the soundtrack to your own sobs.

it should be like this, distant — far apart because you care about okkotsu and you love him, so it’d be better to avoid it all rather than get him hurt.

your phone ringing in the distance gently lulls you from your reminiscent thoughts and you scramble to pick it up before you end up with a missed call. 

yuuta’s contact flashes across your screen, framed by light and making him look like an angel. it rings and rings, and you know that you should let it go to voicemail. let the space between you grow so you can protect what’s left of his soul. 

but you were never strong when it came to him. 

and you pick up before he can listen to another second of dial tones.

voicemail #1  - “hey yuuta, i hope you’re good, you’ll never guess who stopped by the cafe today— professor satoru! i haven’t seen him since your graduation! anyways, are you still coming over for dinner tonight? i miss you!”

this isn’t like him. 

even after all these years, from pre-k to college — yuuta okkotsu has never missed one of your calls. after graduating you'd made a promise to one another, to keep contact no matter where life took you, a promise of his own volition. you’d have dinner with each other at least once a week just like when you were kids and catch up on your not-so crazy adventures into adulthood. 

you kept up your end of the bargain as your way of keeping okkotsu afloat — to ground him. he’d seen and been through enough hurt to last him a lifetime and if he had to use you as a crutch for comfort, despite your raging feelings for him, then so be it. so you never missed a call, always checked in and made him something nostalgic and tied to the memories of afternoons where your mother would fill you up with her wondrous baked goods or heartwarming soups.

but still, this isn’t like yuuta to not pick up when you call. 

to feel…more distant than usual and of his own accord. 

panic sets in while you listen to the third dial tone, trying to contact him again. taking a deep breath, you pace around the fridge-freezer in the back of your bakery — one that you’d set up shortly after graduating from your business degree. there had to be some explanation for your best friend’s absence. perhaps traffic? maybe he was on the subway catching a ride over? or maybe he just needed space. he’d been going through a lot recently. yuuta didn’t get a job straight out of college and he broke things off with maki shortly after — they wanted different things and had different aspirations.

even still, with the free time left on his hands, there was too much room for him to think about his losses and his loves…it made you worry for him, it made you panic and chew on your nails just like this. “c’mon yu,” you whisper to yourself, the shaky syllables of your words bouncing off the metal house for your ingredients, muffled by paper bags of powdered sugar and organic flours. “where are you?” 

you can barely hear the automated message telling you to leave a voicemail for your friend over the bustling of your afternoon service. if yuuta hadn’t been off the grid, he’d be here helping you with the customers that know him all too well, the old ladies that pinch his cheeks and the younger ones that twirl their hair in an attempt to flirt over miniature cherry bakewell tarts. except he’s nowhere to be found, and you’re nauseous, worried sick about where he could be and what he could be up to. 

you try his cell one more time in an attempt to grab at his attention. there's something weird about today...as if he’s avoiding you, hiding. yuuta always picks up and you always pick up for him, it’s an unspoken rule.

when you’re met with the dial tones again, you hang up — slumped and distraught. there’s hungry customers to feed and you’re overly friendly college professor waiting on a fresh box of sweets you’d used as an excuse to escape to the back of your shop. yuuta can wait for another call from you. 

but you’re not sure if your heart can wait for one back from him. 

voicemail #2  - “it’s yuuta, we need to talk.” 

oddly enough, silence is comforting to you. it reminds you of your best friend, the nights you’d spend coupled up in your dorm with your fingers running through his silken midnight hair, his head in your lap and the both of you shrouded in darkness. more often than not, you could tell how one another’s days went just by body language and when shoulders were slumped and eyes were droopy — yourself and yuuta would curl up together  and just…take in the quiet. 

be close to one another.

so, you bask in the tranquillity of your quaint little cafe as you clear up after a day's work. you sweep floors, wipe tables clean and arrange the tables and chairs with perfect precision. the only sound that accompanies you is the clink of silverware and porcelain plates as you wash the dishes. it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and the slightest noise is enough to make you jump — just like your phone that vibrates deep within your back pocket, startling you as you scramble to dry your hands so you can see if it’s him who’s been trying to get in touch with you.

it’s embarrassing how quick you are to smile when you see a few missed calls and a voice message from yuuta. though you’ve never quite heard the tune of seriousness that plays in his voice before, your heart won’t stop racing at the mere sound of him speaking. your mind wonders…what could be so urgent that he’d need a ‘talk’?’ 

maybe it was a thank you…for always being beside him or maybe he even liked you. perhaps okkotsu had finally come to his senses and realised how much he’d always needed you…how much he loved you.. the racing thoughts in your brain hopefully jump towards a confession from your best friend and you find yourself getting giddy at its prospect. you practically skip, hop and jump to the back of your cafe, switching out your flour stained clothes for one of the spare and cleaner shirts you keep in the back — you touch up your makeup too, brighten the dark circles under your eyes and blot your worry lines with care. 

you even manage to heat up a few of yuuta’s favourite pastries to serve up by candlelight — rehearsing your own words of confession as if they haven’t been looming around in your head for years. 

the bell to your quaint little cafe chimes with his arrival, a rush of cool, late night air tangling with the temperate atmosphere as you lay your finishing touches on the meal you’d prepared for you both. when you look up, yuuta’s eyes have settled on you — warm and inviting as usual, but bright with a light that had been missing from them since you were young. you’ve missed it, the subtle spark that brings life to the coffee brown oasis in his eyes.

he remains as handsome as ever, taller than you by however many heads — limbs long, arms slightly muscular and waist slender, though his build is more like a dancer’s. yuuta okkotsu grew up to be a fine man and you’d be a fool to have not noticed. he crosses the room in short strides, rushing to take you into his arms and hold you close and squeeze you to his chest. yuuta smells like cookies, you note, hardly paying attention while his lips softly brush over your hairline in a sweet kiss.

“hi,” he whispers, voice smooth like melted chocolate dripping through your ears. “i’ve missed you.”

you only hope that he can’t hear your racing heartbeat, it’s speed picking up as you decide that this is your moment. the moment. “i’ve missed you too,” you mumble back, toying with a loose string on the cream cashmere the dark brunette is wearing. “yuuta…i have to tell you something—“

“i-i have something important to tell you,” he breathes out at the same time as you do, almost shy as you both sway in the centre of the room and enjoy one another’s embrace. 

the both of you share a laugh that’s light and airy before you drag him over to a table and set of chairs, forcing him to sit and to eat the baked goods you’d set out for him. “you first, yuu,” it makes you happy to see him tuck in, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you owe me a story after disappearing on me today.” 

okkotsu nods in agreement, his cheeks adorably full of food and pastry flaked across his milky skin. “‘m sorry, i was sortin’ something out la’sht minute.” 

“yeah?” 

“y-yeah! i’m moving,” yuuta drops the bomb like it’s nothing. “abroad. for a job! professor gojo set me up and it’s s-supposed to help build my confidence and stuff—“ 

your world falls apart in an instant, sucking away the oxygen in your lungs until you feel like your lungs are failing. yuuta is leaving you and this time it’s for real. 

confessing to him now wouldn't mean shit, you’d only be holding him back. your face crumples faster than you can control at the thought and after years of knowing you— okkotsu instantly picks up your change in mood. 

“what’s wrong?” he says your name and even that hurts to hear.

“n-nothin’ yuu, i’m happy for you, really.” comes your broken voice over the quiet, you fake it until you make it.

“really? you don’t look like it.” 

running a hand over your tired face, you force a smile. “really. especially if you think this is what’s best for you.” 

“it is!” yuuta nearly snaps, controlling himself— stopping himself from yelling at you and tearing your friendship apart before he’s gone. “i need this, need’a be my own person. after college, after highschool i didn’t have time for any of that! i need this.” 

needs it more than he needs you.

“okay.” you say simply, blankly.

“okay.” he says back. 

the debate doesn’t last that much longer after that — the room fills with silence as you grieve your faltering friendship. whatever confession you had planned, now forgotten. 

voicemail #3 -  “yuuta! i wasn’t sure how long your flight was but please call me when you land! you’re gonna do great at your new job.”

yuuta doesn’t call after he lands, in fact two entire days pass before you actually hear from him. after the argument, you’d try to stay on good terms as though not to lose him for good — helping him pack and sort out his currencies, buying him language books since you knew he would struggle with the new dialect. 

you figure it’s because he’s unpacking and not because he doesn’t want anything to do with you — and while you make some late night tea, you find that it’s better to imagine him alone in a new foreign country, picture his pretty pink lips struggling to form the vowels of the new language too, envision how he’ll tan under the blistering hot heat and how excited he’ll be to try new things.

its humiliating how easily he can preoccupy your thoughts from thousands of miles away and makes your heart race so fast that it might burst through the bones and flesh of your chest. he occupies your every thought like a fungus crawling across your brain that’s only disrupted by the sound of your phone ringing loudly — making you drop your tea and jump up to answer.

“hey,” the way yuuta says your name sends tingles down your spine — filtering out any pain you feel from burning your hand. he looks good too, dark hair flopping over his eyes, voice gravelly with sleep as if he’s just woken up and you’re the first thing on his mind. “i got your message, s-sorry for not calling i’ve been—“ 

you cut him off, eager to speak and draw the call out for as long as possible because you missed him. “busy? a guy like you must be extremely popular on the other side of the world.” you’re chipper in an attempt to cover how flustered you are and to cheer your best friend up when you notice how nervous he looks.

“not exactly… i’m nervous. e-everything seems so big ‘nd scary without you here…”

without you.

you shake your head over the grainy FaceTime call. “you’ve always done fine without me, you’ll do even better without having to cover for my shyness!” he laughs at that, the sound like a sweet song to soothe your aching heart. “you got this yuuta.” 

your best friend gives you a sleepy smile, one that melts you like a knob of butter on a hot stove and has your knees knocking. “you’re the best, you know that? you always know what to say.”

the static crackles between you and your heart leaps into your throat. 

“i’m always here for you, yuuta.” 

“and i’m glad for that,” he yawns. “i love you.” 

you have to remind yourself that what your best friend says is strictly platonic but you almost selfishly repeat the words back to yuuta until you notice he’s fallen back asleep. 

ending the call, you clutch your phone and burned hand to your chest. 

“i love you too.”

voicemail #4 - “hey sorry i missed your call, time zones can be crazy! work has been catching up with me and, well, i made a new friend!”

for the first week, you and yuuta text everyday while he’s away. you do your duty and act as his crutch like you always have— keeping him company while he works, eats and commutes all on his own. you feel bad that you lap up the attention he gives you over the phone through his loneliness. you could be compared to a desperately hungry stray animal at the way you drink up every little interaction you have. giving pieces of yourself away to keep your best friend happy. 

but as time goes on, okkotsu seems less and less worried about his job — easily slipping into the language here and there, no longer relying on you to stand on his own two feet. the frequency of your communication dwindles to the point where you really feel like you’re oceans apart. 

even yuuta notices the change within himself — the confidence that filters through him when he says yes to the pretty girl who works in the cubicle next to him when she asks him to tag along for drinks with the rest of the office one night which soon becomes a regular thing. he knows that he speaks less with you and that your texts are barely there but he’s sure you won’t mind the distance. you’re a busy girl, you run a cafe, a few days of not talking wouldn’t do any harm.

“oooh, she’s pretty. who is that?”

kasumi miwa is the one to pull yuuta out from the fog of his thoughts. the brunette looks up from his phone, your face flashing across it’s lock screen as the background. a photo where you have your arms wrapped around him from behind and your smile is as bright as the sunshine. miwa is a pretty girl, different from you. her voice is smoother and eloquent where yours is charming and sweet — she doesn’t remind him of home, or smell like the warmth of a chocolate chip cookie…but she is pretty. her presence is enough to make him shy.

he’s caught her looking a few times, her touch lingering whenever miwa passed him paperwork and right now; her cheeks are tinged pink probably from the alcohol the office is drinking inside where yuuta had come out for some fresh air.

okkotsu clicks his phone shut and stands up at full height to face his blue-haired coworker. “i… i haven’t spoken to her in a while. i miss her.” he says wistfully as he gives your name

“well, if i were dating a girl that pretty, i would miss them too.”

“o-oh! we’re not together! she’s my best friend!”

the woman beside yuuta cocks her head, a satisfied grin spreading across the slope of her lips. “you should call her — i’ll be waiting inside.” 

he follows her eyes as she walks off, along with the whiff of her chanel perfume, before his gaze lands on his phone — he calls your phone. 

you answer after the second ring, though don’t speak straight away, letting the silence wear the both of you thin. “how’ve you been?” you say quietly, lacking the chipperness to your tone that you usually have whenever the two of you ring each other up. there’s no hello, no warmth, you’re cold. 

but yuuta doesn’t ask — he’d like to think he knows you well enough not to. he thinks that you’re fine, probably tired from work and it’s late over there too. if he cared to catch up with you, he’d have been more considerate of that.

“good!” the brunette chirps in order to keep the mood light, leaning over a nearby railing. i miss you. yuuta wants to add, but the words feel like cotton in his mouth, sticking unpleasantly to every surface and for some reason they don’t feel right to say— feel foreign. “work’s been good. i think i’m getting the hang of things around here. my co-workers are great, i get this amazing view every morning a-and—“

“and?” 

“i met someone! i think! i wanna get to know her more but she’s been great to me so far…you’d like her!”

hearts don’t make a sound when they break, but if they did— you’re sure that yuuta would have been able to hear yours even from halfway across the globe. over his own ramblings he can hardly make out the shatter of your vital organ as it falls to pieces, cracks into tiny shards with jagged edges that could make you bleed if you tried to put it back together…because your best friend having met someone means he’s moving on. leaving you behind. and he’s too tone deaf to notice. 

through the static of a phone call, okkotsu misses the crumple of your face and the way your throat bobs as you swallow back salty tears and two decades worth of unrequited love. you’re devastated and he can’t even tell, barely noticing the way you rush off the phone while he’s halfway through a sentence.

his brows furrow when he realises you’ve hung up. 

“i take it that didn’t go well?” kasumi questions when yuuta re-renters the bar, her face sympathetic but voice elevated with smugness. 

he shakes his head once. “no, but it’s okay. she’s been busy.” 

he excuses you but kasumi doesn’t let up, pushing for more of yuuta — breaking him out from his shell, stealing and keeping the pearl of his heart for her taking. “don’t be too sad yuuta, you have me and your new friends, we’ll keep you company instead.”

there’s a hidden meaning behind her cherry picked words. she’ll keep him company — and for once, yuuta doesn’t feel guilty for trying to break away from you.

voicemail #5 - “what happened between us yuuta? you used to tell me everything and now you’ve got a girlfriend? i didn’t even find out through you!”

there’s an unspoken rule to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s – you’re supposed to tell each other everything. there’s not been a secret between you in all the years you’ve known each other except for minor white lies that couldn’t amount to major forms of harm. he might have told you that your hair looked fine on days where you’d barely any time to tend to it and you might have told him that he hadn’t been awkward presenting in front of your entire college class… but those were worthless lies. strings of words tied together that didn’t mean anything, that didn’t have any intent to harm.

there were no secrets, no major ones.

until now.

“he’s got a girlfriend, yanno…”

the news is shared with you casually from over the counter one day by your irritating white-haired ex-professor who makes a habit of annoying his old students. he comes in for sweets often and the daifuku you make is his favourite – you offer him extra in exchange for updates on the classmates you used to share since he’s nosey like that.

with every visit to your little cafe, gojo filled you in on everything yuuta had been up to in the blurred weeks and months since you’d last spoken – including his relationship status. “she’s pretty too, long hair. s’blue which is an odd colour, but she’s been good to him, ‘pparently. boosted his confidence.”’ the man cocks his head, watching in real-time as your movements in packing up his order slow down.

your throat bobs whilst you swallow your fading pride in front of your teacher, forcing down a wave of tears. it doesn’t matter how many times yuuta gets over you, moves on from you, finds someone to love other than you… it still hurts. it’ll always hurt knowing that he can fill the other half of his heart with someone that isn't you, while your own stays void and empty.

as always, satoru gojo sees right through your resolve as you total up his order – again forgoing charging him extra for the little tid bit of gossip he’d given you. there’s a shell of someone he doesn’t recognise in place of the girl he used to teach – the one who was once full of life and eager to learn, get out into the world and achieve your dreams. yuuta okkotsu had chipped away at you, the years you’d spent protecting his feelings had caused you to drown in your own.

and gojo could see that, he knew that. he’d been through it before.

he only wishes he had better words of comfort for you.

“you love him, don’t you?” he asks you quietly as you ring him up but you answer with his total in yen instead – sniffling as you do. professor gojo takes his brown paper bag, full of enough sugar to make the heart stop – to kill a person, but even that’s a better death than the heartache you’re going through now. you sniff and he offers you a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach the sapphire eyes behind his shades. “better yet, don’t answer that. i don’t need anymore tears in my daifuku.”

voicemail #6 - “oh fuck yuuji, right there…” “here baby? oh you’re so cute, fuck ‘m gonna—!” “oh… yuuji!” 

( incoming voicemail from - yuuta: “hey, call me back? who’s yuuji? are you okay?” )

yuuta knows that he shouldn’t have kept listening – he should have deleted the voicemail as soon as he caught onto what was happening. it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on, the sounds of skin slapping on skin, your voice wavering with the tune of lust even over the static crackle of the voicemail you’d left. 

he wishes that he’d never heard you moan out like that for someone else, that he wasn’t picturing the faces you’d make underneath the body of another man…but he couldn’t help it. the more he listened, the angrier he felt, the more betrayal flooded his veins and clouded his usually clear judgement. the brunette had no right to be this mad at you, he was supposed to be happy with miwa, supposed to be letting you move on just like he had done from you.

and yet, like a necrotizing parasite – jealousy feasts at the back of okkotsu’s mind. it disrupts his work, distracts him from his girlfriend and fills his mind with flashing images of you being fucked five ways by another man. one that isn’t him. yuuji. who even is yuuji? how did you meet him? were you dating him? you hadn’t talked in so long so the guy had barely come up in conversation. you were best friends that used to tell each other everything and now he felt like you were fucking someone new behind his back. yuuta knew nothing of what that stranger meant to you, he had no idea that yuuji itadori was just some college boy you’d brought home one drunken night – to act as a salve for the burns your childhood best friend had left on you.

it's a temporary fix, yuuji’s tongue laps at your wounds – pleasures you with teeth and tongue until your head is light and you’re almost too dizzy to think properly. in the moment, he felt good, he took care of you…but he wasn’t who you wanted. he wasn’t yuuta.

was it bad that you basked in the jealous rage and attention the brunette had bathed you in? drowning you in a barrage of text messages  the morning after you’d slept with itadori, when yuuta finally had the chance to listen to the voicemail you’d left by accident. it was the most you’d gotten out of him in the months you’d been separated.

yuuta - 7:16AM: hey…did you mean to send that? call me when you’re up.

yuuta - 7:45AM: i don’t think i was supposed to hear that…

yuuta - 8:34AM: who’s yuuji?

yuuta - 8:36AM: are you seeing someone? call me please.

yuuta - 8:57AM: pick up the phone.

yuuta - 9:21AM: it’s not funny anymore. i’m worried. pick up.

you answer your phone around noon, having given yourself the space to think over cooking a hang-over breakfast for yuuji. the sounds of spitting oil underneath frying eggs had provided the soundtrack to your thoughts – helped you pick and choose the words you would say to yuuta before your companion slips out of your apartment and you tell him to grab a pastry from your cafe downstairs on his way out. a little thank you for the night you’d shared.

“what the hell was that?” is the first thing yuuta snarls down the line once your call connects.

you shift your phone in your grasp, as if his seething tone has scorched the palm of your hand. “are we past greetings or somethin’, yuu?” you fail to admit that it hurts you, starting the call without his tender and caring ‘hello’, you feel like an enemy on the battlefield to okkotsu, rather than his friend.

“i think we are well past that, especially with the kind of voice messages you’ve been leaving me.” he says it like he’s disgusted with you, when he really just misses you. craves you. he’s angry at himself and for letting you slip between his fingers into the grasp of another man. not at you. never at you. but even cell phone lines connecting calls from across the globe can’t properly convey the way yuuta feels. “what’s going on with you? why are you acting like this? we haven’t spoken in weeks and you–?”

“why is what i do any of your business anymore, yuuta?” you snap through his flurry of questions, growing heated yourself. “i accidentally left you a voicemail of me fucking someone, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

“you’re just… not like this. we don’t speak and all of a sudden…y-you’re different!”

you clutch the phone tighter, swallowing thickly. “and who’s fault is that? let me answer that for you. it’s yours. you’re the one who got a girlfriend and left me in the dust. not the other way around!” you argue, trying to sound stern and steady though yuuta can hear the wobble to your words loud and clear. “you shouldn’t have listened, you should have called. you let the distance become a problem between us.”

he scoffs, an action so unlike your best friend. “we’re not children anymore! you should have talked to me about the distance!” 

“i couldn't!” you defend yourself, desperate for the pain in your heart to be heard for once. “you were finally happy again yuuta! that mattered to me—“ 

“you think i'm happy about hearing my best friend get…defiled over the phone?” 

“well you should be! it means I’m not hung up on you anymore, that i’m moving on from being in love with you! leaving you so that you can be happy in your new life!” 

the silence from yuuta’s end of the phone is both too loud and too deafening. 

“you…loved me?” he whispers, switching back to that same sweet tone he always used when it came to you. “why didn’t you say?”

your stupid little confession, the one you’d been holding back for more than half your life, sips out before you can catch it with the tip of your tongue and you instantly feel terrible for weaponizing your crush on okkotsu against him. at least that’s what it feels like you’ve done. “i never told you…because i’m not selfish, yuuta,” you stutter out, your face hot with oncoming and flustered tears. “i-i'm not a selfish person. i wouldn’t sacrifice our friendship or your happiness, not just because i loved you.”

yuuta says your name, but blood rushes through your ears in embarrassment – way too fast for you to catch it, and you hang up before you can humiliate yourself any further.

before you can hear him say that he loves you too.

voicemail #7 - “open up, i'm coming home. please be here when I’m home.” 

the number you have dialled is unavailable, please try again later.

after the slip of your tongue and confession to yuuta— he was met with radio silence. you’d blocked him on every form of social media possible and he couldn’t even blame you. you wanted to be free from him, from that silly and imaginary red string that had kept you tied to his soul for all of these years. it hurt to think when everything reminded you of him, so you buried yourself in your cafe and worked yourself to death because even the sweet relief from life would be better than living without your best friend. 

gojo had stopped by and taken you to the hospital twice since you’d worked yourself into exhaustion — tonight was no different, sentenced to bed rest by your ex-professor and the best doctor he could find. he always did look out for his students.

sleeping your sadness away had caused you to miss a barrage of yuuta’s calls — if you’d picked up you’d have known that he was coming home. coming home for you. in the wake of your love confession, okkotsu had realised how much he needed you and how much he loved you. you had never left his side, no matter what yuuta had been through, and now, nothing feels right without you. 

so he broke up with his girlfriend, took leave from his job and flew halfway across the world for you — to give his message in person. 

it’s near midnight by the time yuuta gets back to japan, the warm yellow of the streetlights illuminating the path right up to your apartment after getting out of the uber. there’s a spare house key, glinting gold, hidden under your cupcake shaped doormat just as yuuta remembers and he uses it to slip inside — dumping his bag and kicking his shoes off at the entryway. his socked feet locate the bedroom with ease, perhaps drawn by your aura and the anticipation of seeing you again.

and there you are, so close yet so far away — your face peaceful and painted with an adorable expression of slumber. okkotsu notes the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the crease between your brow as if you’re having a bad dream. he could fix it… whatever’s plaguing your sleeping mind, he knows that he can, because whenever you touch each other, it’s like your bodies know to relax and that they’re safe.

tiptoeing deeper into the room, the brunette slinks up to the side of your bed and the mattress dips underneath the weight of his knee as he seats himself beside you. you’re so beautiful, so calm. he doesn’t know how he went his whole life without choosing you, choosing other people over you time and time again. “i love you,” yuuta whispers into the dead of the night, brushing a thumb and forefinger over the apple of your cheek — hesitating when you roll into his body heat. “i love you. i’m so sorry.” he says again, while pressing a feather light kiss to that same spot. 

his breath hitches when you reach for him this time, grabbing at the man in your sleep.

yuuta kisses you again, but on your forehead. then your other cheek, your chin, your inner wrists and finally — your lips. each brush of his own against you is increasingly feverish, pouring unspoken emotions into them as he quietly utters the words ‘i love you.’ over and over again. he feels like he has something to prove, as if the brunette has to show you how much he cares for you — leaving a trail of sweet smooches between the valley of your breasts from over your night-shirt to between your thighs that spill out of the loose material.

he only hopes that this is enough for you to forgive him, for you to love him back like he does you.

your best friend… or ex best friend really should feel bad about this, teething on the swell of your thighs— his fingertips sinking into their apex to pry you apart for him. you could end up hating him more for this, yuuta’s slick and drool stained tongue rolling over the seam at the crotch of your panties hungrily, softly as if to test the waters. he takes it as a good sign when your face contorts with pleasure even in your sleep and slots his entire mouth against the sweet treasure between your legs— sucking the juices from the fabric of your underwear.

you taste so good and he’s not even got you properly wet yet. yuuta’s next move is to hook two fingers over the garment to pull it aside — revealing your twitching hot cunt to the cool night air in your bedroom. even your scent is divine, enticing just as you’ve always been and the brunette can’t believe he was too blind to see it before. he presses a chase kiss to your clit, feeling it pulse to life against his lips before said kisses become open mouthed and sloppy— tongue diving into the tightness of your little hole, circling it to flick your flavour back into his mouth. 

his movements start slow, tenderly testing which spots inside your pretty little cunt make you sigh out contently while you slumber but the wetter you get, the sloppier yuuta becomes — lapping at your sex and your clit in eager movements like a kitten at a bowl of milk. you only stir awake when his fingers travel up to grip onto your ass and tug your pussy onto his face, guiding you up and down on his writhing tongue like he’s fucking you for real.

“y-yuu?” you grumble, still finding your footing in the reality of consciousness. “whas’ h-happenin’… oh my god—!”  the questions you have for the mop of hair between your legs, groaning like a starved man into there too, taper into an angelic moan. pretty and airy, like music to yuuta’s ears. once you come to and fully realise what’s going on, your fingers slip into the roots of his hair and your hips buck into his mouth instinctively — even though you should be pissed. even though you should be screaming at him and kicking him off. you can’t help it that this is what you’ve always wanted. that you’ve always wanted him.

“w-what are you doing here?” you manage to ask through a whine, brain fogging up at the way yuuta’s tongue runs laps over your swelling clit. 

he pulls off of you with a lewd pop that makes both of you shudder, two of his slender digits easily sliding into you where his tongue once was — guided by spit and slick. “i came home for you. i love you,” your best friend doesn’t have time to formulate proper reasoning, drunk on your saccharine flavour  like you’re the finest wine he’s ever had the honour of tasting. “f-fuck, i-i missed you.”

yuuta gives you those big puppy dog eyes as he curls his digits inside of you and hits spots you can't quite reach on your own. you should be talking about your feelings not fucking through them but you’ve missed him so much and need him so bad. both of you groan in unison when he brushes over your g-spot, your hips jumping up and his grinding down into your silky sheets. 

“missed you too,” you breathe and yank him up by the hair to meet your lips — making out with him feverishly, swapping the words your mind can’t seem to force you to say, pouring the mixed emotions into him as he finger fucks your tight little hole like his life depends on it.

every movement you make with one another is sloppy and uncoordinated, tongues doused in one another’s saliva— saliva that tastes like you. your moans mingle in the hot and heavy air and you clench down on yuuta’s fingers as they pump in and out of you, his palm slapping against your folds while you leak into the seat of his palm. 

“are you close?” yuuta slurs into your mouth so quietly you almost miss it underneath the lewd sound of your pussy. “i want to make you cum, show you how much i love you.”

blood rushes through your ears, heat pin pricking like needles under your skin. “y-yes. p-please yuu…” 

his thumb dragging smooth circles over the pulsating bud between your blooming pussy lips is all you need to trip over the edge into your high— the knots in your lower tummy unwinding faster than you can register, waves of your nectar flowing from your cunt onto the sheets below and soiling yuuta’s hand right up to his wrist. 

your head tips back into a high pitched squeal, eyes locked away and rolling back while you damn near black out from your orgasm. but your best friend is right there like he should be, sucking love-bites into your neck to ground you. dark tresses of yuuta’s chocolate-like hair tickle at your tingling flesh while he manoeuvres himself between your legs and shifts his pants down enough to let his rock hard cock spring free. 

“c-can you take me now?” he pleads more than he asks, brown and warm eyes trembling with need, anticipation. “i don’t think i’ll last long and i need you.” 

you feel him press at your entrance, his angry red tip glistening with opaque beads of precum— yuuta softly ruts his hips against you, smearing…claiming you with his own essence while he waits for your consent. “i’ve always needed you, yuuta.” you say breathlessly, giving him a small grin and nod when he looks up from drooling against your neck. 

that’s all the go ahead he needs before his thick girth pushes all the way into you at once — weighty and temperate against your ribbed and creamy walls. “‘ohmyfuckinggod,” he whimpers wetly against you. “y-you’re so tight wrapped around me. so perfect i—“ 

“move, yuuta. fuck me, please,” you remind him, tugging on his air and crossing your ankles at the base of his spine. 

“y-yeah okay…g-god you’re so good. so sweet ‘n tight.” with that, he draws his hips back — hesitant at first. brown eyes watch your face for any signs of discomfort and yuuta’s lust driven instincts take the lead when he only notices how blissed out you look. your pretty lips are agasp, forming a pleasure-filled ‘o’ as you mewl and claw at his half-clothed shoulders. “i love you, o-oh god!”

all you can do is whimper in response, fingers drifting up to the nape of yuuta’s neck to tangle in his dark locks— tugging him into you as if it’ll make him hit deeper, churn up your guts and make you see stars. “y-you’re stupid…” you manage to get out, the warmth of your breath glossing his lips as if to taunt your best friend with a kiss. 

“i know…” calloused fingers grab at the backs of your thighs with a bruising grip before yuuta pushes your legs towards your shoulders, both of you grunting and whining in unison when you tighten around him at the new angle. gushing sweet juices that paint his stomach and pelvis.

“y-you shouldn’t have left me,” tears start to brim, collecting in your lash line like diamonds before they hit your cheeks.

you’re so beautiful like this, even when you’re crying— when you’re crying because you’re fucked up on his cock, claiming it with your cream as ur clings to his balls and the veins that spital down his length. 

yuuta’s red hot tip nudges against the soft and squishy spots along your sensitive walls, keeping his thrusts at a rhythmic and passionate pace to make sure the only thing you feel is heaven on earth. your pussy is hot and warm and heaven-like around him, sucking him in so selfishly and tightening every time yuuta’s strong abs grind against your puffy clit. 

“i know,” he sighs dreamily and with an airy voice, licking a stripe from your chin to your cheek as a tear streaks it’s way down it. “won't ever leave you again,” his fingers touch at your face, sinking into the softness of your cheeks as he drags you up to face him. “i’ll never leave you again.” 

“never?” you ask, hiccuping.

“never.” he moans.

you see it there, the love glittering amongst the almond flecks in your childhood best friend’s eyes — he means it, he promises it and you can feel it with every roll of yuuta’s hips into you while he pins you to the bed. he makes love to you and says what he needs to through his actions this time. through your tangled mess of sweaty limbs and fluttering lashes you find okkotsu’s hand, linking them together. 

the sight of your hands meeting one another brings emotions bubbling to the surface of your skin, hot to yuuta’s touch — it's a symbol that you’ve finally come together after being worlds apart for so long. “you’re finally mine, ‘m never letting you go,” his warm breath coasts across the seam of your lips before he dips into kiss you— tongue gliding over yours as it pushes into the depths of your mouth just as his cock does, brushing up against your g-spot and just  kissing your cervix. “you’re always going to be mine.” 

“i-i’m yours,” your eyes roll back and yuuta loses his pace, his entire body twitching the closer you both get. sex taints the air, both in sound and scent, your cunt squelching around him with how wet you are and how much he leaks into you. “g-gonna cum, yuu! make me cum, make me fucking cum.”  you slur out, anchoring the man down to you with your arms around his neck until yuuta’s forehead is pressed against yours. sweaty locks of his hair and all.

yuuta’s body collapses against you and his thrusts switch to sensual grinds that never let up on your spongey g-spot. “f-fuck me, b-baby. ‘m cummin’,” he croons, panting against your lips and with one, two, three more pumps you’re squirting all over him— the pressure unwinds in your lower belly and you’re hit with blinding white lights and your nails dig into yuuta’s shoulder to the point where you leave bright red crescent moons. “that’s it baby, cum for me, make a mess for me. show me you love me— fuck!” 

you’re still trembling with the aftershocks with your orgasm when the brunette follows suit — the warmth of his seed floods your quivering cunt, painting your folds an opaque white before yuuta pulls out. the last droplets of his cum hit your soft tummy accompanied by his high pitched whine  and then he crumples against you, exhausted from the height of it all. 

“i love you so much,” yuuta hums against your skin, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “it’s always been you.” 

“i love you,” you affirm, knowing that no matter what distance is put between you and your best friend (now lover) — you’ll always find your way back to each other. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[chiyuuchu]

II. The plot twist of admiration <3 (2nd August 2024)

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Prompt! The class decides to make a bet with everyone writing down who they think y/n’s admirer is.

first part here!

Every story has two sides to it.

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't one to waste time on frivolous matters like romance. He had better things to do, like becoming the number one hero. But there was something about Y/N that made him act differently. Without really understanding why, he found himself wanting to make her smile, to see her happy. So, he started leaving gifts on her desk: flowers, sweets, her favorite drinks.

He watched from a distance, making sure no one noticed him. He didn't need the extra attention or the questions from his classmates. Plus, it was kind of fun seeing them guess who the secret admirer was.

“Maybe it’s Midoriya,” Mina said one day during lunch. Bakugou rolled his eyes. Of course, they'd think it was Deku. “He’s so attentive and always pays attention to what his friends like.”

Bakugou scoffed internally. Deku might be observant, but he wasn’t the one leaving the gifts. Besides, Bakugou knew exactly what Y/N liked because he paid attention, too. He wasn’t just some explosive hothead, no matter what people thought.

“I don’t know,” Tsuyu said thoughtfully. “It could be Kirishima. He seems like a romantic guy.”

Bakugou almost laughed out loud at that. Sure, Kirishima was his best friend, but he wasn’t the one sneaking around. And IcyHot? The guy was about as emotionally expressive as a block of ice. He was also certainly sure the bird brain was too kept to self to like someone.

As days went by, Bakugou continued to leave gifts. He saw Y/N's smile every time she found something new on her desk, and it made his heart swell in a way he didn’t quite understand. One evening, he went to the convenience store to get her favorite drink. When he returned to the dorms, he saw Y/N in the kitchen, looking frustrated.

“What’s got you all worked up?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Someone must have taken my favorite drink. I was really looking forward to it.,” she sighed.

He scoffed, pulling the drink out of his plastic bag. “Here. I just bought a few. Don’t make such a fuss.” he said, tossing it to her. Before she could say anything. Bakugou just takes his leave with a huff. “Whatever. I’m outta here.”

When he reached his bedroom, he immediately covered his face. The heat which had rushed to his face earlier swallowed him whole. His heart was pounding.

The next day, he left another gift on her desk. This time, it was a box of her favorite pastries. He'd gone out of his way to get them from a bakery across town. Bakugou watched from a distance, smirking to himself as Y/N smiled.

During lunch, the girls were really pushing their theories about who it could be.

“It’s gotta be someone who’s been paying close attention,” Mina says, thinking maybe too hard. “Maybe it’s still Midoriya?”

“Or Kirishima,” Momo claimed. “What if the other day he said it wasn’t him was an act.”

“Or Todoroki,” Kirishima chuckled heartily. “He’s always so polite and thoughtful.”

“Or maybe Sero,” said Hagakure. “He could be into you, who knows.”

Bakugou couldn't help but roll his eyes again. It was almost laughable how off their guesses were. As Y/N's smile grew wider with each gift, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He wanted to be the one who made her happy, even if he had to do it from the shadows.

While Y/n slowly looks over and locks eyes with Bakugou, he couldn’t help but give her his genuine smile. A smile that was only for her.

Bakugou continued his secret gifting for another week, each time feeling a mix of pride and frustration. One evening, after another exhausting day of training, he was about to head back to his dorm room when he noticed Y/N sitting alone on the couch in the common area, looking contemplative. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to approach her.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Y/N looked up, her face lighting up with a smile. "Hey, Bakugou."

He sat down next to her, unsure of what to say next. They sat in silence for a few moments before Y/N spoke again.

"You know," she began, her voice soft, "I've been getting these really sweet gifts lately. Flowers, sweets, drinks... It's been really nice."

Bakugou's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to keep his expression neutral. "Yeah? You figure out who it is yet?"

Y/N shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not yet. But I think I have an idea."

Bakugou felt a lump form in his throat. He wanted to tell her, to admit that it was him, but the words seemed to stick. Before he could muster up the courage, Y/N turned to him, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"What about you, Bakugou? Have you ever done something like this for someone?"

He snorted, trying to deflect. "What, leave gifts and play secret admirer? Not my style."

Y/N laughed softly. "I didn't think so. But you never know. People can surprise you."

She definitely knows. He gulped internally.

Bakugou swallowed hard, feeling a surge of determination. "Yeah, well... maybe I have a few surprises up my sleeve."

Y/N tilted her head, studying him with an amused expression. "Is that so?"

Her phone began ringing. “Oh, I gotta take this call. Thanks for the chat, Bakugou.” She smiled and walked away.

Before Bakugou could respond, a loud crash came from the kitchen area, followed by Kirishima's voice shouting about a spilled pot.

As she walked away, Bakugou watched her go, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. He knew he needed to find the right moment, but it was hard to say when that would be. He stood up, ready to head to his room, when Kirishima came rushing over, a huge grin on his face.

"Dude, guess what!" Kirishima exclaimed. "Everyone's trying to figure out who Y/N's secret admirer is. You gotta see this."

Bakugou rolled his eyes but followed Kirishima back to the Kitchen area, where a group of their classmates were gathered, excitedly discussing their theories.

"I'm telling you, it's got to be Todoroki," Hagakure was saying. "He's always so calm and collected. It fits."

"No way," Kaminari argued. "It's definitely Tokoyami. He's mysterious enough to pull this off."

“What the hell is everyone making a fuss about?” Bakugou grumbled.

“Oh! Hey man, we were just placing bets on who Y/n’s secret admirer could be.” Kaminari casually said. “My bets on Tokoyami.” He proudly claimed. And why exactly was he proud of his assumption?

“Well I think it’s Midoriya!” Mina folded her arms with an angry closed eyed pout.

Momo also chimed in. “I still think that it’s Kirishima and that he’s secretly deceiving us that it isn’t him.” Kirishima who was beside her folded his arms. “Hey! It isn’t me, you’ll lose your money for betting on it!” He, once again defended himself.

“What if it was a girl and we were deceived the entire time.” Jirou randomly put a a finger to her chin, looking up in thought. “Hmm.” She hummed in thought. Right after that, everyone did the same with putting their finger on their chins and humming in thought.

“I know! We should settle this bet by asking everyone to write down on this paper who they think it is. Winner takes all.” Kaminari smugly said, pulling a piece of paper out.

“Oh, you’re on pikachu!” Mina retorted.

Bakugou mentally wanted to facepalm. But then he thought about it. If he were to guess himself then wouldn’t he technically be the winner of the bet?

“Whatever, you losers do what you fucking want.” Bakugou said and walked back to his room. “Hey! Where you going? You need to bet too!” Kaminari exclaimed. “Yeah yeah, just give it to me tomorrow. I need to catch some fucking sleep.” Was the last thing Bakugou said before heading back to his room.

The next morning, the classroom was full with chatter during a break between lessons. Kaminari, ever the instigator, was bouncing around with a piece of paper and a pen.

"Alright, guys, everyone write down who you think Y/N's secret admirer is! Everyone is betting! Winner takes all!" he announced, waving the paper in the air.

Y/n just gave a confused expression before going back to her book.

One by one, the students scribbled down their guesses and passed the paper around. When it finally reached Bakugou, he glanced at the eager faces around him and scowled.

"I'll do it later," he muttered, snatching the paper and shoving it into his bag.

"Aw, come on, Bakugou!" Kaminari protested. "Just write it down real quick!"

Bakugou ignored him, standing up and heading out of the classroom as the bell rang, signaling the end of their break. Kaminari pouted but didn't push further, knowing better than to press Bakugou when he was in a mood.

Later that evening, Bakugou sat in his dorm room, the crumpled piece of paper lying on his desk. He sighed, unfolding it and smoothing it out to see the various guesses scrawled in different handwriting.

He couldn't help but scoff at some of the guesses.

Uraraka: "I bet it's Sero. He’s always pulling pranks but he's got a sweet side."

Todoroki: "Maybe it's Kirishima. He’s very straightforward."

Kirishima: "Nah, it's gotta be Midoriya. He's so considerate."

Midoriya: "My best guess would be Kirishima… He definitely seems like that type of guy."

Yaoyorozu: "I still think it's Kirishima."

Ashido: "I know it’s Midoriya."

Tsu: "I change my mind, I’m placing my bet on Kaminari."

Jirou: "I guess it might be Kaminari. He’s got a fun personality and is always trying to cheer everyone up."

Aoyama: "It could be Iida. Je sais cela!"

Sero: "Maybe it's Shoji. He's very attentive and protective."

Tokoyami: "I assume it might be Todoroki. He's very observant and quiet."

Hagakure: "My bet is still on Todoroki!"

Iida: "I believe it's Kaminari. He’s always energetic and caring."

Shoji: "It might be Iida."

Ojiro: "I think it could be Aoyama. He’s always trying to make everyone feel special."

Koda: "I think it’s Midoriya..."

Mineta: "It's definitely someone unexpected, maybe Jirou. She's got that vibe. And who knows? Girls on girls!"

Sato: "What if it's Mina? She's really unpredictable."

Kaminari: "I still think it's Tokoyami! Imagine that!"

Aizawa: "Bakugou Katsuki."

Even the teacher???

Bakugou paused at Aizawa’s guess, feeling a strange mix of annoyance and satisfaction.

"Idiots," he muttered to himself. "They have no idea."

Aggressively scribbling on the piece of paper, he carelessly folds it.

But as he lay in bed that night, his thoughts drifted to Y/N. He imagined the smile on her face when she received his gifts and how her eyes sparkled when she spoke about them. It gave him a strange sense of accomplishment that none of his training victories ever did.

The next day in class, Kaminari eagerly retrieved the paper from Bakugou and prepared to read the guesses. However, just as he was about to open it, everyone began to question how they would find out who the admirer really was.

"How are we actually gonna figure out who it is?" Midoriya asked, looking around the room.

Suddenly, Mina stood up and yelled, "Whoever the admirer is, you have to come clean now because we've all placed bets already, and I'm sure Y/N is interested."

Silence. Everyone was looking at each other, trying to see if the admirer would step up.

Bakugou gulped, feeling a surge of panic.

Then Hagakure made a suggestion. "Why don't we make it more fun? Y/N should write down on another piece of paper who she wants her admirer to be."

For some reason, Y/N agreed willingly. She took a piece of paper and began to write a name. Bakugou watched her, rethinking his life decisions. If he admitted his feelings now and wasn't the one she wanted, he would never live it down.

Y/N finished writing, folded the paper, and kept it to herself.

“Wait I have an idea!” Tsu said and whispered something into Mina’s ear.

"Alright then," Mina said with determination. "Everyone who is NOT the admirer, sit down."

Slowly, one by one, the students sat down until only Bakugou remained standing with his eyes shut tight.

The room filled with gasps and murmurs of confusion.

"Bakugou?!" Kaminari exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“KACCHAN??” Izuku exclaimed.

"No way," Kirishima muttered, shaking his head. "Bakugou, seriously?"

"I lost my bet!" Sero groaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Wait, Bakugou's the secret admirer?" Uraraka asked, her eyes darting between him and Y/N.

Jirou smirked. "Well, this just got interesting."

“I certainly did not expect this..” Momo’s voice sounded.

Some students complained about losing their bets, while others were simply shocked. Bakugou's heart pounded in his chest. After a moment of silence, he heard the sound of a paper unfolding.

More gasps filled the room.

"You can open your eyes, Bakugou," Y/N said softly.

Bakugou's heart sank. What if his name wasn't on the paper?

He opened his eyes and saw Y/N holding the paper.

Bakugou Katsuki

His heart soared when he saw his name written on it. A wave of relief and happiness washed over him as the class erupted in a mix of congratulations and disbelief. He had never been this terrified in his life, but it was all worth it.

“Very unexpected, I must say.” Iida said.

"Well, who would've thought?" Mina laughed, nudging Kirishima.

"Guess we all underestimated Bakugou," Tokoyami said with a rare smile.

"Congrats, man," Kirishima said, patting Bakugou on the back. "Took some real guts."

Bakugou, his face slightly flushed, just nodded, trying to maintain his usual tough demeanor. But inside, he was over the moon.

“Wait! It’s not over! Who won the bet?” Sero yelled, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.

Kaminari hurriedly opens the paper.

Uraraka: "I bet it's Sero. He’s always pulling pranks but he's got a sweet side."

Todoroki: "Maybe it's Kirishima. He’s very straightforward."

Kirishima: "Nah, it's gotta be Midoriya. He's so considerate."

Midoriya: "My best guess would be Kirishima… He definitely seems like that type of guy."

Yaoyorozu: "I still think it's Kirishima."

Ashido: "I know it’s Midoriya."

Tsu: "I change my mind, I’m placing my bet on Kaminari."

Jirou: "I guess it might be Kaminari. He’s got a fun personality and is always trying to cheer everyone up."

Aoyama: "It could be Iida. Je sais cela!"

Sero: "Maybe it's Shoji. He's very attentive and protective."

Tokoyami: "I assume it might be Todoroki. He's very observant and quiet."

Hagakure: "My bet is still on Todoroki!"

Iida: "I believe it's Kaminari. He’s always energetic and caring."

Shoji: "It might be Iida."

Ojiro: "I think it could be Aoyama. He’s always trying to make everyone feel special."

Koda: "I think it’s Midoriya..."

Mineta: "It's definitely someone unexpected, maybe Jirou. She's got that vibe. And who knows? Girls on girls!"

Sato: "What if it's Mina? She's really unpredictable."

Kaminari: "I still think it's Tokoyami! Imagine that!"

Aizawa: "Bakugou Katsuki.”

Bakugou: "Bakugou Katsuki."

“Bakugou won? Isn’t that technically cheating..” Momo said with a concerned look.

“Technically that means I won. Now pay up.” Aizawa said from his sleeping bag.

“Ughhhhhhhhh.”

After the class settled down from the surprising outcome, Bakugou found a moment to approach Y/N. He was still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions from the earlier scene.

"Hey," he started, his voice gruff but softer than usual. "Can we talk?"

Y/N looked up and smiled. "Sure, Bakugou. What's up?"

He led her outside of the classroom, away from the curious gazes of their classmates. The tension between them was palpable, but Bakugou tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest.

"So, you actually picked me," he said, struggling to keep his usual confident tone. "Why?"

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him. "Well, I've always noticed you’re not as rough as you seem. There’s a lot more to you that people don't see. I appreciate that you always seemed to care, even if you don’t show it."

Bakugou’s face flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d ever actually like me. Not with how everyone talks about me."

Y/N shook her head, a playful smile on her lips. "You’re more than what people say, Bakugou. And I’m glad I got to know that."

Bakugou hesitated for a moment before stepping a bit closer. "So, what now? Now that everyone knows?"

Y/N's smile grew, and she looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. "I think we should see where this goes. I’m happy with how things are turning out."

Bakugou’s usual scowl softened into a genuine smile, and he took a deep breath. "Yeah, me too."

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the classroom fading into the background as they enjoyed the rare, peaceful connection between them. It was the start of something new, and for once, Bakugou felt that he might just be ready to embrace it.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Infected

Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: An accident at one of Alchemax’s labs has led to Miguel being briefly contaminated with cA1m - a prototype drug that is meant to calm animals. However it seems to have a very different effect in humans.

A/N: A massive thank you to @midgardian-witch for reading the beginning of this (catching a hilarious typo), making some excellent suggestions,  and reassuring me that I hadn’t just lost my mind completely (yet).

Reader doesn’t know Miguel’s spiderman.

Warnings: dubious consent - it’s basically a sex pollen fic, blood, hair pulling (can I write a fic without an Oscar Isaac character getting their hair pulled?), so much cum, hand job, oral (both m and f receiving), things get a little rough, face fucking, cum eating, biting, scratching, p in v sex, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 5433

________________________________

“It’s mainly preliminary.” You said with a smile. “You weren’t in the room, but the filtration system links four of the labs.” 

You check over Miguel’s notes, so far, he didn’t have any symptoms. 

There had been an ‘accident’ in Lab B2, an accident that was being rapidly looked into. Lab B1, and B4 had been empty, but Miguel had been in B3. 

Miguel was currently in a rapidly repurposed testing room, sitting on the bed with his shirt rolled up his forearms. His specific request for somewhere with reinforced walls, doors and windows had been… unusual. But he was a big guy, couldn’t hurt to be too careful. 

“How are the others doing?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow. 

“Okay,” you nodded. There had been eight people in Lab B2 when the container had broken. Two people, like Miguel, weren’t showing any symptoms. 

The chemical compound, nicknamed cA1m, while liquid in its storage unit, turned to a gas at above zero degrees. Luckily it also denatured quickly, and there was a good chance that those who still weren’t showing symptoms were unaffected. 

The chemical’s intention was for a more humane way to calm wild animals and livestock during veterinary checks. That way the animal in question didn’t need potentially dangerous anaesthetic for basic to mild level medical care. 

It also wore off in 24 hours. 

However, it still needed some work. And while early tests had gone well, apparently it did not have the desired effect in humans. 

Four of the six infected had gone feral, absolutely crazy with rage, trying to kill and destroy everything and everyone within their reach. 

Luckily no one had been severely injured before they had been tranquilised. 

The other two were different, they had… other urges. 

“Have you found any links as to why Doctor Guerrero and Doctor Vaughan didn’t react like the others?” Miguel asks. His voice was calm and controlled, like it always was. Politely interested, like he was listening to a presentation about your latest control data. 

“Well, I have an idea. Though I haven’t fully proven it yet.” 

He tilted his head to the side in a silent question. The action was endearing, it made your heart flutter and heat rise to your skin. And you hated it so, so much. 

You smiled quickly and looked down, trying to cover the fact you’d been staring at him for a second too long. 

“So,” you continued, drawing the word out a little to give you a pause of breathing room. “Both Guerrero and Vaughan are in relationships, both of them wanted to,” you pause for a moment, trying to find the most professional way to phrase it. “get to their partners. Unlike the others they also had a massively increased level of oxytocin.” 

“Your theory is that that cA1m causes a berserk level of rage unless the subject is in love?” There was the smallest smirk on his lips.

It sounded stupid when he put it like that. 

“Well… yes.” You fold your arms. “Look, Miguel,” he grinned when you said his name and you fought, and lost, the urge to smile back. “I’ve had fourteen hours and six people to base this off, plus three who are showing no symptoms. Give me a break, yeah?” 

He held up his hands playfully. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You gave me a look.”

“What look?” He teased. 

“I know you want to be trying to figure this out yourself, but you’re the one who insisted on not being allowed any breakable, or expensive, equipment while you’re in here.” 

He smiled. “It’s true.” His gaze was heavy, crushing almost. 

You shook your head and turned to the side table. “Anyway, are you gonna let me draw some blood or what?” 

He nodded and held his arm out to you. 

You know why you had been ‘nominated’ (begged) to be the one to see Miguel. He wasn’t the easiest CEO to work for in the sense that he was both physically and mentally intimidating, but what usually threw most people was that he was quiet, tended to watch and listen. 

And he had a bit of resting bitch face.  

But he was actually pretty pleasant to talk to when you got to know him. 

You brushed your arm against his as you moved to get your equipment. Miguel audibly gasped. 

A flash of worry pinched at your mind, you turned to look at him. “You okay?” 

Miguel nodded; he was staring straight ahead at the wall. Obviously in distress.

“Miguel?” This wasn’t the same as those who had suddenly developed into a full-blown rage, but still you couldn’t help the sense of apprehension that crawled along your skin. You glanced at the sedative on the side table and shook your head.

“Miguel?” You spoke again, a little softer and moved a step closer towards him. 

He shuddered at your voice, screwing his eyes up tightly. Sweat was beading on his forehead, heat rolling off him in waves.

“Miguel, I’m gonna-”

He moved faster than you could comprehend, one second he was sitting on the bed and the next he was looming over you, his hands clenched tightly around your biceps, and forcing you back.

You yelped as he pressed you into the wall, grabbing hold of his forearms. 

His eyes were dark and wild, brimming with a terrifying energy.

“Miguel, wh-”

He crashed his lips into yours, swallowing down your words and slipping his tongue into your mouth frantically. It took you a fragment of a second to react, surprise freezing your limbs solid. 

Miguel took your delay to his advantage, pushing his knee between your legs and pressing close. Not leaving a fraction of space between you as he devoured your mouth. Stealing your breath and igniting heat along your veins. 

“Miguel,” you managed to push him back, the heels of your hands in his chest. This was the cA1m affecting him, it was the only explanation. Maybe the filtration system had diluted the chemical and caused a delayed reaction. “You need to-”

He snarled, his eyes pinpoint focused on you as he leaned forward and kissed you, hard. All tongue and sharp teeth as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and gripped your thigh bruisingly tight, hitching it high on his hip. 

You’d had dreams like this, fantasies, where he pinned you to the wall and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. But you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t take advantage of him like this- 

There was a sharp pinch of pain as Miguel sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You let out a small squeak of surprise, pulling away from him. And raised your hand to your mouth, your fingers coming back red. 

Miguel, however, seemed unphased as he trailed kisses along your neck, smearing your blood along your skin. He ground his hips into yours, rocking back and forth and- oh god, he was big, just like the rest of him. 

“Miguel, you need to,” you swallowed down a whimper as he sucked at your pulse point, just managing to resist the urge to hold him closer, to run your hands through his hair. “It’s the cA1m, you’re not thinking straight.”

He murmured something into your neck, his mouth not leaving your skin far enough for the words to be intelligible. 

“Miguel-” You gasped as he nipped at your throat, not enough to break the skin this time. 

Heat was burning from his skin, scorching into your body like you were too close to a flame. 

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back a fraction too forcefully. You thought the brief pain might snap him out of it, give him a second of clarity. But as his chin tilted upwards, exposing his neck, he let out a long groan, his eyes squeezed shut. 

It went straight to your core, your thighs clenching at the sound. 

“Need you so bad, shit,” he rocked against you harder, pressing his length right up against your centre. “Always need you, you don’t understand,” he moaned and buried his head back into your neck, despite your grip on his hair, and sucked a love bite into your skin.

This time you couldn’t resist the urge. You sunk your fingers deeper, scratching your nails along his scalp and pulled him closer, pushing his face in your neck.

Miguel groaned appreciatively, digging his sharp nails into your shoulders. He nipped just below your ear, the keen, yet sweet little sting of pain blended with the slow and steady roll of his hips was simply tortuous. Almost enough to make you lose all common sense. 

Almost. 

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t do this. 

“Miguel-”

He whined as you said his name. 

And you had to bite your lips together in order to hold onto your fading self respect. 

“On the table,” you swallowed, trying to get your words out quickly, “there’s a sedative. It’ll help, it’ll-”

“You’ll help, being near you helps.” He mumbles, the words barely audible. He snakes his fingers along your ribs, just teasing the hem of your shirt.

“We just need to-oh!”

Miguel grabs hold of your shirt and pulls, ripping it open, buttons pinging off and going flying. Honestly, there’s less resistance from the material than you expected.

And then he's everywhere, his face buried in your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts as his fingers pinch at your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. 

You can't stop the moan of surprise that escapes your lips as you arch into his touch. 

You had to stop this, now. Before he did something you'd very much enjoy and he'd very much regret. 

"Fuck," you hiss under your breath and act quickly, trying not to overthink and get yourself caught up. 

Maybe if he… had some relief you could grab the sedative in the afterglow. Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need the sedative if he came once. 

Before you can lose your nerve you quickly unbuckled his trousers and managed to squeeze your hand under the material despite Miguel's frenzied mind trying to keep the physical space separating you both to a minimum. 

He gasps as you touch him, letting out a choked sob that your brain was already committing to memory and filing under 'for use later'. 

The velvety soft skin was rock hard and burning hot against your hand. So big that you couldn't even get your fingers fully round his girth. 

"Please." He muttered, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands resting tightly on your waist. 

His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth slightly open and when you moved your hand, the smallest upwards movement. He let out the sweetest sigh. 

You bite your lip and wince as you catch the broken skin, but it doesn’t stop you from tracing your thumb over the tip of him, smearing precome along the head. You were trying to be quick, methodical, clinical, as you began to stroke him, setting an even pace. This was just a problem to solve. You should not be enjoying this. 

But every glide of your hand, every touch, made Miguel gasp and moan as if it was the first time he’d ever experienced such sensations, made him bite his lip with his sharp (had they always been that sharp?) teeth, and it was intoxicating. 

He pistoned his hips into your touch, thrusting faster and faster, and practically growling as he grew closer to his release. 

You couldn’t help but watch him, enraptured, as heat pooled in your lower stomach, your own need growing. But this wasn’t about you. 

Still, you couldn’t help yourself rocking back and forth against his leg ever so slightly to just take the edge off. 

Miguel grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head, and there was a sharp pinch of pain as he tightened his grip on your waist, his nails digging in much harder than they surely should have been able to.

He swore under his breath as he cums, twitching under your touch, and coating your hand and stomach with his release. 

There’s so much of it, far more than there should be as he cums and cums, gasping for air. Another side effect of the cA1m - perhaps you’d be annoyed as his release soaks into your ruined shirt if the sight of him reaching his peak wasn’t exhilarating. 

You let go of him quickly, managing to disentangle yourself from him, despite Miguel low, exhausted whine of protest. 

God, how were you going to get a new shirt without running into someone? And, you realised, probably a new pair of trousers too. Miguel’s spend had run down and soaked into the left side. 

You grabbed the sedative from the side table. Your mind already racing, it wasn’t Miguel’s fault but would he remember? Would he be awkward with you now? Would your little chats and jokes stop? You swallowed down a pang of fear and turned. Now wasn’t the time for what ifs you-

Miguel grabbed your arms and you squeaked in surprise. How could he move so silently? His eyes were dark, hooded with lust, his trousers just hanging from his hips and… well, obviously so much for the idea that him cumming once would be enough. 

“I need you.” He growled, his voice so low that you almost felt light headed. “I know you want me too, I can smell it.” He leaned forward scraping his teeth over your pulse point, and for a shameful moment you let yourself get caught up again, allowed yourself to revel in the sensation for the smallest second. 

While he was distracted you pushed the needle into his upper arm, through his shirt, and injected the sedative. 

It shouldn't take long. 

He growled, pulling his mouth away from your neck to stare dangerously into your eyes. 

You swallowed. A spike of fear dug into the base of your skull, some ancient urge telling you to run. 

“It’s okay,” you said soothingly, unsure if you were really talking to Miguel or yourself. “It’s just the sedative.” You pulled the needle out of his arm. “You’ll be fine, let’s lay you down so-”

He kissed you hungrily, harsh and demanding as he forced his tongue into your mouth. 

You allowed yourself to kiss him back the smallest amount as you waited for the sedative to work. 

And waited… And waited…

Oh, no, just no, this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. There was more than enough in the injection to knock him out and yet he didn’t show any signs of slowing down. 

Okay, so, this definitely wasn’t how it went with the others. 

You side step, trying to twist past him and break his hold all in one movement. Maybe you could get to the door, maybe you could do… something. Your mind raced, there had to be a way to fix this, to help him, to be useful. 

The side step didn’t work, Miguel’s grip was too tight, and you stumbled, skidding around and to your knees. The edge of the bed thumped into your back. 

You gasp, gulp and stare up at him. That spike of fear dragging itself down your spine. 

He growls and moves closer, his length bobbing and perfectly at your eye level. His gaze is dark and desperate, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. You could see his pulse thundering in his neck, echoing along the length of his dick. 

Rapid heartbeat was one of the side effects all the others had experienced, the sedative being the only thing that had managed to return it to a normaler level. 

Maybe there was only one way you could be useful. 

Miguel shifts his weight, preparing to move, but you lean forward first and run your tongue along the length of him. 

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as you touch him, a gasp of breath. The sound floods heat to your core. 

You wrap your lips around the tip, grabbing hold of his hips to pull him closer as you swallow as much of him as you can. You bob your head, encouraging him to move with you and there is a moment where you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain in his thighs as he tries to hold back, to keep himself in check. 

It doesn’t last long. 

He snarls and thrusts forward, snapping his hips and nearly choking you. You splutter, trying to breathe through your nose but Miguel doesn’t give you a second to recover. He pushes forward, the back of your head slamming against the edge of the bed as he plunges deeper and deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease and still not even half way in. 

Your grip on his hips tightens and you don’t know if you’re trying to pull him away or urging him on. 

It burns, the size of him makes your jaw ache, tears roll down the sides of your cheeks from the force of his relentless thrusts. 

His hands dig into the mattress by the side of you head, tearing into the fabric as he pounds into you, fucking your mouth with everything he’s got. 

He groans, “yes, baby, yes,” his voice low and barely distinguishable as words. 

You do your best to just hold on, to breathe and take as much as you can. The sounds of his moans filling your ears and mind, and god, how you wished you didn’t have a gag reflex and could take him deeper. 

He keeps ramming into your mouth, snapping his hips against you with a frenzied energy and you push against his lower back, silently begging him to keep going. 

Your neck throbs from discomfort, bruising forming where the skin is repeatedly hitting against the hard outline of the bed frame. Your knees burn from where they continuously rub against the floor with every buck and thrust. 

Miguel lets out a short, animalistic cry as he cums down your throat suddenly. You moan against him, trying to swallow all of it but there’s just so, so much. It spills out of the side of your mouth and down your chin despite your best efforts.

He leans forward, breathing hard, his cock still in your mouth. And for a second you think this is it, the sedative will take hold or maybe this mindless lust has come to an end. 

But he’s still hard when he pulls himself out of your mouth, his eyes still glazed over with the same madness when he looks down at you. He runs his hand over your chin, the pads of his fingers slightly sharp, and collects some of his spend that hasn’t trickled down your neck and onto your torn shirt and bra. Another item of clothing you’d need to change. 

He smears his cum along your cheek, the movement possessive, like he was marking his territory. 

There’s a pause, the lull in the eye of the storm before he pulls you up from the ground with a shocking display of strength, moving as if you were no heavier than a glass of water he was eager to drink down. 

You can’t help the little yelp of surprise that escapes you as he practically throws you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress and momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs.

But then he’s on top of you, pressing himself firmly between your legs as he growls and snaps his teeth close to your neck. He bites at your throat, hard enough to break the skin and you cry out as the pain quickly disappears into pleasure. 

Your mewls only make his actions more frenzied as he tears your clothes completely off you with a speed that makes your head spin, before removing his own. The material rips so easily, as if he used a blade. 

He runs his tongue along your chest, messily cleaning up the cum he’d spilt along you just moments before. 

“Miguel-” You try to start, but then his mouth is back on yours, tasting like salt and iron as he drinks down your words to leave you breathless. 

You gasp as he breaks away, trailing sloppy kisses down your body, his fingers running over your skin and leaving scratches. He bites your hip partially deeply and you keen, arching up into him as he moans. 

“Your so fucking sweet.” He mutters before kissing lower and lower and, oh god. You nearly scream as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks hard. Pleasure coils tight in your belly as a new wave of wetness leaks out and soaks into the torn up sheets beneath you. 

His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes his face into you, only breaking away so that he can lick through your folds hungrily, devouring you like a starving animal. 

“Miguel!” You whine, letting out a series of high pitch moans that sound alien even to your own ears. 

He sucks your clit once more, his teeth just grazing across it before he snarls and pulls away, pushing the back of your thighs and pressing them against your chest with a crushing strength. 

You struggle to take a breath, barely filling your lungs before he’s thrusting into you with a guttural groan and a sharp snap of his hips. 

The size of him hurts, it’s too much, too fast and you gasp in pain. You clench your jaw, your eyes screwing up as your hands fly to his shoulders, trying to push him back even though you know it’s no use against his strength. 

But he stops instantly, stilling his movements. 

You stare up at him in surprise. His eyes are still dark but there’s something else there, something pushing through that lust haze. 

“Pain?” He whispers, sounding the most like his old self that he has since this ordeal began.

You swallow and nod, tears building at the corners of your eyes. 

He slowly loosens his grip around your thighs, letting go shakily as if it is taking a lot of self control to do so. And while he doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t thrust in deeper either. 

Carefully, he manoeuvres your legs down onto the bed either side of him, watching your face for any sign of increased discomfort. It’s only then that he looks down to where you’re joined, completely split open with only a quarter of his length inside. 

He groans lows and you brace yourself for a brutal thrust that never comes. Instead he keeps his hips still as he slowly trails his sharp nails down your stomach, teasing the very edge of your clit before pressing his thumb against it fully. 

A small moan escapes you and you clench down instinctively. Miguel hums in approval and starts to slowly circle the bundle of nerves, the touch light and soft as he just borders on the edge of losing control. 

The pain starts to dissipate quickly, replaced with a steady continuous build of that deep need from before. You start to squirm. The pressure of his thumb isn’t enough and you rock your hips ever so slightly, your breathing hitching in your throat. 

"More?" He whispers.

You nod your head rapidly. 

“Thank god.” Miguel sighs, the words mumbled like a prayer almost too quietly for you to hear, and lets some of his weakening control slip. 

Slowly he pushes further in, the tension shaking in his thighs as he fights with every instinct to pound you into the mattress and turn you into a crying mess beneath him. 

He keeps circling your clit, groaning as feels a fresh wave of wetness leaking out of you. 

You moan, grabbing hold of his shoulders. But this time you pull him towards you, urging him deeper. God, he’s big. Already it’s like you can feel him in your throat. 

The stretch burns, but it’s good, it feels right. Like he is going to reach a whole new devastating part of you. Make you cum so hard that he’ll ruin any other sexual partner for good.

You hook your left leg on his hip and squeeze your calf over his lower back, encouraging him closer, deeper. While you plant your right foot firmly against the bed to rock up against him. 

Miguel groans, his eyes closed. His movements on your clit falter as he slides further in. 

There’s a sharp pain in your hip where his left hand holds you tight,  his nails (it had to be his nails) dug in so deep that they broke your skin. 

You let out a soft whine, clenching around his girth as he presses up against you perfectly and still pushes further in. The pleasure in your stomach tightening and starting to completely overwhelm all other thoughts, urging you to just chase your release. 

Tears prick again at the corners of your eyes, a soft emotion beating hard in your chest. And you can’t help yourself, you grab hold of the back of Miguel’s neck, pulling him down towards you and arching up at the same time to kiss him hungrily. 

He moans into your mouth, pushing back against you and forcing you into the mattress. His hips snap forward, finally sheathing himself completely in your tight, wet heat. 

For a moment it’s like you can’t breathe, so completely full that not even air can enter. 

Miguel stills, giving you a moment to adjust as he licks into your mouth and groans as your walls squeeze around his length. His pubis bone presses firmly against your clit, and you can feel the echo of his racing heart beat along his skin. 

He breaks the kiss to breathe hard, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I can’t… I need to…”

“Please,” you answer desperately, kissing him softly as you start to rock your hips ever so slightly. 

Miguel lets out a whine, his eyebrows pinched together in bliss and the expression alone is nearly enough to make you cum on the spot. 

“Can’t stop,” he mutters and you're not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s saying anymore as he grabs your wrists in either of his hands and pins them to the bed. “Feels so…” He ruts into you, pulling out so that just the tip of his cock stays inside before slamming back into you. “Fuck. So. Fucking. Tight.”

You wail under him as pleasure runs up your spine and down your legs as he punctuates every thrust with an upwards rock of his hips, continuously rubbing against your clit and pressing the head of his length to that perfect spot inside. 

“So. Fucking. Wet.” He growls. His nails are slicing into your wrists, but you don’t care. Can’t care, you’ve lost all ability to feel anything but the glide of his cock and the heady build of your orgasm. 

“So. Mine.” He growls and bites down hard on your neck. You cry out, the brutal pace of his hips only increasing, bringing you closer and closer and-

You gasp, his name catching in your throat as you finally cum. Every muscle shaking as it crashes over you in waves. 

Miguel tears his mouth away from your neck, blood shining on his lips as he watches you come undone. He moans, his thrusts not faltering for a second. 

“That’s it, cum all over me,” he glances down for a moment watching himself disappearing into you, amazed at how well you’re taking him, how tightly your walls are griping him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Squeezing me so tight, oh shit-” 

He cums loudly, still pistoning in and out of you as he fills you up with his release. There’s still so much of it, some leaks out, spilling out of your abused hole and sticking to your thighs. 

You breathe deeply, your mind foggy from how hard you came. Your legs ache from being stretched so wide, your pussy throbs from overstimulation. 

Miguel doesn’t stop, still rock hard and trusting. Pushing his cum deeper into you. 

“Miguel,” you whine, your throat raw. 

“I can’t-” he bites his lip, “I can’t stop, I need to, fuck, please, I need to-”

You kiss his neck, biting harder than you normally would at his jugular. He whines, the sound going straight to your core. Heat starts to build again.

“Keep going,” you mutter against his skin. “Keep going as long as you need to.” 

.

You wake up sore and sticky. Aching and in pain. Even the slightest movement brings out an array of discomfort. Every muscle throbs, like you had done a year's worth of exercise in one day, and all the bites and scratches sting as you shift, the scrapes making you feel like someone had tossed you naked into a bush of brambles and thorns. 

It takes you a moment to remember where you are, the tiredness in your bones trying to coax you back to sleep. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Miguel’s voice makes you jump. He’s still close to you, laying on his side with his chest pressed up against your back. One arm around your waist. There’s tension there, you know he wants to move away but is scared to move at the same time. 

His cock is pressed against your backside, soft and sated. 

You turn to look at him, too tired to worry about your nakedness. Besides, he had seen plenty of it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” 

He scoffs. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks down. 

It’s only then as you turn around completely to look at him that you see tears in his eyes. “Miguel?” 

You softly touch his cheek but he flinches away from you. The action spikes through your heart. He can’t even look at you now. 

“I’ve got everything to be sorry for, I, I took advantage of you, I rap-”

“No, no, no, no,” you can’t help but touch him again, putting your hand back on his cheek and rubbing your thumb soothingly across his skin. 

This time he leans into it, letting out the smallest, shaky breath. 

“You were infected, Miguel, you couldn’t control yourself. I don’t know how much you remember but the sedative didn’t work, and your heart rate was just, I mean, it was crazy high. And, if anything, I was the one that took advantage of you and-”

His eyes snap open. “You? You took advantage of me?” He says disbelievingly. “Look at you.” He touches the bite marks on your neck gently. 

You give him a little smile. “I don’t mind.”

He breathes out another shaky breath, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You don’t mind?” 

You shake your head. “Happy to help.” 

He chuckles a little at that and nods as he runs a hand through his hair. 

There’s a pause, a silence that you can’t stand. 

“I guess I was wrong.”

Miguel frowns a little, confused. 

“My theory, about people having that reaction if they’re in love, I mean.” 

There’s a pause, the only sound a little gulp as Miguel swallows. Something passes over his face for a second, a faint trace of heat rising to his skin.

Oh. Maybe you weren’t wrong. 

“Miguel?”

He breathes deeply, looking down. “I-”

You don’t give him a chance to finish, letting your adrenaline overwhelm you as you quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. Hoping against hope that you weren’t misreading the situation. 

He’s caught by surprise for a moment, but moans happily and softly kisses you back as his arm wraps around you and pulls you close. 

The kiss is slow and gentle, languid and sweet. It makes your stomach drop like you were falling from a great height. His embrace the only thing keeping you safe. 

He runs his tongue over your bottom lip lightly, careful of the cuts, but licks into your mouth hungrily the second you part your lips. It’s not the same lustful need from before, this is deeper, sharper and desperate in a different way. As if after devouring your body he now needed to devour your soul. 

He kisses you again, lightly before you both pull back for a second. He grins at you, a little shyly and you smile as you stroke his cheek.  

“You weren’t wrong.” He muttered. 

You frown and shake your head, confused. 

He chuckles and kisses you again. “Your theory about love.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes

[wilwheaton]

The way to constantly inject Trump’s felony conviction into the campaign, other than remembering that “convicted felon” is now his first name, is to simply make his pathetic whining, excuses and demands for never-ending life mulligans the center of the campaign against him. He’s a disgrace but more than that an embarrassment. It won’t be hard because he’ll be making this claim non-stop through November, just a constant cue up for the same lethal mockery. It is the heart of his politics to always be jacking the conversation up to higher and higher levels of drama, even when the drama is his own menace, indeed especially when the drama is his own menace. That’s his power. What cuts him down is to zero in on the pathetic excuse-making and whining, a trait all of us associate with the most odious and pitiful people we’ve ever known. And let that pull the disgrace of his many crimes and prosecutions along with it.

A Bit of Trump Trial Campaign Advice

Trump is a convicted felon who has promised to inflict as much pain and suffering on the country as he can if he makes his way back to the White House. Now, are you going to believe the evidence of your eyes and ears, accumulated over the course of nearly a decade, now? Or are you going to believe the incredibly complicated story the Magas tell you? You know, the one that requires you to reject all of that truth and lived experience in favor of a red string conspiracy theory that collapses under mild scrutiny?

The Vichy Republicans have made their choice, and they ALL ought to go down with their cancerous leader. It’s outrageous that this is not a foregone conclusion.

I’ve been following politics long enough to know that, if there is one group of people in the world that can take this simple, winning, easily understood way to persuade voters and fuck it all up, it’s my Democrats. Please, please, please, don’t fuck it up this time. Literally everything is on the line.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Chapter 97: An Old Love Story

Okay, say it with me: FOIL!

You can see it too, right? Looks like Martha x Henry (Henderson)'s story is a foil of Twilight and Yor's story.

Henderson was in Twilight's place; the smart, lonely young man so focused on his ideals that he was blind about who was in front of him and his very own feelings.

Martha was in Yor's place, the strong and graceful girl too young and inexperienced to know her own heart and that she was in love.

This is exactly what's happening with Twiyor, the main couple of the story, and I think we may get to see one of the possible endings for our beloved Twiyor through Martha and Henderson story.

Now, what do we know about these two 🤔...

We know that Henry Henderson has a daughter and a son-in-law. It was mentioned he writes to them, but there was no mention of his wife. This leads me to believe that:

His wife is no longer alive.

He lives with his wife, so there's no reason for him to write to her.

He is divorced.

So, with this information we still can't know what's the current relationship between Martha and Henry, but we can take a guess 😉

From the way the story is being told, it almost feels like it's a semi-tragic love story, doesn't it? We can almost assume that they didn't end up together...or did they?

Theory one: Yup, everyone is right and Martha and Henderson eventually went their separate ways for reasons we'll probably get to know in the next couple of chapters.

If this theory is right, I think it's beautiful that they are getting a second chance 💖They certainly look more mature, confident, and calm (also elegant!). I love the way they look at each other, so much trust and love 😌

Theory two: I know this one is a long shot (and Henderson just said in that panel that "She is merely and old friend") but maybe...they're actually married. Why am I so bold to even consider that possibility?! Well, there's this panel:

The matron is clearly teasing Master Henderson, don't you agree? If she does it, it's because she knows something. Either she knows that there was something between those two in their youth or she knows they are married. I don't know, but they way she said the word "partner" and the fact that Master Henderson is married made me think that Martha is his wife. I know, I know...it's a remote possibility, but you have to remember that marriage is mentioned a lot through different characters and couples during the story, so maybe those two were actually married. (But, it's quite possible it's theory one).

Other things to consider...

How long have Ostania and Westalis been at war?

My guess is that we're talking about two different wars between the same countries; very much like WWI and WWII, where there was a brief period of peace before a second conflict. So, probably the first war started while Henderson was in his 20s and the second war started when he was in his 40s (and Twilight was a kid).

It makes a lot of sense that now they're in a period of "Cold War", just like in real life.

The Garden

I am convinced that the Garden is involved in this. I've talked about this before (read it here). After this chapter, I still think the Garden is going to pop up. Want some evidence?

Do you recognize this guy?

That's right 😏 That's Matthew McMahon. What is he doing there? Too much of a coincidence, don't you think?

And also the way this is phrased:

Odd that there was a mention of the word Garden, isn't it? And the fact that the whole story between those two takes place in a garden...🤔

In addition to that, in a previous chapter, Twilight observes how Martha moves like a soldier. Franky mentioned earlier that Garden people are like soldiers. And the Garden has a history of recruiting young skilled/strong people, like Yor. Things keep adding up.

The Consequences of War

This is a prevalent theme throughout the whole SxF universe: how war (violence, intolerance, manipulation of information, propaganda, politics) has affected the life of all the characters.

No matter their background, nationality or education, we've seen it again and again with most of the characters big or small, like Twilight, Franky, Sylvia, Millie, and now we're about to see it with characters from an older generation like Martha and Henderson.

My guess is that this won't be the last time and this pattern will continue while the story lasts. I think what the story is trying to show us is how war is seen by some (politicians and men in power like Desmond) as a natural, inevitable course of action, but at the same time how brutal the consequences are in the smallest stories. That's one of the things that is truly remarkable about SxF.

[letters-from-cutie]

The Scouts as Your College Boyfriends [Headcanon]

CHARACTERS: Eren, Armin, Jean, Connie, Erwin and Levi x gn!Reader (slighty spicy at the end)

If you like to see others, please tell me. I'll try this concept again for Levi, and maybe Eren/Jean too. I apologize for some scenarios being bigger than others. I'm Brazilian so I don't know how college works in other places, so don't mind if sounds different to you. English is not my first language.

˗ˏˋ EREN YEAGER ˎˊ˗

He seeks justice in all his lifetimes. So, I see him enrolling in law to be a prosecutor. He wants to get justice for victims. However, he may switch to criminal defense as he learns more about the system and life.

Besides law, he's also interested in social studies so he may change his course for that. I can also see him wanting a political job, especially after high school. He aspired to make the world a better place. But, as he gets older, he becomes more skeptical about that.

Studies aside, he is such a cool guy to hang out with. He goes to some parties but never lets his studies aside. On the contrary of his high school years, as a college student, he is dedicated enough to get very good grades, though he barely studies, what an icon.

He meets you after he picks a fight with your ex. You just ended things with him and is trying to avoid him around campus. But, you would eventually have to go through his class corridor one day.

And of course, he is there when you do. The guy wants to talk to you so badly and paint himself as innocent, but Eren won't let that happen, as he already has enough of him, because of his problematic commentaries during class.

Eren, wanting no trouble with his professor, stays calm and ignores your ex during class. But, now, as he sees your ex trying to force you to speak with him, Eren finds a chance to finally get back to him.

He calls him off right there, in the middle of the corridor, in a humiliating but smart way. Eren also offers to escort you away from him. You, always the revengeful (rightly so), accept his companion.

So Eren throws his arms around your shoulders and looks behind him to shoot that look (yk the one) towards the guy. And so your love story begins.

Congrats, you got the hottest guy in college. That comes with ups and downs, but mainly ups. Eren is absolutely devoted to his partner, you. In theory, there's nothing you should be afraid of.

He'll do anything for you and will protect you from everything that can harm you. If you have a problem with a member of your group project, ask him to resolve it, and he'll be happy to oblige.

The downside of being with Eren is that he gets girls and boys enamored with him all the time. But he pays them no mind.

Eren would never look to anyone other than you, so he gets annoyed when someone tries to hit on him, and probably has a good comeback to it. Though he understands if you get jealous, and will take you immediately to the bathroom to prove you wrong.

Expect to hang out a lot with Mikasa and Armin, as Eren asks you to go with him on most of their outings. Their hangouts are mostly calm. The trio enjoys exploring towns and new places. Therefore, you should be prepared to always check on new locations and have different experiences with them.

You'll always have a place in Mikasa and Armin's hearts, and it makes Eren even more in love with you when he sees how much you guys get along.

Lastly, expect him to be in your dorm a lot. He loves to cuddle with you at night, and you can't say no to his cute sleepy face, desiring you to untie his hair and play with it. And it's even harder to say no to his sexy morning voice.

It sends shivers down your spine every time he wakes you up, asking you to stay for some minutes and skip the first period of classes. How can you say no to him when you know that in his arms you'll have the time of your life?

˗ˏˋ ARMIN ARLET ˎˊ˗

Many people link him to marine biology because of his interest in the ocean, which I agree with, but comes from a different perspective. I see him being more into the concept of traveling and discovering new things than anything.

I imagine him wanting a job that lets him stay put but also change settings from time to time. Biology and marine biology are great for that if you desire to study, protect, and care for wild flora or fauna.

Also, he sounds to me like a guy who enjoys brain challenges, so a scientific field is something that would keep him engaged. He will pursue education further than most people would, as he enjoys learning new things and overall the academic field.

But, this also means that he's a big nerd. He does hang out with his friends, but he prefers to stay indoors, so he is more likely to attend these types of reunions.

Mikasa and Eren are his best friends. He also has other companions, so he's not the lonely type of nerd. He's just a smart, yet introverted guy.

He's such a booklover, so it makes sense for him to get a part-time job at his university's library. Armin quickly learns about how everything works and it's the best at the job they ever had. So if you need any help finding something, go after him.

That's how you met him. You like the library for its silence and academic atmosphere that keep you focused on your studies. Armin's shifts are when you're also free to study, so you always see him when you go there, and quickly get a crush on the blondie.

He is such a cute and polite guy. Armin always greets you when you arrive and get a book, but you're kinda insecure that he is just being polite, seeing how he also treats other students.

But one day, you find yourself needing a helping hand to find your books. So you take it as a chance to talk to Armin. Though he seems rather busy, surrounded by two students you think you've seen before.

Going back to the shelves, you find yourself looking for this specific book for quite some time, that is until you feel him behind you. In Armin's hands lays the exact book that you need. Before handing it to you, he says that he needs to doublecheck it quickly, and goes to the direction his friends were.

When he hands the book to you, you find a cute post-it on the first page. It has a motivational phrase, a drawn smiley face, and a number. You can thank Mikasa and Eren later for the push they did on Armin, cause that's how you meet your boyfriend.

Armin is such a sweetheart. He always checks up on you: if you have studied for your tests if you've done your assignments on time, if you have rested after so many classes...

This is his way of taking care of you, in the middle of his own busy student life. Also, you don't need calendars anymore, baby boy remembers everything you say to him.

He takes you to study dates, where you'll spend half an hour studying, half an hour making out, then repeat. He settles his dorm with warm lights and will help you if you ask, somehow he can understand your lessons even better than you at first read.

If you're in the artistic field or an overall very different field for him, the relationship becomes such a learning experience for him. He enjoys sitting down at night with you, while you show him your project that you just ended. He looks at you with those big blue eyes.

He is so tender and shows so much admiration that takes your breath away, and you need to recollect yourself to go back to your work. Then, he will proudly take you to bed. He'll show you how much he enjoys your work. To relax you after your hard work, a great oil massage and some sexy times will follow.

˗ˏˋ JEAN KIRSCHTEIN ˎˊ˗

Jean is most of us out of high school: lost. So it is not a surprise that he chooses business or managing courses, - very common and vast fields to study on. He doesn't know where he wants to work yet.

All he knows is that he enjoys the frat lifestyle shown in movies. Ironically, at the same time, he wants a romance of books and he needs a job.

So as time passes, he finds himself enjoying HR, which he plans his career around and pushes his studies further. For me, Jean is a great leader and cares a lot for others, so HR is perfect for him. Plus he looks amazing in a suit/working outfit (mine and his words).

Like I said, he first wanted to experience the frat life. During his first semester, all he does is party, even more than Connie and Sasha together.

It's funny because all he wants is love and to have some fun, but he is too young and was created in a world that directed him to pursue a fuckboy life.

The reality is that he is anything but a fuckboy, he cannot even go to bed with someone without catching feelings. After some time, he can't sustain this lifestyle. With so many rejections and bad grades, he desires to change. He wishes to be a person he can be proud of.

That is how he finds himself pursuing mentoring classes. It may be for his own subjects, calculus, or for his writing, whatever you feel like you'd teach him in this scenario.

At first, you thought it was a prank... One of the top fuckboys of your college is wanting your help?

In the first classes, you have to reprehend him on some of his attitudes, but he always listens to what you say. The way you treat him so well makes him fall for you, no one had such patience with him before. So, he starts to do everything and anything to entice you.

Expect flowers on your doorstep. Chocolates will somehow slip into your bag when you aren't looking. And when opening the books you use with him, you'll find post-its with corny pick-up lines. It's obvious he wants you.

You confront him one day and tell him to spend his dedication on studies instead of trying to get into your pants. Jean was being truthful, but at first, you don't believe he'd change like that.

He promises you that he is changing into a better version of himself, and asks you to go out with him if he gets a full score in all his subjects. That seemed so impossible that you accepted the deal.

Jean took it as a challenge, and soon enough, you found yourself on a park date with him. After he spent so many nights studying to get good grades, he deserves some fun right? He even got an internship! And so more dates follow.

As a lover, this man is your devote, and you're his god/dess. He never hangs out without you, I mean never, so you bet you're gonna be friends with his friends too. He goes to fewer parties once he starts dating you.

Jean now prefers more intimate hangouts with you and his friends. He loves movie dates, because it's a win-win for him, as he can get some fun far from campus and keep his hands all around you with no one looking funny at him.

He is very touchy, so expect him to want proximity with you and be very clingy, but he does the most adorable pout when you deny him that you can't resist. Also, being so close to you allows him to lower his head and whisper nasty things in your ear. Meanwhile, his hands "innocently" roam your body.

The asshole knows what he is doing. But don't worry, handling all the teasing is worth it once you get alone in a secluded place and he kneels before you, to treat you good this time.

˗ˏˋ CONNIE SPRINGER ˎˊ˗

I'm not quite sure about his major per se, partially because I think he would not be that enthusiastic about it either. But s4 Connie gives me engineering vibes, especially electrical engineering.

That being said, his main interest is sports and frat life. He's an active and extroverted guy who likes to have fun as much as he can and may go parting sometimes.

He hangs out with Sasha and Jean the most, and sometimes with the other 104th too, making a big and messy group. But I assure you, he is the funniest and most unhinged one, never letting the hangouts get boring. Connie is the life of the group together with his best friend Sasha.

Eventually, he gets a part-time job, and becomes such a hard worker! This is great since he's able to learn to be more responsible and serious when needed.

He meets you at a party. You're in a corner, using your phone. You don't care for the party, but it was your friend's birthday. So, you had to be there.

This little guy didn't even know your friend, but he needed to get his mind off work and his upcoming tests. Eventually, Connie found you by yourself and decided to interact. Connie is not the type to let someone be uncomfortable around, he wants everyone to have a good time.

So he goes after you and stays because you picked his interests, and you both have the time of your life, dancing and laughing from his attics. When it gets too late, he takes you to your home and you offer your phone number in exchange to catch up, and so it begins...

Dating him is never boring. Baby likes to make you laugh, and says that it is the cutest motivation for him to wake up in the morning. He'll get out of his class a bit early to wait outside of your class, he tells you he was bored, and it's true, but he mainly missed you.

He messages you during your classes, sending memes and photos of his friends making funny faces at his teacher, but somehow he never gets caught.

Connie goes to parties with you to show you off to his friends. No one (especially Jean) believes that he got you initially, but after some time with you, they see how much compatible you two are.

If you're tired or not in the mood for going out, he sits with you in the car, blasting nostalgic and cheerful loud music, as you go around campus. Expect lots of sonography while you're walking around.

When you're in his or your dorm, he likes to tell you all about his day, while you guys cook or do some chores together. If you're cooking, expect many food fights ending with cute flour kisses and apologies from him. Connie is not a fan of chores (unlike Levi) but he enjoys spending time with you, so that's a bonus.

Also, please, remind him to study for his exams! He gets forgetful about this kinda of stuff and may get lower grades because of it, or procrastinate if he finds it boring. However, do not study with him, he will not let you, and you'll get lower grades but it may be worth it for the laughs and the flirting.

Look out, or he'll take you to the bedroom as soon as he starts to check you out so focused, so sexy for him. And I'll have to tell you; after he treats you so well, you will not want to do anything other than be lost in him.

˗ˏˋ ERWIN SMITH ˎˊ˗

Of all of them, he's the most obvious to me. First of all, he desires to get multiple degrees during his life, as a curious and cultured guy. So depending on your age difference, you may meet him during his first, second, or even third degree. He thinks about being a professor too, like his dad, but being more of an activist too.

Erwin definitely gets some work inside the university, either as a mentor or helping the faculty. Therefore, he is spending most of his time there. That's how he knows almost everyone around college, or at least most faculty members and talented students.

He is commonly seen with his friends: Levi, Hanji, Nanaba, and Mike, doing plans for hangouts with them. They can range from a simple movie night to an elaborate weekend in a cabin in the mountains.

Usually, the fun hangouts, like parks and trials are planned by Hanji. The active ones are chosen by Mike or Nanaba, such as going out to bars or playing sports. And Levi says that he never wants to go, but he is there anyway. They walk around college together alluring this "veteran" aura, very cool.

For one semester, you'll see him with your favorite professor, Mr. Smith, who you need to talk with. Erwin just stands there, looking so classy and smart that you're intimidated at first. However, as soon as your professor sees you, he introduces you to Erwin, who takes an interest in the project you're developing.

With that, you discover that he's the professor's son, while the older man just looks at you both with a strange knowing look. Erwin offers to help you, with your project, but he probably can't due to his proximity to your professor. He knows that. Erwin is just using it as an excuse to ask for your number, and it works.

Erwin is such a good boyfriend and a gentleman. He always meets you before the morning classes with a warm cup of your favorite beverage. He's such a busy person, with all the classes he is attending, work, and projects, but somehow he always makes time for his friends and you.

Also, he loves planning dates and invites you to the hangouts he has with his friends. Prepare yourself for cute museum dates, and fancy dinners after he gets his salary of the month. He likes to spoil you.

He surprises you sometimes, asking to meet in a random campus location, and surprising you with a sweet picnic under the tree. Erwin states that he's making up for his busy day ahead, and you both sit in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and maybe a book. That is at least until you hear Hanji's greetings from afar, followed by Levi trailing behind them with a scowl.

Sometimes, you wonder if dating Erwin is a package that comes with his friends as extra. However, be assured that at the end of the day, you'll get your alone time with him behind the sheets. Erwin will make it up to you in a way that'll make you even forget that anyone else exists other than him.

˗ˏˋ LEVI ACKERMAN ˎˊ˗

This guy doesn't even know why he's here nor how he got here in the first place. I mean, he is such a flexible character, I can see him in many degrees but for this multiple headcanon I'll stick with just three.

Levi as a teacher would be so iconic. He may pursue education because he had good teachers before and believed that they helped him take things seriously and not go to "the bad side" of life.

I see him in law pursuing it to be a judge or prosecutor too, he wants to see "rats" (his words), going to jail and will be pleased to be the one putting them there.

Since criminology fits more his persona so well, I don't think I need to discuss it that much. I'll just state that detective/forensic Levi would be the best of his generation. So it definitely an option too.

Enough of flattering him. As a student, Levi terrifies his professors, why? you ask me. He walks into class, sits down, and almost never moves an inch. He does not talk or ask questions. At the end of the term, he'll get the highest scores. He even works in a respected office already! The professors' days are counted... Ah wait that was flattering again? Oh well...

Anyway, he is the scary dog of his group, I mean like those scary little dogs, not the big ones. Levi walks with people twice his side, who together know everyone in college, but he just sticks with the three of them.

It's with them that he passes his free time. It's funny because he may sound like a hater and says that they are glued to him. But it's actually the opposite, he is the one to look after their hangouts the most.

One thing about college Levi is that he loves his coffee and tea. He knows every café in town but doesn't really enjoys the college ones, like the one you've been transferred to.

He only goes there when there is no other option, and says that the coffee is cold and the tea always tastes like toilet water. That is why your coworkers prepare you mentally for the infamous day you'll get to serve him.

The day comes, and you're alone at the counter, you don't even realize that is The guy everyone was so scared about. You quietly hand him his thing, and he goes away just as quietly, and so it becomes a routine. One day he comes with his friends, who are throwing you looks every moment or so (it's just Hanji).

Eventually, they leave. When you go to clean their tables, you see a note on it, it's a number. It's not Levi who wrote it, but Hanji. He didn't allow them to give out his number so they gave theirs. Soon enough, you start to hang out with the group.

And being part of the group means being part of Levi's heart. Your relationship starts like that, evolving from friends, to fwb to lovers. However, Levi treats you like you're his for so long, and you're dumb to not notice (his words).

Expect him to always walk you home. Look at him and you'll see him already looking back at you, then acting as if he didn't. He'll fetch you drinks and food during class recess, and he'll do so much stuff a boyfriend would do to you.

Eventually, he does become your boyfriend. Like I said, Levi already treated you like you were his before it was official, but after it, it just becomes less subtle. He will only get enough sleep when you're in bed with him. Also, your place will be spotless, he says that you can't clean but it's just an excuse for him to do something back.

Levi will stay by your side as you complain about a messed up class you had. He allows you to cry on his neatly cleaned sweater about a failed test. He'll even buy you ice cream while you ramble about your group member who didn't do their job. And like Eren, if someone else were to blame for your stress or tears, he would do something about it.

He never expects you to do something back for him. You being here for him is enough, it's his main motivation for dealing with annoying college life every day.

But if you're really into rewarding him them we will not complain if you get in his lap and be good for him too. Oh, it may even become a competition, as you both pleasure each other for hours after a tiring and busy day.

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[transform4u]

I’m about to start college in the fall and I’m staying in the dorms. The worst part is that I’m nerdy, gay, and really shy, but I just met my new roommate and he’s your typical Republican, football-playing fuckboy. I could already tell he’s judging me hard. What do I do?

As you tear open the envelope from your college, your anticipation is a swirl of excitement and dread. You were supposed to dive into the world of English literature and feminist theory, but instead, your eyes skim over the schedule and land on the absurdity of "American Exceptionalism 101" at noon on MWF. Your head throbs as if an invisible hand is squeezing your brain into a smaller, less enlightened shape. It's like someone has taken a red-hot poker and jabbed it straight into your heart, twisting it until every ounce of your academic enthusiasm and commitment to social justice evaporates.

In its place, a new, alien mindset begins to take root. You find your once-vibrant appetite for critical thinking dwindling into a blustery haze of national pride and simplistic notions of greatness. Your consciousness warps, and before you know it, you're morphing into the very embodiment of the obnoxious Republican frat bro—a brash caricature of entitlement and limited worldview. Your intellect, once sharp and inquisitive, dulls into a blunt instrument of cliché-ridden banter and boisterous bravado. You proudly declare that “common sense” is all you need, dismissing complex social issues with a cavalier shrug and an overstuffed ego that clings to traditional values with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Politically, you’re a crusader for conservative causes, but your arguments are as deep as a kiddie pool and just as uninspiring. You spout off right-wing rhetoric with the fervor of a zealot, your debates more about scoring rhetorical points than engaging in meaningful discussion. The broader implications of your views—what they mean for marginalized communities or for nuanced understanding—are beyond your narrowed gaze. Your new persona is an obnoxious testament to the virtues of self-importance, oversimplification, and a relentless need to project an image of success and superiority, all while reveling in a blissful ignorance of any perspective that might challenge your bubble of certainty.

As you scroll through social media, you can't help but notice how your humor has changed. It used to be sharp and insightful, cutting through the noise with wit and cleverness. Now, it relies on crude stereotypes and inside jokes that only a select few understand. You find yourself trapped in a self-congratulatory echo chamber where everyone laughs at the same things because they're "in" on the joke.

The right-wing rhetoric flows from your fingers like second nature now - it's all you know how to do anymore after spending so much time surrounded by it online. You see conspiracies everywhere and can easily spot "liberal bias" even when there isn't any present; everything is filtered through this lens which leaves little room for nuance or complexity in thought or discourse anymore for both sides of any debate whatsoever.. This simplistic worldview is not only limiting but also exhausting because everything boils down into binary oppositions: us vs them; good vs evil; right vs wrong.

As you pull out your phone and begin to type a tweet for your followers, crude and rude thoughts start swirling in your head. You think about how much better you are than everyone else because of your right-wing beliefs. You imagine all the liberals who disagree with you as stupid sheep who can't see the truth. You chuckle to yourself at how easy it is to troll them online with memes and insults.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as these thoughts turn into words on screen: "Libtards are so triggered by facts! Keep crying snowflakes, we'll keep winning!" With a sense of satisfaction, you hit send and wait for the likes and retweets to roll in - proof that there are others out there who share your twisted worldview.

As you glance down at the absurdity of your new schedule, specifically the "Introduction to Sports Management and Fantasy Football" class, a strange, electrifying energy courses through you. It’s like a jolt of vitality has surged into every fiber of your being. Your once meek, unremarkable physique starts to react to this new direction, morphing into something sculpted and potent.

You can feel it in your abs first: the slight tremor as each muscle begins to tighten and firm up, evolving from a soft, unremarkable layer into a six-pack of steel. Each ripple of your abdominal muscles pulses with an almost tangible intensity, as if they are imbued with newfound power and purpose. Your biceps and triceps, once unassuming, now swell and harden, their contours more pronounced with each passing second, like sculpted marble coming to life. They burn with a satisfying ache, a reminder of the strength and endurance you are cultivating.

Your quads and pecs are not left out of this transformation. Your legs throb with a deep, primal energy as they grow more powerful, their definition sharpening into formidable muscle groups that flex with every movement. Your chest, once flat and average, now pushes forward with a proud, chiseled prominence, a tribute to countless hours of physical exertion and dedication.

Your reflection in the mirror reveals a new you—an embodiment of the ultimate football-playing bro. Your physique is now a masterpiece of athletic prowess: broad, powerful shoulders and a chest that speaks of relentless gym sessions. Your abs are a flawless six-pack, every flex a testament to your commitment. Your legs, strong and sculpted, support a presence that oozes both confidence and capability.

Your face, framed by a rugged jawline and a hint of stubble, reflects the charm and self-assurance of someone who is as comfortable on the field as he is off it. Your eyes, whether a sparkling blue or deep brown, are framed by meticulously groomed eyebrows and a tousled mop of hair—short on the sides, longer on top, and styled with effortless precision. Your smile is wide, dazzling, and exudes a blend of charm and cheekiness that suggests you’re not just about physical prowess but also a charismatic personality.

Your wardrobe shifts to match this new persona. You sport snug polo shirts in vibrant colors or classic athletic gear that accentuates your toned form. Distressed jeans fit like a second skin, paired with immaculate sneakers that declare your trendiness. On game days, you don a jersey or hoodie emblazoned with your team’s logo, completing the look with a relaxed, oversized hoodie that speaks to your allegiance and laid-back style. Whether you’re on the field or at a social gathering, your appearance radiates a potent mix of confidence, style, and effortless cool—a football-playing fuckboy who has truly embraced his new identity. As you glance down at your class schedule, your eyes immediately zero in on the last class of the semester: "Weekend Party Planning and Execution of the Woke Agenda." You can't help but feel a sense of dread wash over you. However, as you continue to stare at it, something strange happens. A cruel twisted grin forms on your face, and you suddenly feel an immense heat in your brain. Your thoughts begin to race as images of hot chicks fill your mind. At first, it's just a passing thought – like beating up some loser fags for fun – but then it starts to make sense somehow. You blink twice and find yourself sitting upright in bed with a hard-on that won't go away no matter how much you try to think about anything else!

You glance back at the schedule, desperately trying to process the absurdity of "Media Influence and Pop Culture" slotted for 3:00 PM. The wave of confusion hits you again, making your head spin as you grapple with the chaotic divergence from your original academic path. Just then, you hear a deep, gruff voice from across the room.

"Yo Jackson…you there?"

You turn to see your roommate Zeke, an absolute caricature of a neanderthal-looking meathead. Zeke is the quintessential embodiment of a gym-buffed jock, with bulging biceps and a chest so broad it almost spills out of his too-tight tank top. His face is a rugged mess of stubble and squinty eyes, and his hair is a mop of thick, unruly curls that looks like it’s never seen a comb. He’s sprawled on his bed, surrounded by a heap of sports gear and empty protein shake bottles, his demeanor a mix of lazy arrogance and casual dominance.

Your dorm room is the epitome of a Republican, football-playing bro's domain. The walls are adorned with posters of muscle-bound athletes and American flags, while the floor is littered with discarded gym clothes, beer cans fast-food wrappers. A mini fridge, stocked with enough beer and energy drinks to keep a small army fueled, sits next to a worn-out couch that has seen more game days than it probably should. The space is cluttered with an assortment of sports memorabilia, from signed footballs to framed jerseys, and the overall decor screams "Man Cave" with a patriotic twist.

“Sorry bro,” you reply, shaking off the confusion. “Just thinking about this chick Brooke in one of my classes, dude.”

Zeke snorts and gives a hearty, if slightly slurred, laugh. “Haha, you and your cheerleaders, man. You’re going to be repeating sophomore year again, you know?”

“Haha, no worries, school is for losers anyway” you say, punctuating your response with a belch. “BURRRRRP. Hey, we should head out.”

The two of you stumble out of the dorm, your stride filled with a boisterous swagger. The night is young, and you’re both on a mission to score some action. Zeke’s laughter echoes down the hall as he slaps you on the back, a gesture as friendly as it is bone-crushing. You both head towards the nearest bar, your conversation dominated by crude jokes and brash plans for the evening. As you step into the night, the crisp air is filled with the anticipation of adventure, a perfect backdrop for your football-playing fuckboy persona to shine.

The music is blasting, the beer is flowing, and the girls are everywhere. You grab a couple of cold ones and start making your way through the crowd, looking for some hotties to chat up.

As you weave through the sea of sweaty bodies, you spot her - a tall brunette with killer curves and a smile that could light up a room. She's got on this tiny little dress that shows off every inch of her toned body, and she's dancing like there's no tomorrow. You make your move towards her as if it was destiny itself calling out for you to approach her; after all who wouldn't want someone as hot as she is?

"Hey there!" You say with an exaggerated smile plastered across your face."Can I buy ya lady another drink?" Before she can even respond or give any indication whether or not she wants one more round of alcohol down her throat-you go ahead ordering two shots from one of those cute little sorority girls serving drinks at their table near by.

As you hand her the shot glass, she looks at you with those big brown eyes and takes a sip. The alcohol seems to loosen her up even more, and she starts dancing even closer to you. You can't help but stare at her perfect body moving in time with the music - it's like watching an erotic ballet unfold right before your eyes.

"So what brings a guy like you here tonight?" She asks between giggles, leaning in close enough for your nose to brush against hers ever so slightly. You grin widely as if this was some sort of secret conversation only meant for each other's ears only while reaching out grabbing hold of one those large round ass cheeks which seemingly belongs on goddess herself; pulling them closer towards yourself until they are practically pressed against your crotch area where no doubt by now there must be quite an impressive bulge forming due solely from all these thoughts running through your mind about how amazing it would feel having such beauty wrapped around waistline all night long.

"I just couldn't resist coming when I heard there was going be party like this," You reply smoothly without breaking eye contact once throughout entire exchange."Besides who wouldn't want chance spend time someone as beautiful inside out?!"

You continue to talk with the blonde girl, your eyes wandering down to her ample cleavage as she giggles and responds to your questions. She's clearly drunk already, but that only makes her more receptive to your advances.

As you feel her up, your hands squeezing her big tits through the thin fabric of her dress, you descend into the most obnoxious republican fuckboy imaginable. Thoughts of nothing but sex and being a toolbag consume your mind as you take advantage of this drunken mess who can't wait to fuck you.

Without hesitation or remorse, you pull her closer and press your lips against hers in a forceful kiss that leaves no doubt about what's on your mind. She moans softly into mouth while one hand grasps desperately at back of neck needing something solid anchor self during this whirlwind passionate embrace between two strangers who could care less about anything else besides momentary pleasure they derive from each other right now…

"Let's get outta here," You whisper against earlobe nipping gently with teeth just enough send shiver down spine signaling impending climax soon approach if all goes according plan which it will because there are no consequences for actions taken under influence alcohol right? For now though only thing matter is satisfying primal urges buried deep within both our souls calling out loud demand release only way possible given current circumstances - sex!

[novaursa]

Hello:) I love your writing and I saw that you're still taking requests, so I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing about my idea??

So the whole idea is Cregan x wife!reader where (before her marriage) she was from a more southern house that's closer to Kings landing (Tyrell, Lannister etc. you can choose)

Now, the main plot is that she wants to help during the war, but she's not that good at fighting and also has no dragon. However, she wants to prove that she can help.

So she fakes/has a little argument with Cregan and then, after a cute goodbye, infiltrates the greens in Kings landing.

There, she acts as if she's no longer close to cregan because he is a black supporter and because of her previous house, she's a green loyalist (in reality, she's team black and a true lady stark)

While she's there, she infiltrates them and sneaks information to cregan and rhaenyra etc. While both of them (or at least cregan worry about her)

Larys and aemond are obvi kind of suspicious of her.

You can choose how you want this to end. If it's angsty because she gets caught or happy even though she got caught, or maybe she doesn't get caught at all. You can choose, with your writing, I'm sure you'll find a great solution:)

The whole scenario is inspired by "She Wolf" by shakira (I hope you know the song😅)

For the rating 16+/18+ depending on the violence/gore/sexual themes.

(Also I wanna thank you for actually considering and writing about my idea for your harwin story "chasing the inferno". I was the anon)

I hope the idea isn't too confusing. Have a great day :)

The Silent Game

- Summary: When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂 That idea you had (about Chasing the Inferno) was brilliant. And just what I needed to continue the plot, as my imagination was at the halt at that time. And I know that song. I was in my Shakira era when it came out. 😄

The North had always been a place of bold contrasts: the cold and the warmth, the silence and the howling winds, the dark nights and the flickering lights of Winterfell. You were still adjusting to these contrasts, even after months of marriage to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North. Your union had been one of strategy, a lioness from the Westerlands joining forces with the wolves of the North. But in time, your marriage had grown into something deeper, something that transcended the cold calculations of politics.

Yet now, as the war between the Greens and the Blacks brewed, you found yourself increasingly restless. Winterfell felt like a prison, even with its ancient walls and the comforting presence of your husband. You longed to be more than just a silent supporter; you wanted to take action, to show Cregan that you were his equal in all things, that you could be the lioness who fought alongside the wolves.

But Cregan’s attention had shifted, as it often did with the coming of autumn. The Wall and its endless duty had consumed him, and the war in the south seemed a distant concern compared to the threats of the North. It was a reality you understood but did not accept. You needed to contribute, to show your devotion to him and his cause—Rhaenyra's cause.

Tonight, as you sat by the fire in your shared chambers, the flames casting long shadows across the stone walls, you decided to act. You would provoke Cregan, force him to send you away, to the very heart of the enemy’s territory—King’s Landing. There, you could serve as his eyes and ears, a lioness among snakes, sending back crucial information to the Black faction and to your beloved husband.

The plan was simple in theory, but your heart clenched at the thought of deceiving him, even if it was for a greater purpose. You had to make him believe that you no longer wished to stay in Winterfell, that you felt suffocated and out of place in the North. The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, but you knew it was necessary.

Cregan entered the chamber, his dark hair still damp from the cold air outside. His grey eyes softened when they met yours, and he offered you a small smile as he moved to sit beside you. His presence was comforting, a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him.

"You've been quiet tonight," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very stones of Winterfell.

You looked into the fire, gathering your resolve. "I’ve been thinking, Cregan. About our place in this war."

He frowned slightly, not out of anger but concern. "Our place is here, in the North. The Wall needs me, and Winterfell needs its lady."

His words were reasonable, grounded in the reality of your lives, but they ignited the spark of frustration you needed to fuel the argument. "And what of the war in the South? What of Rhaenyra? Do we not owe her our loyalty? Our support?"

Cregan’s brow furrowed further as he regarded you. "We support her, but our duty is here. The North is vast and unpredictable; it cannot be neglected."

You stood up, letting your anger seep into your voice, even as it tore at your heart to speak such words. "I am a Lannister, Cregan! My brothers are in King’s Landing, one serving on the Small Council of the Greens. How can I sit here, idle, while they plot against Rhaenyra and our cause?"

Cregan stood as well, towering over you, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "You would leave Winterfell? Leave me?"

The pain in his voice nearly broke your resolve, but you pressed on, knowing this was the only way. "If it means contributing to this war, then yes! I am not some helpless maiden to be kept in the North while the world burns. I want to fight, to serve, to show that I am as much a Stark as I am a Lannister."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had gone too far. "You think I don't need you here? That I don’t want you by my side?"

You softened your tone, taking a step closer to him. "I know you do, Cregan. But I need to prove my worth, not just to you, but to myself. Send me south. Let me be your eyes and ears in King’s Landing. I can be of more use there than I am here."

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire to protect you and his understanding of the larger game at play.

"I cannot send you into the lion’s den, not when your brothers are part of it," he said finally, his voice strained.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "They are my brothers, yes, but they are also men who have chosen the wrong side. They may not trust me, but they will allow me close enough to gather information, to play the part of the loyal sister while serving Rhaenyra and you."

Cregan’s gaze returned to you, searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. "This is dangerous. You know that."

"I do," you whispered. "But I am willing to take that risk for you, for our house, for our future."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening. "You ask too much of me," he murmured. "But how can I deny you when you speak of duty and love in the same breath?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushed away before he could see. "Then you will send me?"

Cregan opened his eyes, the decision made but the weight of it clear in his expression. "I will. But promise me, when this is done, you will return to me. I cannot lose you."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I promise, Cregan. I will return."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you would slip away then and there. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, committing this moment to memory. 

When he released you, his expression was one of determination mixed with sorrow. "I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll leave within the week."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. But you reminded yourself of your purpose, of the love that drove you to this decision. You would prove your loyalty, your devotion, and your love for Cregan Stark, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den to do so.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of your chamber, casting a muted glow over the room. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your very bones. You had spent the night sleepless, lying in the large bed you shared with Cregan, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Today was the day you would leave Winterfell, your home, and your husband, to embark on a dangerous mission to the South.

The thought of leaving him, of being apart from the man you loved, filled you with a deep ache. But this was necessary. For Rhaenyra, for the Blacks, for Cregan. You had to believe that.

A soft knock at the door drew you from your thoughts. You sat up, wrapping your robe tightly around yourself as the door creaked open, revealing Cregan. His expression was a mixture of sadness and resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. He entered the room silently, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other.

"You’re leaving soon," he said quietly, his voice rough from the early hour.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. You knew that if you spoke, your voice would betray the turmoil inside you.

Cregan crossed the room to stand before you, his large hands gently cupping your face. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you savored the moment.

"I wish there was another way," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "I wish I could keep you here, safe, by my side."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I know, Cregan. But this is what needs to be done. For Rhaenyra, for the North...for us."

His jaw clenched, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. "I hate that you have to do this, that I have to send you into danger."

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. "You’re not sending me into danger, Cregan. I’m choosing this. I want to help, to do my part. And I know you would do the same if our positions were reversed."

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, and you closed your eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The thought of being without him, of not feeling his warmth beside you at night, was almost unbearable.

"You must be careful," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll stay safe, that you’ll come back to me."

You tightened your hold on him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. "I promise, Cregan. I will return to you. I will always return to you."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "If you find yourself in danger, if things become too perilous, you must come back. The war, the cause—it’s not worth losing you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You needed to be strong, for him, for both of you. "I will be careful, I swear it."

Cregan leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss full of love, of longing, of a desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. You returned it with equal fervor, pouring all your emotions into that kiss, as if it was the last one you would ever share.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other, neither wanting to let go. But eventually, you knew the time had come. You stepped back, breaking the embrace, and Cregan’s hand lingered on yours as you moved away.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Winterfell will be waiting for you."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him for a long while. But you had to stay strong, for both of you.

Cregan escorted you to the courtyard, where a horse had been prepared for your journey. The Northern wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. All your focus was on Cregan, on the way his hand gripped yours, as if afraid to let go.

As you approached the horse, Cregan helped you mount, his hands lingering on your waist, his touch warm even through the thick layers of your clothing. Once you were settled, he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’ll have a small escort until you pass the Twins, just enough to keep you safe without drawing too much attention," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I trust you, my love. I trust you to do what needs to be done."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And I trust you, Cregan. I will send word as often as I can."

He gave a small, tight smile. "I’ll be waiting for your letters, but more than that, I’ll be waiting for you to return."

You looked down at him, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind. But you steeled yourself, knowing that this was the path you had chosen.

"I will come back to you, Cregan," you promised, your voice firm. "No matter what happens, I will return."

He reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my lioness. Until we meet again."

With a final nod, you urged the horse forward, the sound of hooves on the stone courtyard echoing in your ears. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might lose the resolve to go through with this. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, on the journey south, on the mission that awaited you.

But as Winterfell disappeared behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of you was being left behind, with the man you loved.

The towering walls of the Red Keep loomed ahead as your carriage (courtesy of Lady Frey when you rested in the Twins) rolled through the gates of King’s Landing. The familiar, oppressive weight of the capital settled on your shoulders the moment you crossed into the city. You had grown up in these streets, and while the grandeur of the Lannister seat at Casterly Rock had always called you home, there was something about the Red Keep that felt equally like a gilded cage and a battlefield. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The journey south had been long and grueling, but that was nothing compared to the task you now faced. You had to convince your brother, Tyland, that your presence here was born out of desperation and exile, not strategy and loyalty to Rhaenyra. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated, yet natural, to ensure he believed you were truly the sister he thought he knew.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could fully prepare yourself, the door was pulled open by a Lannister guard. You stepped down, your legs stiff from the journey, and barely had time to straighten your skirts before you saw him—Tyland, rushing down the steps of the Keep, his face etched with worry.

"Sister!" His voice was strained with concern, and he reached you in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. It had been years since you’d last seen Tyland, and despite everything, despite the sides you had chosen, he was still your brother. The scent of his familiar cologne brought back memories of a simpler time, before the realm had been torn apart by dragons and treachery.

"Tyland," you breathed, your voice trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, drawing on the emotions you needed to sell your story. "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he scanned your face, searching for any signs of harm or distress. "What happened? Why are you here? Why are you alone?" The questions came in a rapid, breathless stream, his eyes wide with worry.

You looked down, feigning shame and sorrow, before meeting his gaze with a carefully crafted expression of despair. "Cregan found out about our family’s support for King Aegon. He was furious, Tyland. He said he couldn’t have a Lannister—a traitor, he called me—living in his house. He… he exiled me. Sent me away with nothing but a few guards and this carriage. I had nowhere else to go."

Tyland’s face darkened with anger, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "That bloody Northern savage," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare he treat you like this? How dare he?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you allowed yourself to lean into the role you had to play. "He said he never wanted to see me again, that I was nothing but a stain on his honor. I begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I had no choice but to come here, to you."

Tyland’s expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he pulled you into another embrace. "You’re safe now," he murmured against your hair. "You’re with your family, where you belong. We’ll protect you, I promise."

You nodded, clinging to him as if for dear life, even as your mind raced with the lies you had spun. "I was so afraid, Tyland. I thought he might… I thought he might harm me. The way he looked at me…"

Tyland pulled back, his eyes fierce with a protective fury you hadn’t seen in him before. "He’ll pay for this, I swear it. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it."

You allowed yourself to sag against him, letting out a shuddering breath as you feigned relief. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I didn’t know where else to turn."

He stroked your hair gently, guiding you back towards the Red Keep. "You did the right thing, coming here. The war… it’s tearing everything apart, but you’re safe with us now. We’ll figure out what to do next."

You let him lead you inside, your heart pounding with the fear that he might see through your act. But Tyland was focused on comforting you, on reassuring you that you were home now, that you were safe. The gods old and new were merciful, it seemed, as he didn’t question your story, didn’t probe deeper into your supposed exile.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, Tyland kept a protective arm around you, guiding you towards the chambers that had been hastily prepared for you. His anger at Cregan, his love for you, were palpable, and you leaned into that, praying silently that you could maintain this charade.

When you reached your chambers, Tyland dismissed the servants, wanting a private moment with you. He led you to a chair by the fire, urging you to sit, and then knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll protect you. The Greens will win this war, and when they do, you’ll be safe, and you’ll have your place in the new order."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his as you forced yourself to believe in the role you were playing. "I just want to do what’s right, Tyland. I want to support our family, to do whatever I can to help."

He smiled, a hint of the boy you once knew shining through the hard exterior he had built over the years. "And you will, sister. You will. We’ll make sure of it."

As he stood to leave, you squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to look vulnerable, desperate for his protection. "Please… don’t let anyone else know what happened. I don’t want to be seen as a failure, as someone who couldn’t hold onto their marriage."

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. "Of course. We’ll keep this between us. No one will think less of you for what that Northern brute did. You’re a Lannister, and you’re my sister. That’s all that matters."

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, you allowed yourself to collapse into the chair, your hands shaking with the weight of the deception you had just woven.

The Red Keep was your tie to home, but now it was a den of enemies, a place where every word, every action, could spell disaster if you were not careful. You prayed to the gods old and new, begging them for strength, for cunning, for the ability to play this dangerous game.

You had convinced Tyland, but there were many others who would not be so easily swayed. You had to be vigilant, careful, and above all, you had to keep Cregan in your heart. You would send him word when you could, slip information back to him and to Rhaenyra. But for now, you had to be the lioness among lions, playing your part in this deadly dance.

And all the while, you prayed that Tyland, or anyone else, would never see through the mask you had so carefully donned.

The grand halls of the Red Keep were as cold and imposing as ever, despite the ornate tapestries and blazing hearths that lined the corridors. You had grown accustomed to the hollow echo of your footsteps as you navigated this labyrinth of stone and secrets, but today, the weight of your task felt heavier than ever. The shadows seemed to cling to you, whispering of the dangers that lurked behind every corner.

In the privacy of your chambers, the faint scent of burning parchment still lingered in the air. You had just destroyed a letter—one that had arrived under the cover of darkness, smuggled into your hands by a loyal servant of the North. The letter had been from Cregan, your heart's anchor in this sea of deception.

You could still feel the warmth of his words lingering in your chest, a reminder of the love that bound you to him, even across the distance. He had written of his worry for you, of the nights he spent staring out over the frozen landscape of the North, wishing you were there beside him. He thanked you for your courage, for the sacrifices you were making, even as he admitted how much it pained him to have sent you away. His words were full of love, but also fear—a fear that you would be caught, that the game you were playing would turn deadly.

My brave lioness, he had written, I know the strength you carry within you, but I cannot help but worry for your safety. Every day, I pray to the old gods to watch over you, to keep you safe in the den of our enemies. You are my heart, my soul, and I am so proud of what you are doing, even though it tears at me to think of you so far away. Return to me, my love, when this is all over. Until then, be careful, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

You had read the letter several times, allowing yourself a few moments of vulnerability as you traced the familiar curves of his handwriting. But you knew that every word was dangerous, that keeping such a letter would be a risk you couldn’t afford to take. So, with a heavy heart, you had burned it, watching as the flames consumed the last tangible connection to your husband.

Now, as you walked through the Red Keep, you carried the memory of that letter with you, tucked away in the deepest part of your heart. You had to be careful, more so than ever before. The walls had ears, and the slightest misstep could unravel everything.

As you rounded a corner, heading towards the private dining chamber where you were to meet Tyland for dinner, you caught the tail end of a conversation that sent a chill down your spine.

Aemond Targaryen’s voice, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed down the hallway. "It’s impossible that Rhaenyra could have known about the ships. Someone must have tipped her off. The fleet from the Free Cities was our best chance to cut off her supply lines at the Gullet!"

You slowed your pace, your heart beginning to race as you listened. Larys Strong’s voice, oily and calm, responded in a tone that made your skin crawl. "It is troubling, my prince. We must consider that there may be a leak within our ranks, someone feeding information to the Blacks. We cannot afford any more missteps."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the gravity of their conversation. Rhaenyra had been warned about the ships—a piece of information you had managed to send north discreetly through one of your own messages. If they suspected a spy in their midst, it would only be a matter of time before they began to scrutinize everyone, including you.

As you continued down the hallway, forcing yourself to remain calm, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You turned your head slightly and saw Aemond and Larys watching you from the shadows. Aemond’s single eye glinted in the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing. Larys’s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to set your nerves on edge.

You met their gazes briefly, offering a small, polite nod as if nothing was amiss, before continuing on your way. The chill that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had felt before, a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in your bones. They had seen you, and you could only pray that they did not suspect you of anything more than passing by.

As soon as you were out of their sight, you quickened your pace, eager to reach the safety of your brother’s chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain a composed exterior. You couldn’t afford to show any sign of fear or guilt—especially not now.

When you finally reached the private dining chamber, you found Tyland already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into a smile.

"Sister," he greeted, rising to embrace you. "You look troubled. Is everything all right?"

You returned his embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your brother, but the tension in your shoulders refused to ease. "I’m just tired," you lied smoothly, offering him a weary smile. "The journey was long, and the atmosphere here… it’s oppressive and difficult to adjust in a few months."

Tyland nodded, leading you to the table where a simple but elegant meal had been laid out. "The war weighs heavily on all of us," he said, pouring you a glass of wine. "But you’re safe here, with family."

You accepted the wine, taking a small sip as you tried to push the encounter with Aemond and Larys from your mind. But the memory of their scrutiny lingered, a constant reminder of the precarious position you were in.

As the meal progressed, you made light conversation with Tyland, discussing family matters and memories of your childhood at Casterly Rock. He seemed genuinely pleased to have you back in his life, and his presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. But even as you laughed at his stories and shared in his plans for the future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking on a knife’s edge.

Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, was calculated to keep up the facade. Tyland must not suspect anything—nor could anyone else. You were playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As the night wore on, you excused yourself, claiming fatigue from the journey, and Tyland kissed your cheek warmly before you left. "Rest well, sister," he said, his voice filled with affection. "We’ll speak more in the morning."

You nodded, offering him a final smile before retreating to your chambers. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. You had made it through another day, but the fear remained, gnawing at your resolve.

You crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Closing your eyes, you whispered a prayer to the gods old and new, asking for their protection, their guidance. You needed every ounce of strength and cunning to survive this—to complete your mission and return to Cregan’s arms.

As the night deepened, you crawled into bed, but sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. The memory of Cregan’s letter played over in your mind, a reminder of why you were doing this, of who you were doing it for.

No matter the danger, no matter the fear, you would see this through. For Rhaenyra, for the North, and for the love you carried for the man waiting for you in Winterfell.

But as you drifted into an uneasy sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep the truth hidden, how much longer you could play this deadly game before someone discovered the lioness in their midst was indeed a wolf.

The skies above King’s Landing were thick with the smoke of burning ships, the sound of clashing swords and the cries of the wounded echoing through the streets. The city had fallen, its walls breached by Rhaenyra's forces, and now the Blacks had taken control of the capital. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and authority under the Greens, had become a battlefield, its halls filled with the triumphant and the defeated.

You stood in the throne room, surrounded by the black and red banners of House Targaryen, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread. The mission you had embarked upon months ago had finally reached its conclusion. You had done what you had set out to do—played your part in the fall of the Greens from within their own stronghold. But the price of your success now weighed heavily on your soul.

At the far end of the hall, Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, her dark hair cascading down her back, her gaze as fierce as the dragons she commanded. Daemon stood beside her, his presence as menacing as ever, his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory. The throne room was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers alike, all of them awaiting the queen’s judgment on those who had opposed her.

As you approached the throne, your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what was about to happen, dreading it. Tyland had been captured along with the other members of the Green council, and now they awaited their fates. You had pleaded with the guards to see your brother, to speak to him, but they had refused. You had been kept away from him, kept in the dark until this moment.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you as you curtsied before Rhaenyra. "King’s Landing is yours, and the Greens have been defeated. I am at your service, as always."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, a rare moment of warmth in the midst of the chaos. "You have done much for our cause, my lady. Your loyalty and bravery have not gone unnoticed. It is thanks to your efforts that we were able to anticipate their moves, to strike where they were weakest. For that, you have my gratitude."

You bowed your head, accepting her praise, but the words felt hollow. Gratitude could not ease the tension that coiled in your gut, the fear that gripped your heart as you awaited her next words.

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened again as she turned her attention to the prisoners being brought before her, shackled and defeated. Among them was your brother, Tyland, his face pale but his expression resolute. He had always been a proud man, and even now, in chains, he refused to show fear.

"Tyland Lannister," Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, echoing through the throne room, "you stand accused of treason against the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You served the usurper Aegon and conspired to destroy House Targaryen. For your crimes, there can be but one punishment."

You felt the blood drain from your face as the words you had feared most were spoken. "No," you whispered, barely audible, before finding your voice and stepping forward, your heart in your throat. "Your Grace, please, I beg you to spare him."

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as you spoke, all eyes turning to you. Rhaenyra’s gaze was sharp, questioning. "He is a traitor, my lady. His actions led to the deaths of many, and he must answer for them."

You sank to your knees, desperation in your voice as you pleaded for your brother’s life. "He is my brother, Your Grace. He may have been misguided, but he did what he believed was right, just as we all have. I know his loyalty was to the wrong cause, but I beg you to show mercy. Let him live, and I swear he will never pose a threat to you again. He is all I have left of my family."

Tyland’s eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had reunited in King’s Landing, you saw something break in his stern facade. The love and concern in his gaze were unmistakable, and you felt your heart wrench as you saw your brother—the man who had always protected you, who had stood by you when no one else did—now reduced to this.

Rhaenyra’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, a sister. She knew what it was to love and to lose, to be torn between duty and family.

"You ask much of me, my lady," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured. "Tyland Lannister’s hands are stained with the blood of my loyal followers. Mercy for him could be seen as weakness, a precedent that might encourage others to rise against me."

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, then to Tyland, and back to Rhaenyra. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and calculating. "Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford in these times, Rhaenyra. Traitors must be dealt with swiftly, without exception."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak now, not when your brother’s life hung in the balance. "Please, Your Grace," you implored, "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Just spare him. I will leave the capital, return to the North, or anywhere else you command. I will serve you however you wish, but please, do not take him from me."

The silence that followed your plea was deafening. Rhaenyra looked at you, truly looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing your words, considering the options. You held your breath, praying that the love you had for your brother, and the service you had given to her cause, would be enough to sway her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra spoke. "Tyland Lannister has committed grave crimes against the realm, crimes that warrant death. But in recognition of the service you have rendered to my cause, I will grant him his life." 

A gasp of relief escaped your lips, and you bowed your head in gratitude, tears now streaming down your face. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But know this," Rhaenyra continued, her voice stern and unwavering. "He will live, but his life will be one of exile and dishonor. He will be stripped of his titles and lands, and he will be sent to the Wall. He will live out his days in the service of the Night’s Watch, far from here. He will never again set foot in the South."

You nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and sorrow. It was a harsh sentence, but it was life. Tyland would live, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

Tyland was led away, his eyes lingering on you until he disappeared from view. You rose to your feet, still trembling, and Rhaenyra gestured for you to approach the throne. 

"You have done much for me, and for that, you have my thanks," she said quietly, so only you could hear. "But remember, this mercy I have granted comes with a cost. Loyalty must be earned and maintained. See to it that you do not waver."

You met her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. "I will not forget, Your Grace."

With that, you turned and left the throne room, your heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose. Tyland would live, and that was more than you had dared to hope for. But the road ahead would be long and treacherous, for both of you. You had made sacrifices, and you would have to make more. But as long as you could keep the people you loved safe, it would all be worth it.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the echoes of your footsteps accompanied by the distant sounds of a city under new rule, you prayed once more to the gods old and new. You had survived this day, but there would be many more challenges ahead. And through it all, you would need to stay strong, for yourself, for your brother, and for the North that still awaited your return.

The road to the North was long and arduous, the chill of autumn creeping steadily into the bones of everyone who traveled it. The once green fields had turned to barren landscapes, the sky a constant blanket of grey. You sat in the carriage, wrapped in furs, the bitter cold seeping through the heavy fabric. Beside you, Tyland sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the bleak countryside.

The silence between you had stretched on for days, the weight of everything that had happened in King’s Landing hanging heavy in the air. You had saved his life, but at a cost. Tyland had lost everything—his titles, his lands, his place in the South. And now, he was being sent to the Wall, to a life of exile and duty in the farthest reaches of the realm. You knew he struggled with the reality of his new fate, and the words he had not yet spoken weighed on your heart.

As the carriage rumbled along the rough road, you finally mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that had settled between you like a shroud. "Tyland," you began, your voice soft but steady, "I know this is not the life you envisioned for yourself. I’m sorry for what has happened, for the choices that led us here."

Tyland turned his gaze from the window to you, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up. "You did what you thought was right," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness but also a hint of resignation. "You always were the clever one, the one who saw the bigger picture. But I can’t say I’m not angry, or that I’m not filled with regret."

You nodded, understanding his feelings all too well. "I had to make a choice, Tyland. I couldn’t let you die, not when there was another way. But I know the Wall is not what you wanted, and for that, I am sorry."

He leaned back against the cushioned seat, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the weariness of the past few months. "The Wall," he muttered, almost to himself. "It’s a place for criminals, for bastards, for those who have nothing left to lose. And now I am one of them."

"But you’re alive," you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "And you’re still a Lannister, no matter where you go. The North may be harsh, but there is honor in serving at the Wall, especially now that winter is coming. The realm will need men like you, strong and capable, to defend it."

Tyland looked at your hand in his, then back at you, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You always did have a way of making the worst situations seem bearable. I suppose that’s why you’re still alive, too."

You smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "We do what we must to survive, Tyland. But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone."

The rest of the journey was spent in a tentative peace, the bond between you and Tyland slowly beginning to heal, though it would never be the same. He had accepted his fate, though with a heavy heart, and you had accepted the burden of knowing that your actions had brought him to this point. But as the carriage drew closer to Winterfell, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

When Winterfell finally came into view, its ancient walls standing tall against the sky, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. This was home now, the place where you had found love and purpose, and where you would begin the next chapter of your life. As the carriage rolled through the gates, you could see the figures waiting in the courtyard—Cregan among them, his tall, broad-shouldered form unmistakable.

The carriage came to a stop, and before you could even step out, Cregan was there, pulling the door open and helping you down. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and cold air that clung to him.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his furs.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Every day, every night, I thought of you. But now you’re here, and that’s all that matters."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. "I brought Tyland with me. Rhaenyra spared his life, but she sent him to the Wall."

Cregan’s gaze shifted to where Tyland was stepping out of the carriage, his expression unreadable. He nodded in acknowledgment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Lord Lannister," he greeted, his tone respectful but formal.

Tyland straightened, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a mixture of pride and resignation. "Lord Stark," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I’m here to serve, as ordered."

Cregan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The Wall is not a punishment, Tyland, but an honor. The Night’s Watch may be seen as a place for those with no other options, but the truth is, it’s a place for men who understand the weight of duty. The realm needs protectors, especially now, with winter coming. You will find purpose there, and in time, perhaps even a sense of belonging."

Tyland’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded in agreement. "I will do my duty," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "If this is my fate, then I will embrace it."

Cregan’s expression softened slightly, and he extended his hand to Tyland. "Then you have my respect, and the respect of the North. You are welcome in Winterfell until you take the black."

Tyland accepted the handshake, and for a moment, the two men stood in silent understanding. You felt a sense of relief wash over you—there was no animosity here, only a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried.

As the three of you made your way inside Winterfell, the warmth of the great hall enveloped you, the familiar scents of wood smoke and roasted meat filling the air. You felt a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that you had done what you could to protect your family, and that here, in the North, you would find the strength to face whatever came next.

That evening, you and Cregan sat together by the fire, the weight of the past few months slowly lifting as you shared stories of what had transpired. Tyland joined you, his demeanor more relaxed than it had been since his capture. The three of you spoke of the future, of the challenges that lay ahead, but also of the hope that lingered just beyond the horizon.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the stone walls, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The North was harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place of honor, of loyalty, and of love.

The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving only the soft glow of embers to illuminate the room. The heavy furs that covered the bed provided a cocoon of warmth, sheltering you from the cold that seeped in through the stone walls of Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled, a reminder of the harshness of the North, but here, in Cregan’s arms, you felt only the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you lay entwined beneath the blankets, your skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. It had been so long since you had been together like this, since you had felt the press of his body against yours, the way his hands knew every curve and hollow of your form. You had missed this—missed him—with an ache that had grown unbearable during your time apart.

Cregan’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch light but possessive, as if he was reminding himself that you were truly here, that you were his once more. You pressed closer to him, your head resting on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a sound that had become your anchor, a reminder that you were home.

"You’re quiet," Cregan murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "What’s on your mind, my love?"

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. "I’m just… grateful," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Grateful to be here, with you. I missed this, missed us."

Cregan shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so that he could face you, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I missed you too," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "Every day you were gone, I thought of you. Wondered if you were safe, if you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."

You reached up, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, feeling the roughness beneath your fingertips. "You were always on my mind," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. "There were times I didn’t know if I’d make it back, but the thought of you, of us… it kept me going."

His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You’re here now," he whispered against your skin. "And I won’t let anything take you away from me again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. "I don’t want to be apart from you ever again," you said, your voice fierce with determination. "I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, with you, in the North. This is where I belong, where we belong."

Cregan’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. "You’re my wife, my love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Nothing will keep us apart again. We’ve been through too much, and we’re stronger for it. This is our home now, and we’ll face whatever comes together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. It was true—together, you could face anything. The challenges you had overcome, the dangers you had braved, had only strengthened the bond between you. And now, here in the safety of Winterfell, in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you knew that you could finally allow yourself to rest, to trust that you were where you were meant to be.

Cregan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slow and tender, full of the love and longing that had built up during your time apart. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting to lose yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you savored the closeness between you. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

"I love you too," Cregan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. More than the North, more than duty, more than life itself."

You smiled, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. There was nothing more important than this, than the love you shared, the life you were building together. And after everything you had been through, you knew that you were ready to face whatever the future held, as long as you had him by your side.

The two of you lay together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy that had been so hard-won. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, in this moment, you were safe. You were loved.

As you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Cregan’s chest once more, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them with the strength of the North in your veins and the love of your husband in your heart. And that, you knew, would be enough.

[aayakashii]

It seems I haven't quite had my fill of cuteness. So I humbly ask for part 4 of the plushie series with Luca, Ritsu, Zenji, Tohma, and Rui.

It's ok if you don't want to also

The most requested thing!! hehehe |ू´꒳`) I'm really happy you guys like the plushie headcanons, and thanks to the anon who originally requested it a few months ago too!!

Part 1, part 2, part 3

How Tokyo Debunker boys react after receiving a cute little plushie from MC – Luca, Ritsu, Zenji, Tohma, Rui, Ed and Lyca

Lucas Errant – husky plushie

Extremely happy that he is receiving such a thoughtful gift from you!

He never truly allowed himself to play with toys because of his studies, and then came the guilt of losing his brother… Letting himself relax like that barely ever crossed his mind.

So he doesn't really know what to do???

He just perches the cute plushie on his desk and politely greets it whenever he leaves his room and gets back.

He's a bit confused, but he's got the spirit!

Since the husky is always on his desk, it kinda becomes his study buddy really quick too.

Luca ends up reciting his notes to it and reading his books out loud, so it helps him get even better grades (if that's even possible).

He notices this and IMMEDIATELY goes to thank you.

He is 100% sure that you had this crazy elaborate plan to make him get better grades, which is why you made the plushie for him.

Now he’s asking you to maybe make one for Kaito so he stops going to so many remedial classes…

Because he’s denser than a (quickly researches what is the densest rock in the world) peridotite

And doesn’t realize that you gave him a handmade gift because you LIKE him........

He’ll have to ask someone for help after you get upset with him because of this.

Because the husky plushie definitely doesn’t know either and, for some reason, Kaito just refuses to help him!

Cut him some slack… he’s just dense. Like a peridotite.

Shinjo Ritsu – otter plushie

"For me?"

"Yes."

"I believe you are aware that a gift, in the law of property, is the voluntary and immediate transfer of property from one person to another and in order for the it to be legally effective it has to have donative intent, the delivery of the gift to the donee, and the acceptance of the gift."

“Okay...?”

“Therefore I accept the gift.”

“Cool…”

Congratulations, you have just given Ritsu his first official associate.

Or at least this is what he says to himself in his mind.

He was trained to become a lawyer since he was a little kid, so he never thought about playing with toys that much (and his father didn’t push him to do so as well).

But he gotta admit, having a handmade plushie, something his partner (as in business partner! Don’t get him wrong!) made for him exclusively does bring a feeling of joy he never quite felt before.

If anyone so much as THINK about touching his gift, he will be ready to recite the entire constitution, and every single law they broke, AND declare how many years they’ll get in prison just for touching his little otter friend.

He takes things such as private property very seriously after all.

He won’t take the plushie everywhere with him (what about safety?), but he does keep it right next to him in bed when he’s reviewing all the records he made throughout the day.

For a second, he wonders if he could sneak a camera into a plushie and give it to you, but oh no, that would be an invasion of privacy!

Or at least only until he finds a loophole in the law.

Kotodama Zenji – koi plushie

"My dear!!! Oh you truly are the most lovely flower to ever grace this earth! If my heart could still beat, it would be racing for you!!"

You managed to steal a little beaded bracelet artifact, something weak (or at least you hope so), and tied it on the plushie's tail.

And your theory was successful! Zenji could actually touch it, just like he could carry his doll due to its anomalous properties.

To say he’s absolutely SMITTEN with the plushie is an understatement.

He loves anything artistic and knowing that you spent your precious time creating that cute plushie for him makes him so so happy!

WILL carry it everywhere and write ballads about the koi. And poems. And he will read every single myth involving kois and post them on his youtube channel as well (please like and subscribe... PLEASE...)

Haku has the time of his life laughing at Zenji, because now he carries his doll, his biwa AND his plushie everywhere.

If you keep giving him gifts, he might actually need a whole cart to carry everything around him.

The little koi and the doll become his most loyal fans, and his company during nighttime, when everyone’s asleep.

If you see a koi plushie outside your window, don’t freak out. It’s just Zenji watching you sleep again.

He has the habit of calling the doll "his brother" and now he’s gonna call the koi plushie "his dearest".

The two people he cares about the most, right there in his arms: Jiro and you.

Ishibashi Tohma – orca plushie

"Oh? I wonder what made you think I am fit for receiving such an adorable little gift."

Tohma… does not know what to do with the gift you just gave him.

Don’t get him wrong, he appreciates it! Truly. He is mesmerized by the fact that you made a whole orca plushie with your own hands.

But he also doesn’t see how someone as intimidating as him deserves such an adorable gift.

Maybe all those months serving someone else with little appreciation made him forget how it feels to be pampered…

He places the plushie in the vault, right on his desk, and it becomes his companion when he needs to go through paperwork.

Tohma tried giving it a hug once and he got so damn sleepy RIGHT AWAY that now he just pats its head whenever he needs to take a break.

That little thing is dangerous, making him feel so comfortable… He can’t sleep, he’s a busy man! A little headpat to acknowledge the plushie will have to suffice.

However, he still hasn’t tried taking the plushie to his room yet.

He’s quite worried that his sleep will just be filled with dreams about you.

And oh dear... it'd be way too tough to wake up from something pleasant like that.

Mizuki Rui – black bunny plushie

You torture him, being so cute!

A plushie? For him? A black bunny you made with your own hands?!

He wishes he could squish you to death, but that could become quite literal if he actually touched you.

So instead, he squeezes the hell out of the bunny.

Absolutely loves the gift and takes it EVERYWHERE with him.

It basically becomes his bar’s little mascot.

He kisses the bunny’s cheeks every single time he lays his eyes on it. There’s a good morning kiss, a good afternoon kiss, a good evening kiss, plenty of see you later kisses… (he just wishes he was actually kissing you).

Rui will definitely get little accessories for the bunny and maybe even get matching ones for you.

He will also name it some variation of your name and refer to it during conversations as if he was talking about an actual living being.

Lyca and Ed are forced to acknowledge the bunny as their new dorm mate, but won’t let Rui get the bunny its own room because that would be too much!!

Oh, Rui will also buy a bottle of your perfume to spray on the plushie so when he hugs it, it smells like you

What? No, of course that’s not creepy at all, silly! He just loves everything about you, including your perfume!

Edward Hart – ram plushie

Oya, look at what his lovely human brought to him. And you made it yourself? Wonderful.

He has watched plenty of DIY tutorials on youtube, but was always too lazy to go through with them.

Now that he knows you’re skillful with your hands, though? Expect plenty of requests. Maybe do a little bat for him next, what do you think?

The little ram probably becomes the only clean thing in his room, despite Ed holding it all the time when he’s bedrotting.

(That’s because Rui cleans it frequently. He doesn’t want you to think your gift went underappreciated)

And when I say constantly, I mean CONSTANTLY.

Something cute and comfy to hold while he rewatches that 10 hour conspiracy iceberg video for the 5th time? That is exactly what he needs.

He will try to take pictures of the ram watching videos with him for you, but it will be terribly unfocused.

You appreciate the thought despite that!

You don’t appreciate the message he sent though...

"Hello My Dear 😘❗️I Just Had To Show You This 📷❗️Look At How My New Little Friend 🐏 Is Watching Youtube 💻 With Me 🦇❤️ He Just Absolutely Loves ❤️ To Watch ✨️ Conspiracy Videos✨️ With Me 🦇 I Tried Inviting Lyca🐺 Too But He Won’t Reply To My Messages ✉️🚫😢 I Wonder Why 🤔❓️ Please Come Visit Me Anytime 👋🏰🥀 We’d Love To Watch Things With You👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨😘💋"

Lyca Colt – wolf plushie

“What's this?”

“It's a gift for you. I made it.”

“What do I do with it?”

“Um... nothing. You can cuddle it when you sleep, I guess?”

“Hmpft! I'm not a child, I don't need to cuddle things!!”

Don't worry, he thanks you properly after Rui scolds him and tells him to express gratitude when he gets gifts.

He is a little bit rough with it at first, since he never had a toy before, but he quickly gets extremely possessive of it and starts treating the plushie with a lot more care.

He WILL growl and bite if someone tries to take it from him.

Lyca kind of acts like a big brother to his wolf plushie, taking him to his favorite spots and explaining the things he learned to it (he needs to practice after all!)

The plushie becomes a nice reminder of you. Whenever he thinks about doing something he shouldn’t, he looks at the wolf’s beady eyes and thinks of yours as well.

Who would’ve thought this would be such a sure-fire way to make him behave a bit more.

Rui, however, is absolutely exasperated because he just knows that plushie will be another thing that will desperately need washing SOON and Lyca just won’t let him clean it.

Lyca eventually wraps his plushie in his stinky baby blanket (much to Rui’s despair) and cuddles with it to sleep every night.

His dreams become all about you, so don’t worry in case he has a little bit of a hard time looking at you the next day (and a little blush on his cheeks). It’s a little hard to explain!

Full masterlist

[stormgardenscurse]

at your service—!

Summary: Maid headcanons for May! When you’re invited into a rich family’s mansion to solve a murder mystery, who will you trust?

Warnings: mentions of death, assassins, poison and murder due to the theme.

Characters: Riddle, Deuce, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Lilia

If you liked this, consider checking out my TWST Isekai Fanbook, now digitally available on my kofi!

Riddle

The maid who you thought hated your guts at first, but it’s only because of how strict he is with both you and everyone else! You’re in the manor of the Queen of Hearts’ descendants after all, so Riddle will not allow you to fumble!

Honestly speaking, you felt like you could be scolded at any moment around Riddle. He teaches you dining etiquette, how to address certain people, how to dance…

...And saves your life, after your investigation ends up with you being chased by a masked assassin. Riddle surprises you with his abilities in horse riding and after a dramatic escape (stealing a horse from a previously wrecked carriage) addresses you informally for the first time (without realising it himself.)

After that, you start to take walks with Riddle in the rose gardens and listen to his explanations of the manor's history. It helps a lot in understanding background politics, and the sound of his voice is actually really soothing.

Could you say that you’re friends? You certainly trust him now, but can you be sure his would loyalties will lie with you and not his superior, if your investigation starts to point fingers in an unexpected direction?

Deuce

Deuce is well-meaning, but you’re warned by the other maids that he has a track record with delinquency. Cleaned up by the head butler when he entered the Rose Manor to work, but rumors are hard bugs to squash. 

And when you spot him speaking to some well-known thugs in town, well… You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Deuce has only been welcoming and earnest with you, and now you’re wondering if he might have some ties to murderer.

Some kind of friend you are, huh? But at the end of the day, you’re an outsider who’s been hired precisely because your employer doesn’t know who they could trust. 

Your apprehensions have no time to take shape however, because one morning you notice that Deuce is wearing makeup to hide bruises on his knuckles and arms, and you’re overcome by the instinct to help him treat his injuries before suspecting him of anything else.

There’s no way he would hurt someone on purpose, right?

Jade

Prim and proper, Jade is someone who’s often by your side when you’re in need of assistance (as instructed by your employer), yet remains as one of the only people you cannot get a read on.

Just what is he thinking whenever he watches you scribble in your notebook, crossing out theories and names? Does he have something to add? Or might he actually be in cahoots with the murderer, keeping you away from the truth with his convenient position by your side?

As it seems with most things, it takes a serious incident to make the both of you open up. Jade rescues you from a poisoning attempt, but you don’t wake up in your usual room. Instead you’re in one of the empty studies, so that nosy witnesses during the dinner party can’t disturb your rest.

You don’t make sense, Jade tells you. But based on the way he’s calmly giving you another dose of medicine, he finds it fun rather than stressful. You’re glad. And now you know a tiny bit more about him.

He starts off the conversation by telling you he has a twin that works in a neighboring manor. But despite all the trouble Floyd gets into, Jade hasn’t felt as hopeless about a person than when you fainted last night.

Even with how weak you are in comparison to knights or trained assassins, you still fling yourself into mystery with a headstrong manner that makes his mouth quirk up in a smile.

Jamil

Shortly after that, you allow yourself to rely on Jamil for the investigation. He’s quite willing to help, and you can tell Jamil enjoys having something to puzzle out, demonstrating his own strengths and resourcefulness.

Early on, you realize Jamil is one of the only normal people here. In this noble household with its foreign etiquette and social expectations, you’re relieved that Jamil doesn’t expect such things from you, and even offers a space for something familiar to exist.

He brings you lunch once during your investigation of the gardens. And instead of sitting somewhere too exposed, Jamil leads you to a hidden corner with pleasant shading and a safe enclosure of hedges. It’s nice, and you speak casually to one-another. You discuss the town and best shops for food. You feel human again, rather than just ‘the detective’.

…But the more you notice these traits, the more aware you become that Jamil could easily be related to the murderer. The spark of someone forced to lie low in the shadows despite their brilliance can lead to drastic incidents.

But still, you want to believe in the Jamil who brought you out for a picnic because he noticed you’ve been feeling suffocated. You want to believe this friendship isn't a hoax.

Rook

Despite how you were intimidated by his extrovertedness at first, Rook has proven to be a genuinely friendly person and willing to help during your stay here. Which is more than you can say for the rest of the manor—which was nice and respectful, but see your job as a taboo. A ‘what if we get involved and become the next targets,’ type of thing.

You can’t blame them, but it makes you naturally get closer to Rook over the course of your job. You realize one day that despite how much you’ve told him, you barely know anything about Rook.

He’s quite mysterious, as one who sweeps the floors while whistling a tune, always with a smile on his lips as he tells you about how beautiful the building and gardens are. His physique is a bit too toned for someone who only does housework. You suspect he has some other role in the manor too, and wonder if it might be related to the mystery's culprit.

It doesn’t help that Rook seems very knowledgeable about hunting. He helps you figure out where the victim must’ve run and how long it took for the murderer to catch up with them. And sometimes, when you’re caught up in your thoughts and theorizing, Rook surprises you with his soundless steps.

Epel 

Epel has always done his best to assist you, despite how he’s only worked here for a year compared to the other maids. He seems to be trustworthy and willing to help, on top of proving he’s reliable.

You find out that before you came along, there were already groups of maids and other staff who tried to piece together the mystery themselves. But in doing so, created distrust between them and rivalries of suspicion. He thinks that the culprit is definitely a staff member, but can’t be sure of who.

You don’t think he’s directly related to the murderer, but there are times when Epel’s mouth purses during a conversation you’re having with another noble, and you feel like he isn’t telling you everything he knows. Maybe out of privacy or because it’s personal—but when both of you seem to be the targets of an attack, you can’t ignore it any longer and are forced to interrogate Epel.

Now that he’s been helping you with investigations however, there’s definitely a target of sorts on Epel’s back. A few of the maids are unhappy that he might be spreading false ideas to you in favor of one theory or another. And he’s too prideful to shrink under their demands, so they haven’t been on talking terms for a while.

You can only hope that he isn’t indeed a poisoned apple placed before you, unknowingly used by the murderer themself.

Lilia

Very knowledgeable about the hidden rooms around the manor, you can’t help but be a little wary about the clever glint in Lilia’s eyes. He’s explicitly been assigned to keep an eye on you for the sake of the manor’s secrets, and you can tell he isn’t trained to be a maid, despite how it's the pretense he’s using to stick to your side 24/7. 

You sometimes get distracted by the mystery of who Lilia himself might be. He speaks about knights familiarly, yet none of the ones at the manor seem to recognise him when you both pass by. He’s not very good at chores or cooking (to the point where you took over at some points out of concern for the upholstery and kitchen), so how is he still blending in with the other maids?!

Lilia’s saved your life twice now, and you slowly learn that he has weapons hidden beneath his maid dress. Also that he can scale rooftops and the town in less than a minute, but you don’t want to ponder on his scary amount of agility just yet.

Thankfully however, it seems that Lilia is only hired here on a contractual basis. His true, deep rooted loyalties aren’t close to this manor. Which means when the both of you find some very incriminating evidence, Lilia helps keep it a secret from your employer. The both of you are shouldering the weight of the mystery now, but Lilia promises he’ll keep you safe.

You hope there never comes a time where you have to worry about his safety, or that he’d stick his neck out for you more than he needs to.

[lilisgardensblog]

I NEED MYSELF A MAN LIKE NEUVILLETTE !!

a brief description of why Neuvillette is perfect in every way, shape and form.

Neuvillette is actually very soft and caring, despite his cold appearance. He's really in touch with his emotions (as much as he understands the human emotions)

Actually maybe he's not that in touch with his emotions and sometimes bottles them up until suddenly a sudden storm hits Fontaine (ifykyk)

He's in a position of power and that's hot (and that also means protection from the most powerful being in Fontaine )

He's also emotional and I think he'd be really submissive and that's also hot

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY he's a gentleman. {in a world of boys, he's a gentleman~} He's very polite, caring, makes sure you're comfortable, apologizes for any discomfort he might cause you(most importantly knows when to apologize and admits his mistakes). He's the type to hold the door open for you, wait for you, tie your shoe laces, would probably buy you random flowers (if you tell him you like flowers, other way he'd be a lil clueless i think) He's paying attention to what you admire, to what you say and how do you react in different situations.

Last but not least, his fashion sense. He's actually incredibly good looking AND HE HAS A BOW IN HIS HAIR. that's mostly it, I adore the bow in his hair. (fun fact: i don't remember if this is a theory or an actual fact, but i read somewhere that his bow is that low because thats how high melusines can reach and i think its cute) That side hair ornament is also very stylish. If you can't tell already, I love his hair. It looks very playable.

one last thing: HIS SMILEEEE!!! HE'S SO ADORABLE AND MAKES MY HEART SO SOFT I LOVE HIM

In conclusion, I love him and we can all agree he's not just bf material, HE'S HUSBAND MATERIAL.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Hii! Could you do a fic where either aegon or aemond (your choice) marries Tyrell!reader who was originally fostered in winterfell to be the next lady stark and in that time she was widely loved all over the north by everyone. Like when I say everyone I mean everyone, like the high born, wildlings, and common folk loved and adored her. She got the nickname “winter rose”. And she does end up falling in love with either aegon or aemond and they fall for her too. Years later when they have like a bunch of sons they for whatever reason go to winterfell and her husband is now experiencing first hand the love the north has for her. Like highborn lords are all smiling and treating her like their own daughter, wildlings are following the carriages bc they want to stay with their lady, creagans dire wolves track her down and protect her.

The chill in the air was sharp, but it didn’t bother you. It never had. Winterfell had been your home for years, ever since you were a girl fostered in the North to be the future Lady Stark. The North had embraced you, as you had embraced it, and in return, they had given you a name: Winter Rose. You had blossomed in the cold, and the people of the North, highborn and low, wildlings and common folk, had come to adore you.

But fate had other plans. Instead of becoming Lady Stark, you had married Aegon Targaryen, a man of fire and dragon’s blood. Your marriage had been unexpected, a twist of political necessity, yet love had found its way into your hearts. Aegon had been drawn to your warmth, to the way you balanced the fire in his blood with your calmness. And you, in turn, had fallen for him completely, especially during the rare moments of vulnerability he shared only with you.

Now, years later, you returned to Winterfell, this time as a queen, with your dragonlord husband and your sons by your side. The North had changed in your absence, but its people had not. As your carriage approached the gates, the lords and ladies of the North gathered to greet you, their faces lighting up with joy as they recognized their Winter Rose.

"Welcome home, my lady," Lord Cregan Stark said, his voice warm with affection. The other northern lords echoed his sentiments, their smiles genuine as they bowed to you, not just as their queen, but as one of their own.

Aegon stood beside you, his silver hair gleaming in the winter sunlight, his eyes observing the way the North treated you. He had known, in theory, of your connection to this place, but seeing it firsthand was different. He watched as the people of Winterfell came forward, not with the cautious deference they usually showed a Targaryen, but with open admiration. The highborn lords smiled at you as though you were their own daughter, the common folk bowed with deep respect.

"My queen," Aegon murmured as the two of you walked through the courtyard, his arm around your waist, "they love you here."

You smiled up at him, the warmth in your eyes melting the last of the cold from his heart. "The North has always been kind to me. I think I left a piece of my heart here when I went south."

"And they’ve kept it safe," Aegon said, his voice filled with quiet pride. "Just as you’ve kept mine."

The two of you paused before the great hall, where your sons waited, their eyes bright with the excitement of being in their mother’s childhood home. They were true Targaryens, with silver hair and violet eyes, but they had inherited most of your qualities, including your calmness as well, a steadiness that balanced their dragon’s blood.

The hall was warm, filled with the scent of pine and roasting meat, and the murmur of voices welcoming you back. Aegon followed, watching as the northern lords and ladies treated you like the daughter they had never forgotten. He saw the way your face lit up in response, the joy that radiated from you, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

"You’ve built a kingdom of your own here," Aegon said later that evening, as the two of you stood on the battlements, looking out over the snowy landscape. The night was clear, the stars bright in the sky, and in the distance, you could hear the faint roar of one of the dragons.

"It’s not just mine," you replied, leaning into him. "It’s ours. Just as the South is ours."

Aegon wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You turned in his arms, your hands resting on his chest as you looked up at him, your smile soft and full of love.

Aegon smiled, the rare, genuine smile that was reserved only for you. "You are my Winter Rose," he whispered, his voice full of reverence, "and I will cherish you until my last breath."