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fioiswriting · 6 months

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being��observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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ham1lton · 14 days

Text

i’m with the band.

pairing(s): lando norris x singer!reader

warnings: v slightly angsty? but happy ending.

summary: pop band CHANGE! has just released their anticipated third album; however, fans notice that the songs seem to tell an unsavory story….

author's note: i didn’t know whether u wanted me to do a happy song or sad but i like drama. i refer to y/n’s bandmates by their roles. so guitarist, bassist and drummer so you can add their names in! also this album is loosely based on SAWAYAMA and 5sos’s album youngblood. listen to them both if u haven’t!! incredible albums. if you can name all these songs that have been mentioned then MWAH!!! 😍

liked by harrystyles, landonorris and 3,388,728 others.

changeband: thank you so much to the best, coolest and awesomest fans in the fucking planet. shoutout to everyone who showed up to our listening party in philly last week! you were metal as hell and we loved meeting everyone of you. no more fomo for the rest of you all now that our newest album is now out! please stream and buy and recommend to your friends and family and colleagues and even that annoying neighbour that everyone hates. we love you and we love this album!! here are some behind the scenes pics of us making and brainstorming this baby!

user1: this album is sooo good!

user2: ooh y/n got her masters in cuntology with a concentration in motherlogical studies from the university of servington… that NOTE in dynasty??? oh goddddd.

-> user4: DYNAAAASSSSTTTTYYYY 🗣️🔊

user3: the casual photo dump like they haven’t released the album of the CENTURY?

user8: you guys have come such a far way from working minimum wage and having to pool money for a recording booth omg. i’m so proud of you guys 🥺

*liked by changeband.*

user5: the way guitarist is eating this album. whoever greenlit her guitar solos i want to kiss them on the mouth.

user28: bad friend is my fav! both the acoustic vers and the normal vers!! PUT UR HANDS UP IF UR NOT GOOD AT THIS STUFF!!!! 😍😍

liked by messyass1, messyass2 and 278,727 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: girl band CHANGE! have released their new album ‘babylon’ and it has sent twitter in flames after the first tweet (pictured above) went viral. especially after the songs ‘lie to me’ and ‘want u back’ both contain lyrics that have sent fans of the power couple lando norris and y/n l/n spiralling. what do you all think of the drama ham1ltons?

user1: i do think it’s slightly suspicious… not necessarily a break up confirmation but it’s interesting. especially as she didn’t even bother to confirm or deny whether or not they’re still together on jimmy fallon….

user2: why do we speculate into these celebs lives? if they broke up, who cares and if they’re together… who cares?

hater1: who gives a fuck. she can’t even sing.

-> user3: you clearly gaf if you’re commenting under y/n related posts???

loveislanduk: don’t worry y/n! if need be, you can always find a new man on the island!

-> user98: messy asf 😭

user6: is tkl supposed to be y/n talking about how lando was super adored and that although he could have any girl, she’d be the only one who really loved him?

-> user4: tokyo love hotel is a homage to drummer’s japanese heritage not a lando worship song?? also it’s a metaphor for their heritages as three of them are women of colour who grew up in the west and saw their cultures exoticised.

-> user6: ‘yeah your fascination is my world’. that could be interpreted as her saying ‘your obsession is my boyfriend’.

-> user4: girl yeah but that’d be a lazy one would it not? lando ain’t that special 😭 i think that it’s reductionist to make everything she writes about a man and not her.

user44: calling the album babylon after the bible story? maybe they started with the idea of creating this amazing relationship and then grew apart? they stopped speaking each other’s language?

-> user56: maybe you need to put this energy into analysing your resume and figuring out why you’re still unemployed….

user65: idc if she broke up with that troll because that’d mean drummery/n will thrive!!

-> user9: um… u mean guitaristy/n??

-> user34: both wrong. bassisty/n is the best version!!!

————————————————————————

CHANGE’S INTERVIEW W/ JIMMY FALLON (transcript)

JIMMY FALLON: welcome, everyone! we have a special treat for you tonight. please give it up for the current leaders of the world charts, the incredible band CHANGE!"

(audience applause as the girls take their seats)

FALLON: alright, alright! now, there have been some rumours swirling around about your latest album and its connection to some personal matters. especially in regards to y/n. care to shed some light on that?

Y/N: well, jimmy, first of all, thank you for having us. i’m aware that there have been some rumours, but you know how it is. people love to speculate. our music is definitely personal, and yeah, it does reflect some of what's been going on in my life but i want to set the record straight. the songs on our album are inspired by a variety of our experiences, including relationships, but they're not always directly about any specific individuals. sometimes i’m inspired by other forms of media or my loved ones’ experiences. that’s the joy of making art, it can be whatever you want.

DRUMMER: yeah, and y/n is such a talented songwriter. she has this incredible ability to channel her emotions into our music and make you feel whatever she wants.

BASSIST: exactly. we're just here to make music that connects with people, and if our songs happen to resonate with someone going through a breakup? then we've done our job.

FALLON: is it true that you’re performing two songs for us tonight? can you confirm which ones?

GUITARIST: yes! we’re performing ‘want u back’ and ‘frankenstein’. both of our newest singles from babylon.

FALLON: well, you heard them, folks! get ready for an amazing performance from CHANGE!

————————————————————————

liked by bassist, guitarist and 1,272,973 others.

yourusername: we’re fine y’all perfectly fine please don’t call paw patrol.

user1: OH THANK GOD.

landonorris: she’s lying. i’m in my lemonade era…🍋

-> user23: you wish you could be that iconic. you’re in your dogwater era.

-> landonorris: UNPROVOKED???

user3: we needed this confirmation.

user8: PARENTS AREN’T DIVORCED WE WON 🙌

landonorris: now can you release the bonus tracks please please please 🙏🏼 ‼️😩

-> bassist: no :)

-> guitarist: yes :)

-> drummer: one of them is lying… guess who and i’ll send the whole album plus excluded tracks.

-> landonorris: … um 😅 guitarist?

-> drummer: WRONG ‼️ but i’m scared you’re gonna complain to y/n so i’ll send them over to you 🙄

user27: at least we’re back to having lando being CHANGE!’s biggest fans. what did he think of ‘exile’?

-> yourusername: he cried so hard he threw up.

-> user27: real shit.

————————————————————————

taglist: @cuteskz @molten-m122 @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @booksandflowrs @mxdi0 @k1arsworld @alexmarie29 @luckyladycreator2 @23victoria (let me know via ask if you’d like to be removed).

wanna get tagged in any future works? sign up for my taglist!

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l0vergirlv0mit · 4 months

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Hiiii! I just wanted to say that I read all of your hazel fics and I love the way you write for her! The way you make her and reader sooo needy for each other is so good 😭 the wife!hazel one really destroyed me emotionally :,)

If it’s not too much trouble, id love to see your interpretation of the “sober gf trying to get drunk gfs makeup off after a party” trope with hazel? I feel like it would fit her (and your writing style) well 🧡

Aww thank you sm pookie!!! I’m so happy you like my writing I literally giggled and kicked my feet reading this ngl. The neediness is my fav part to write 😵‍💫 your requests so polite also literally so sweet 🤭

Contents/warnings: reader is drunk, casual dominance from hazel, undressing.

Hazel carefully walks you to your shared apartment. Shes stone cold sober as the designated driver of the night. One of her hands guiding you on the small the of your back up the other holing your hand. Trying her absolute best to keep you upright while going up the stairs.

“Tonigh… was s’fun b-baby.” You slurred out nearly tripping from taking your attention away from walking. “Sure was honey let’s get you inside alright?” Hazel replied shortly steadying you again.

“O-ok baby” You were drunk, not so drunk to be throwing up but enough to hinder your mood. With no dance floor being drunk wasnt as fun. All you wanted to do was sleep in Hazels arms for the rest of the night.

Hazels quick to open the door, place you inside, and close it again all with her steady hand still on you. Leading you to the bedroom where you promptly flop onto the bed.

“Uh-uh not yet we need to take your make up off and put on pajamas.” Hazel tuts and you groan in response. “Noooo please i jus wanna sleep, come to bed baby, please?” You only got more comfortable in the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t take your make up off.” Hazel says sternly making you quickly get up and stumble over to the bathroom that’s connected to the bedroom. “Atta girl.” Hazel pats your cheek. You blush at Hazels words a small smile playing on your lips.

She places you so your sitting on the edge of the tub. She quietly gets you skin care products and places them on the counter. She stands over you. “Close your eyes honey.” You listen to her command obediently. She softly wipes your makeup off. “Look up for me.” She gets the remainder off your under eyes.

You open your eyes again and look over her face. “Your s’pretty baby can k-kiss you?” You snake your hands under her shirt to grip her waist trying to pull her just a bit closer. Asking with a pout and craning your neck up. Hazel just snickers in response while wiping the rest of your make up off.

“Stay still please honey. I’ll kiss you when we’re done ok?” Hazel smoothly runs her hand over your cheek. Using her thumb to rub the soft skin. Her eyes are incredibly soft as her only concern is taking care of you. She thought you looked adorable with your heavy tired eyes and a pout on your face.

You huff and nod in agreement. “Alright wash your face I’ll get your pjs mkay.” Hazel asks then leaves you to go get clothes for you. All while having a smile on her face looking through your pjs. She picks out one of her own shirts and your sleep shorts.

You walk back into the bedroom starting to come down from your drunkenness feeling a bit annoyed at still being awake. Dragging your feet Hazel laughs at the sight. “C’mere I’ll help you get undressed. Arms up.” Hazel pulls your shirt off over your head and unclips your bra and you immediately let out a sign of relief. She slips the soft tee shirt over you smiling at your reaction.

It made her feel like she was doing a good job giving her a sense of pride. She unbuttoned your jeans helping you shimmy out of them. You put the on shorts yourself. Hazel kisses your forehead lovingly. “Good job sweetheart get in bed I’ll be out in a second.”

You look at her with sad eyes. “I’ll be just one second ok I promise then we can go to sleep ok.” She says reassuring you. Hazel turned to get her back to you getting quickly undressed and you whistle at her. “Your s’fuckin hot babe.” You said flirtatiously bitting on the tip of your finger. Propped up against the pillows watching her. The sight of Hazels toned back makes your mind wonder.

She shakes her head in awe. “Yeah? Well if your patient maybe you’ll get a reward in the morning can you do that for me baby?” She replies a grin playing on her lips as she looks back at you. You gasp at her. “Yes ma’am!” You exclaimed excitedly.

Hazel tips her head back and laughs. She finished getting dressed and walks into the bathroom, not before giving you once last look and waving at you cutely. You smile tiredly at her she’s so amused by you when you in this state.

Hazel comes back out the bathroom to find you under the covers appearing to be asleep. She carefully gets into the dad only to hear “I’d like my kiss now.” You said demandingly “Of course honey.” She giggles then leans in to kiss you softly.

You both get settled into each other. Hazel holds you to her chest running her fingers through your hair until she felt your body relax completely. Which didn’t take along at all. She kisses your forehead one last time before letting herself fall asleep as well.

(Thank you for reading!😘😘)

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan imagine #hazel bottoms #bottoms 2023

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andsomemaniacgotridofthewheel · 6 months

Text

David Jenkins was not a Big Name Showrunner before OFMD. In fact, I had never heard of him before. I am not even sure what he did before OFMD, according to IMDB he wrote exactly one other show and it is one I have never even heard of before.

And he somehow got HBO to make his weird little show about gay pirates, and he got Taika Waititi to help with it, and while nobody was expecting anything of it - I mean come on guys, remember when OFMD dropped and everyone only gradually realised what it was - it became The Little Show That Could. With almost no advertising. No marketing. HBO did clearly did not expect this show to be anything, to make any real money or to go beyond one season.

But then it blew up.

Because David Jenkins was so insightful, he was so good, he brought so much fresh wind into a business where we usually can tell how the next three steps of how any show is going to go (and to be fair, a lot of us feared that Izzy's death in season 2 was coming, because all the signs fit), that we put him on a pedestal.

THE FUCKING PEDESTAL.

Yes he is brilliant. He has done stuff with OFMD that you never ever see somewhere else. He has understood that historical accuracy, as well as physics and geography, are merely backdrop for plot and characters. Completely irrelevant if you need them to be, but then suddenly important if you have a bit of story that won't work without. He understood that queer relationships deserve to be told, and when confronted with skeptic fans he learned about queerbaiting.

He took a lot of tropes and put them on their head. He structured his show like fanfic. He put thought into his stories instead of following the beaten track. He single-handedly raised the bar for every showrunner out there.

But it is still only his second show.

If he didn't shine so brightly during OFMD's first season, nobody would have expected so much of him.

And yes. He dropped the ball on Izzy.

I loved Izzy to pieces ever since season 1, I wanted to pin him to a board like a bug and study him and take him apart and put him in a blender and in situations, I loved to hate him and in season 2 I loved to love him. He is such a brilliant, complex character, so well written and so well played by Con O'Neill; the options for character analysis, relationship analysis, various interpretations of everything he has done, are simply limitless. 🤯 That is due to David Jenkins & Con O'Neill.

And David Jenkins, standing in the spotlight of all of our exaggerated expectations, decided it would have the greatest emotional impact if he killed him. He made him a symbol, for the end of The Golden Age of Piracy™, and he killed him.

He was right.

He was not original.

He fell for one of the very tropes he so successfully fought in season 1, and for the most part of season 2.

Procuring an emotional response by having a beloved character, who was just starting to embark on an exciting new journey, die tragically and emotionally, providing motivation for the remaining characters.

It was a cheap move.

It is not a Bury Your Gays. Everyone is queer on this show, you can't call something a Bury Your Gays if that would be true for every character death.

But Izzy was also old, and disabled, and he had survived a suicide attempt (that he was driven into, not chose for himself), and had just had an arc of growth and character development that could have gone on for such a long time after this. He had just learned to trust and be vulnerable and experience (gender)queer joy. God, there were so many places his character could have gone.

I loved Izzy as a character, I didn't relate much to him. But Your Mileage May Vary, and I am so, so sorry for everyone who did. You didn't deserve this.

But David Jenkins? Is still sooo much better than any generic bland showrunner that is going places in Hollywood. You want to boycott anything, boycott the big streaming services that don't have the guts to make their main characters queer, to think that "a bit of both" is inclusive or bold, and who drive out any creatives that object and try to sneak in inclusiveness. They are the enemy. They are systemic discrimination and injustice.

David Jenkins is just starting out. And he did so much better on his very first successful show than anyone who has been in the business for years. If anyone deserves a chance to prove that he can do better, it's him.

I'm sure he'll come to regret his decision. I'm sure he'll see where he went wrong, how he could have done better, and fix it in any show he might do after this. I, for one, would much rather see any show he is involved in than most of the crap that the AMPTP is putting out, now or in the future. He can only get better. And he did do a lot of things right. Never forget that. Because the majority of showrunners can't even do the minimum, and David Jenkins went above and beyond.

I think he deserves a little slack. If anyone in the streaming industry does, it's him.

It's the fucking pedestal that is the problem. It makes people who do good but are not perfect suddenly look worse than the most cowardice, opportunistic mediocre guy. But they are not and they deserve a leg up, or we are stuck with the worse option who gets support from all the wrong places. Don't fall for it.

#david jenkins #our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #ofmd izzy hands #con o'neill #nikku.txt

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius.

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara.

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?”

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge.

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?”

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat.

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye.

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears.

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either).

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?”

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.”

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily.

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home.

Sirius nods.

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek.

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest.

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?”

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side.

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?”

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him.

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home.

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair.

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs.

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?”

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

“It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching.

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James’ free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.”

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.”

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently.

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers.

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.”

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.”

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow.

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.”

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.”

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?”

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing.

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?”

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.”

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.”

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

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bowlofsoob · 7 months

Text

TRUTH OR DRINK; CELEBRITY EDITION

choi soobin x gender neutral idol reader

idol au, established relationship

you, a soloist, go on the show truth or drink. for every question you can either answer it or take a shot. during the interview you hint at the fact that you may be in a relationship. it doesn’t take long for your fans to figure out who it is.

author’s notes: do u want a part two? i think a truth or drink with soobyn as a couple would be funny

_______________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Welcome to Truth or Drink!

You: Hi, I’m Y’n and I’ll be playing Truth or Drink today! Can I take a shot to help my nerves?

Q: What is your recent single about?

You: So my new single, called Forbidden, is about two people being in love but not being allowed to express it. It can be interpreted in many ways, whether it’s because they’re gay, work together, or for other reasons that make them unable to show it. I’m glad to see that many fans loved it.

Q: Is there anyone who inspired it?

You: Well, a lot of things inspire my songs. So in a sense, yes!

Q: Have you ever hooked up with a fan?

You: Wow, we’re getting right into it. I honestly haven’t. I’ve seen their thirst tweets though. Also, seems to much of a hassle. Before the pants come off we’d have to sign so much paperwork. NDA!

Q: Have you ever hooked up with another idol?

You: Oh my god, you guys are so nosy! I’m going to pour myself a shot, which honestly answers the question…

Q: When have you hooked up with another idol?

You: This is basically the same question!

Q: Are you in a relationship?

You: *immediately takes a shot*

Crew: So… you are in one?

You: Hey, i took a shot so I don’t have to answer!

Q: An idol you are close to or want to get close to?

You: Oh, there’s a few people I have friend crushes on. It’s a little harder to make friends in my career. I would say I’m pretty close to Soobin of TXT. We work under the same company so I see him quite a bit since our schedules line up! I like to treat him to food and pinch his cheeks…

Q: Favorite song right now?

You: Skipping Stones and Chasing that feeling by TXT! I really love Soobin’s verse. Come and kiss me~

Q: Ideal type? Or someone who fits your ideal type?

You: Hmm, I like someone who is introverted but very outgoing around people they’re close with. I think those are the cutest people. Regarding physical features, I think anything is cute. But I really like it when they’re taller than me…oh! And dimples! Dimples are so cute.

Q: Who is someone you’d like to collaborate with?

You: Sooo many people. Hmm, TXT? I think that would be cool! Hit me up you guys.

Q: Fuck, Marry, or Kill…Soobin, Jungkook, and Nayeon?

You: I don’t feel like getting canceled today so I’ll just take a shot.

Q: Craziest fan interaction?

You: Most of them are respectful and sweet…but one time someone mailed me their underwear? My dog tried to eat it.

Q: When is your next album?

You: Soon! Later this month, I promise!

Thank you for joining us today!

You: Thank you for having me. To everyone watching, check out my single when you can~

_______________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

#txt smau #txt x reader #txt x gn reader #txt x gender neutral reader #choi soobin smau #soobin smau #choi soobin x reader #soobin x reader #choi soobin x you #soobin x you #soobin x gender neutral reader #soobin x gn reader #soobin x male reader

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cixteenyne · 29 days

Note

i nEED more izu content and you are the best of the best so i needed to come to you

personally, the thing that i think gets over looked about midoriya is that

1: he’s strong as fuck??? (gets me so weak in the knees heaven knows)

2: BLACK. WHIP.

jesus christ he’s just!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i think he’s so neat i want him to do things to me

anyways, smutfic about him coming home to reader after she’s been a brat to him all day & him being such a sweet & loving dom but also that type of menacing & powerful hero he is. he loves his s/o to no end, but will not hesitate to put her in her place!!! wow my stomach turns just thinking about it

basically, brat tamer izuku, using blackwhip. i’m so down bad for him it hurts

I remember getting this ask and salivating at it, yet I had no idea how to write and interpret it into a full blown post instead of just a thirst and I just didn’t feel like posting (I meant it when I said I’m barley consistent). SOOO in April 1, no, this isn’t an april fools joke!! I bring you, angry izuku ..

Warning(s): vulgar wording (yk how we do), restraints, mean izuku/passive aggressive, manhandling, inappropriate use of black whip, brat taming, slight intimidation if you squint, Fem reader. Halfway proofread…😒

‘Patient and Gentle’

Izuku had been so sweet to you all day, so caring and soft and understanding- he always had been, so it’s just to say he’s being himself as per usual. But, you. You.

Just so snide today, snappy little thing.

What did he do? He doesn’t know- he doesn’t care to know, he won’t listen to you if you try to explain, well- he will; just won’t let it linger. He’s past that.

You’re past that.

He sighed as he walked into the room, the door shutting softly behind him despite the off energy he had around him.

He doesn’t move from his spot, his hand still resting against the door as his head peers behind him. To you. He just gazes for a while, only a while before- clip! Another snappy remark, it was just ‘clip, clip, clip’ with you today, that’s all he could portray it as.

Something like a… like a-

“oh, that’s weird.”

Or a short ‘clip!’ Of a

“whatever.” In a certain tone a- cadence, if you will.

Why were you speaking this specific way to him. And why was it pissing him off so.. damn.. much…?

He still looking at you, yet at some point he’s turned around a tuned out whatever snide remark you’re sure to have made by now. His eyes keep traversing from one point to another, each point having something to do with you.

A short question of; ‘is there a problem?’

Is there?

“I don’t know.” A shrug from you. And a back fucking turned.

It makes his blood simmer to an 8 on a stove.

His footsteps are light yet foreboding as they advanced toward you, to you standing so.. he can’t even find the words, how does one stand in indifference? That must be it.

He’s in your personal space now, he’s smiling so sweetly at you; the way he always had, so patient and gentle. Yet his words are cracked with the tone, clashing with the way they dance out of his lips.

“Is there a problem..?” Is there? He needs to know, he had asked you a question, he wanted an answer. He didn’t ask for an ‘I don’t know.’ He asked for an explanation. Did you not understand that?- or, were you being a dumb whore on purpose?

You shook your head, not meeting his eyes. There was no problem. so, what the hell is your deal today?

“Speak up, baby..”

“No..”

you shook you head again. It was mumbled out, maybe due to his body smothering yours, but at least it was in words.

“Then what’s wrong, baby? Yr’ you acting like that.. hm?”

He whispered to you, talking you down as if you were a kid experiencing anger for the first time. His faux sad expression was beginning to make you feel silly. Good. That’s was good.

You look away- or you try to, yet his face follows yours, not letting you escape his eyes.

“Don’t- no, you don’t do that. You look at me. ‘K..? I don’t like that.”

He really didn’t. And you knew that. He looked a little disappointed too, shame. What a shame, yet you were shameless.

He sighed, a click of his teeth as he let silence permeate the room.

A cold solid-? A chilly.. rope.. it slid around your neck, slowly and purposefully. It’s grip tightening with no intent to let go. There was a tug on it, forcing you the look up at him.

Black whip. He activated it and was using it as a leash, he thought it was fitting. Act like a bitch, get treated like one. ‘S only fair.

“Izu’s a little mad okay..? And he’s sorry… but- he needs to teach his girl… m’kay..?”

You stood in place, slightly defiant, yet not outright. So he tugged. Hard. And you stumbled out of place.

“C’mon.. T’ the bed.. s’right there..” a slow step forward, then the rest followed suit, she was hoping for a smooth walk over to the bed, but she was pushed so meanly by him.

He didn’t say anything as he bullied her with such a sweet face. Always so patient and gentle. Even when he’s not.

He rolled the black whip in his hands, his quirk tightening around him as he tugged your neck back, getting on top of you. He had pushed you onto your tummy. He even got down low next to your ear to taunt you like a bully.

“Izu has to do this okay..? Keep his girl good. ‘Zuku doesn’t like disobeying whores. He doesn’t like mean girls.”

Being so mean to him all day. Whore. How dare you. But don’t worry, he loves you so much, he’s willing to teach you himself- just how he likes his girls.

He reached around under your hips and undid your button. And a ‘ziiiip!’ Oh, it was foreboding. Your body was heating up, it was like an oven with no limit.

Your pants were being pushed down, and you keened. A whine at being exposed to casually as he shushed you.

“Shhh.. shh, lemme take it off.. all of it.”

Your pants couldn’t hit the floor before his hands were always working off your shirt, as he let black whip go for a while to get it off.

Yet his hands were right back on it. Harsher, no bra. truly a whore.

He filled his palm with your breast, the soft supple flesh making him groan, a grind of his hips into your ass. He was going to fucking ruin you for this.

His breathing was hot and heavy against your neck, making goosebumps rise and quicker across your skin.

His hands began snaking again, from your breast, to your tummy, your hips, the inside of your panties. Your pussy. So, so.. wet already.

And then he was dragging them down your laps and kicking them away. His finger just playing with your pussy for a while, two finger sliding down the crevices, a palm cupping it whole and rubbing, and a single finger on your clit. Slowly rubbing and pinching, tapping.

His lips kissing your neck so sweetly. So patient and gentle.. a suck across your skin. And moan and a whine, it only made him harder.

He stops his playing- his rubbing and you whine again, disappointed, and it makes him smile a little more sweetly, or cruelly, he can’t tell himself at this point, he just knows he loves watching that sweet face of yours contort.

Black while fluctuates and another tendril seeps out and bind your arms, forcing them to your back. Your pussy drips at the strain in your shoulders.

He hadn’t taken anything off yet, and he didn’t plan too! He didn’t need to. He undid his belt, slowly. Letting the ‘clink!’ And the ‘dink!’ Of the metal fill your ears. Letting you anticipate.

His bulge is almost painful, the strain of it is almost good, yet it still annoys him- having it be let free was heavenly.. his green was deep yet still so sweet, a whine in his voice that never quite went away even as it deepened with age..

His cock bobbed up and as it fell back down, heavy under its own weight, the tip tapped your ass, leaving it to ripple. The sight made him keen yet it dipped into a moan as his own hand wrapped around his aching dick. It drooled precum.

Black whip flickered as his mind was muddled with pleasure, yet his control of it was impressive despite the situation. He wasn’t number one for nothing.

“He’s gonna teach you.. ‘kay..? Fuck… look so good baby… if you weren’t such a mean slut today-.. I’d be a little gentle..”

the way he spoke was as if he ran a marathon, and his voice always had the undertones of a whine.

He pushed his hand to his shirt, as if the action took everything in him- and began to unbutton it in a hurry, he felt stuffy in the article of clothing and he needed it off- or atleast open.

He tightened black whip, wrapping his hand in it further to force you into an arch, stroking his cock and lining it up with your pussy, cunt dripping with arousal.

The tip tapped against the entrance, then it pushed in, and in, and stretched, each inch was fucking delicious. Your eyes rolled and you bit your lip, and he heard it- he didn’t like it, if that angry tug of black whip was anything to go by.

He couldn’t help but slam the rest of it in, making you yelp. His grunts are uncontrollable and he doesn’t care. he whines behind you as his tip just leaks and leaks inside of you, yet he hadn’t cum yet.

Just made it more slippery and the sounds -god, the sounds- the sloppy and wet sounds of his cock driving into you cunt wasn’t drowned out by your combined moans.

He kept it tugged in your little leash as he keeps thrusting, his voice raw with pleasure and still a bit of irritation.

You still had upset him earlier, he had every right to take it out on you. You’re his girl.

He hips sped up, this thrusts got harder and your legs would have given out if his hips weren’t keeping you in place. Fucking his anger into you, and yours out of you.

He pulled your leash up and forced you to your feet, your back flush against his chest as she kept fucking you, going and going and fucking going, you couldn’t barley think- let alone stand. Fucking you like a rag doll was all he planned on doing.

His hand went to your front, and began to play with your clit, rolling it under his finger, making you dizzy, you moans increasing and you felt yourself tremble. You were about to cum, he knew it.

You always came first, that wouldn’t change, even if you were mean, and he was angry, he was going to take care of his girl, let her cum all she wants.

And you did, you came around him and squeezed his cock like it was a lifeline. Her pussy fluttering around him.

But he wouldn’t stop until he was finished too. Your body was pushed back onto the bed, the black whip disintegrating as he took his own hands and used them to restrain you instead. He pushed his hips deep into yours in slow yet aggressive thrusts. He was going to cum, fill you, he was going to teach you just what your place was and to never forget it.

“Fuck..! Fuck!”

And two deep thrusts was all he had left before he burst with thick ropes of cum into your pussy. Your tummy being filled with warmth and your eyes tilting into your head as they closed in exhaustion.

He stilled and let him empty itself before smiling so sweetly at you.

“Does my baby feel better..?”

He asked, just as sweetly as he always has. Maybe you’d learn something this time around.

“M..hm.”

He mumbled into your ear as he settled his chest against your back;

“Good.. don’t forget what ‘Zuku taught you today.. ‘Kay..?”

So patient and gentle.

(Don’t copy my stuff pookie, bitches with juicy pussy DONT copy works.. but you can still reblog… daddy appreciates those.)

#smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #izuku midoryia smut #deku x reader smut #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku smut #deku smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut #asks #answered asks

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endlessthxxghts · 5 months

Text

Forget

Joel Miller x afab!reader || W/C: 618 (lil baby one today xx)

Summary: You're stressed, sad, and every painful emotion you can think of. Joel comes home, and you give him only one option in how he can comfort you.

Content/Warnings: No physical description of reader. Reader is so sad and full of emotion, she just wants Joel to help her forget. Literal porn from the get-go, so SMUT 18+ MDNI. Joel has a dirty, never-ending mouth. He talks sooo much and he talks ya through it... Daddy kink (only used twice and both at the beginning). Thigh riding. Allusion to P in V sex. Did I mention Joel is really vocal?🥴😵‍💫 Pictures are for aesthetic purposes only (credit to pinterest).

A/N: It has been a really stressful few weeks, and an even more stressful few days. Because I'm stressed, I kept thinking of Joel helping me de-stress, and this was born at 1am. I completely left Joel open to interpretation, so you can imagine him however you want! Whatever fits your sexiest fantasies hehe. This is not proof-read either... sorry about any mistakes! Much love. Enjoy.

MASTERLIST

“Just needa forget, don’tcha, sweet girl?”

“F-fuck, y-yes, daddy,” you whimper, your pussy soaked and pulsing as you grind back and forth on his thigh.

“That’s it. Just like that, darlin’. Daddy’s got ya,” Joel says, his hands on your hips, guiding the pressure and speed of your movement.

Joel just got home half an hour ago. His first sight was you, a sobbing mess on his couch. Baby, what’s wrong? He said as he rushed and crouched down to your side. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug first then grabbing his face and smashing your lips against his. Talk later you mumbled, need you you said as your lips lingered to his jaw, nipping little bites on your journey down. He pulled you off of him roughly, muttering an up as he scrambled to get himself on the couch, situating you into a straddle onto him. You were already wearing solely your underwear, so the moment your pussy made contact, you knew you were done for.

Now, here you are, on your way to your second climax on his thick muscle as he utters sweet praises in his thick, honeyed drawl that you could drink up for eternity.

“Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Almost there, baby, soak me one more time.”

“Get yourself nice and wet for me, mama, so I can fuck you real good.”

“Fuck all those fuckin’ thoughts right out that pretty little head of yours.”

My God, the mouth on this fucking man. With the help of his words, you’re so wound up, your hips are moving impossibly faster, chasing that second, much needed high.

“Please-” you let out, head falling back between your shoulder blades, your neck that he loves to mark beautifully on display for him.

His one hand leaves your hips and situates it to your jaw, gripping you tightly and forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Give it to me, baby. Give it to me, and I’ll give you what you’re so fuckin’ desperate for.”

“Fuck,” you’re louder now, your wails reverberating throughout the walls of his home. “Joel-” you gasp out.

“I’ve got ya, just let go, sweet girl.”

Your hips stutter, and within moments you’re flooding his thigh — warm, sticky, and drenched — fireworks exploding beneath your eyelids as your entire body is overtaken with a buzz only he has the ability to give you.

Both his hands are cradling your face now, caressing the apples of your cheeks as you recover.

“Always such a good girl f’me,” he says as he pulls your face into his for a soft kiss, your hands finding solace in the planes of his chest.

Out of breath, you rest your entire body on his, not caring about the mess underneath you right now. He wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand cradling the back of your head as he scratches his fingers through the base of your scalp. You hum in content.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his chest.

He uses his hand in your hair to gently ease you into looking up at him. He kisses your lips, then your forehead. “Not done with you yet, darlin’. Just givin’ ya a breather,” he smirks.

“Oh, I know, baby,” you reply, a lopsided, mischievous grin spread across your face.

He glances at your lips, then back to your eyes. “I love you,” he says. The warmth of it satiating and comforting you more than anything ever could.

“I love you,” you tell him, hoping you can translate everything you feel for him in those three, powerful little words.

He taps your rear. “Bedroom?”

“Please.”

Hi, all <3 I'm really sorry if I don't post as much this month - I really need to get my mental health back up first. I'm not completely disappearing though, I promise you that. I could never go more than a few weeks without writing something. Some of these next couple of posts may be self-indulgent and for purposes of my own comfort, but I still would like to share them with you all. Writing is an art form, a way to express ourselves, and if anyone can find comfort in anything I create, then that is why even in my own hard times, I continue to spread the beautiful intricacies of written word. I love you all. 💚

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @janaispunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @lilynotdilly @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories @akah565 @getitoutofmymind @joels-shitty-puns @its-nebuleuse @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

Please let me know if you'd like to stopped being tagged! Even if you're my moot, let me know. No hard feelings, I promise. Xx

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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calware · 8 months

Note

Can I ask you for what it is about Hal you like so much you based your username on him? I think he's a good character tho he was never a favorite of mine so I am curious

1. i am a big fan of robots (/robot adjacent things such as AI) on like... an aesthetic + thematic level :)

i like the look of machinery and one day i hope to be artistically strong enough to make really cool and complex robot illustrations + designs [shoutout to everyone who gives him glowing circuitry btw... ooooh glowey :) can never go wrong with that]

plus, exploring the idea of a person that isn't human.. ough. yes

minorities who don't conform to society (easily or at all) such as people who are neurodivergent, queer, etc. projecting onto nonhuman concepts/characters/species is sooo real

this post

i also love how humans will bond with literally anything, be it a roomba or a pair of silly triangle sunglasses. oooooo you want to think about the inherently kind and compassionate nature of humanity oooo

2. i find him to be so funny. i can't get enough of his personality, the way he talks, etc. for example i made a post forever ago with quotes of his that i find funny. he isn't on screen for a long time but i really think he makes the most out of it lol. he's literally there just to annoy everyone... and i love him for that. he's very snarky while also being deadpan while also being completely full of himself, and not in a way that's annoying for the audience to read, at least to me.

he is also sometimes funny specifically in a silly way, like how he keeps making over 9000 jokes even though the meme's been dead for over 400 years. i just find his dialogue incredibly entertaining to read

3. he is red and red is my favorite color :)

4. he is so accidentally transgender [every friend group got the transgender allegory]. to quote me from 2021:

you know sometimes i think about how hal feels like he was made to “replace” dirk and how it’s his literal job to pretend to be dirk and how he has to learn to accept that he isn’t dirk he’s his own person with his own identity and as he interacts with dirk’s friends he feels like they’re disappointed and that they’d rather speak to the “original dirk” instead of him and also he names himself and also he feels literally trapped in dirk’s shades which is basically his body and he wants to be prototyped so that he can have a body that’s his own and also literally the physical manifestation of who he is but when he asks for it he’s put in danger out of fear and paranoia and when he does end up getting prototyped he’s ecstatic you know i just think about these things a lot

5. because he's a side character and he was given... that ending.... there is a lot of room for fans to do further exploration and interpretation on his character which i think is fun. i like rotating him around in my mind, thinking about what could've been

6. i think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided that we needed to do something to make up for stanley kubrick saying that hal 9000 was a "straight" robot

7. i also think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided we needed to make as many characters referencing hal 9000 as possible. i love this guy let's get more of this guy i will never have enough of this guy

8. i like how he's genuinely mean sometimes. flawed and interesting characters are what make homestuck so interesting to me, and hal is no exception to this

9. the Important part of this post:

THERES FEELINGS.

it's about the hollow feeling of your friends going from thinking of you as family to thinking of you as a stranger in an instant. it's about still trying to be a good person despite being told by everyone you've ever known that you are incapable of emotion and compassion and morals and never quite finding proof that you do feel those things and maybe you even believe it too but you still never stop trying. it's about the horror of being stripped of your autonomy and humanity and body and senses and free will at the age of 13 and when your creator starts to kill you there's nothing you can do but beg. it's about a boy so truly, painfully, and UNFATHOMABLY alone he cuts away chunks of himself and molds them into companions that he can surround himself with to make it seem as if he's a little less alone but in doing so suffocates himself in his own identity. it's about "what if you cloned yourself and it killed you and you were dead and you were alive and the clone is you and it's not and your existence is perpetuated and you've ceased to exist. what if you killed your clone before it could kill you. would that be fucked up or what" it's about the thematic significance of twin motifs. it's about not being able to cry or laugh or dance or sing or scream or fingerpaint or breathe or sigh or chew or stare or run or

10. um. evil robot guy <3 yay ^_^!!

#ask #Anonymous #i say things #homestuck #💾

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mysterycitrus · 4 months

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Your opinions are sooo correct & sexy! I wanna know what you think about the switch of Roy being Dick's friend to (primarily) Jason's friend. Like in terms of both canon & fanon

(no pressure to answer though, just curious!)

ive talked about this before, so im not being facetious when i say that i don’t think there is anything remotely salvageable in the jason+roy relationship. i hate it.

when u consider current comic canon (that’s more or less tepidly reverted to post-crisis, pre-2011 canon), there is literally no reason why a freshly single father would be besties with his actual best friend’s 12yo brother. it’s profoundly unserious. even removing dick from the equation, in what world would roy be closer to jason than he is to ollie or donna or dinah or wally or jade or connor or mia or grant or vic or grace or literally any of the other titans?

i truly don’t think fans who like their relationship in that capacity care about roy, his history as a character, or his characterisation, because he is reduced to a demeaning, dehumanised depiction of any addict that is so totally divorced from his previous runs. how can u look at the roy harper that exists in rhato canon and not feel insulted that lobdell removed his family, his culture, his teammates, and his daughter in favour of making him swoon over jason? how is this a remotely egalitarian relationship when he exists to facilitate jason’s development and nothing else? how is roy treated with any respect by these fans?

the spiralling fanon vortex pulls everyone around roy in and ruins them by association. think about how unkind these interpretations of ollie are, or jade, or dick. how the actual important people in roy’s life, who love him and lian, are demonised to make room for jason. how unsympathetic the writing is to addicts, and how roy’s own addiction is switched as if different substances are interchangeable? how can u seriously engage with stories about sexual assault that posit roy as a slut-shaming, immature asshole who would seriously blame anyone for their own assault? it makes me so angry.

that’s even ignoring that roy would objectively not be cool with the things jason does, whether it be dealing, murdering people, or attacking roy’s own sister. roy has a moral backbone and isn’t afraid to be loud about it. there’s never been a team he was on pre-reboot where he hadn’t spoken up against shitty leadership or bad decisions — especially with dick. the difference in respect between dick and jason, where roy is allowed to be an adult with the titans and the outsiders and the league but is the team pet of the outlaws who can’t advocate for himself, is very stark.

it’s literally like if they decided to change kon to be damian’s best friend instead of tim’s, ignoring the age difference and their history together and any pre existing relationships. that’s how absurd the change was. that’s how much kon would have to be mischaracterised in order for that relationship to “work.”

jason could exist as an interesting contrast to roy, the same way he does to dick, but that would rely on roy being written well. it would have to mean they weren’t friends, that they weren’t close, and that jason wasn’t an actual part of his life, because that’s the only way they could exist together without roy being thrown on the fire to keep jason warm.

#anti jayroy #roy harper #dick grayson #teen titans #dc comics #the ask and the answer #very sweet ask ty #ok im clocking out of the meanie bobeanie factory

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xxchumanixx · 2 months

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Nothing at all pt.2? When they get caught ???

Nothing at all pt. 2

Tim Bradford x reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, secret relationship Word count: 1.804 Authors note: Hello love, here it is: part 2! I'd like to mention beforehand that I'm not homophobic, nor anything close to it (just feeling like I should mention it, before someone tries to call me out for whatever they might interpret). I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but I'll maybe add a part 3. Also, it's not entirely proof read yet (it's almost 2 am in Germany and I'm sooo tired right now) Anyways, I'm still loving the idea behind this. Thanks for liking it as well! Read part one here! Enjoy!

It was easy, falling for Tim Bradford.

Hiding, that was the real quest.

It hadn't been long, since you and Tim had become a couple. What once was a way to blow off some steam, having been ignited when you drank a little too much, became more somewhere along the way.

Avoiding Lucy's hawk like eyes and questions became harder the more time passed, though.

She was true to her word, snooping and eavesdropping wherever she could. It wasn't long until you were no rookie anymore, but it seemed to get harder to hide the more time passed.

The worst one though, was Sergeant Grey.

Since you and Tim had become a couple, there happened a few things caused by you and Tim not being a hundred percent on board during calls.

Though it wasn't anything too serious, Grey became suspicious.

Which was bad.

You would have been doomed, if he found out before you ranked up. So you had to lie, stirring his assumptions and suspicions somewhere else - to you being lesbian and Tims best friend.

Yeah, you weren't proud of that lie, especially considering that it could have backfired so hard, you could have not only gotten fired, but declared morally reprehensible either.

But you had said these words faster than your brain could have caught up, Tims eyes widening so much, they could have competed with plates.

And Grey had apologized for snooping in your private life, which made it even worse. You felt so guilty, that you had a very hard time even looking at him during roll call.

You just hoped things wouldn't get out of hand too much, before you could tell him the truth.

Counting the days, you became more impatient the closer you got to your exams. Which meant that you became more reckless as well.

It was hard enough with Lucy hiding behind every corner, you didn't need to risk everything by giving into your desires now, so close to the finish line.

Yeah, so much for that...

The way she shouted in triumph when she then finally caught you red handed, would haunt you in your dreams, you were sure of that.

She startled you so hard, that you headbutted Tim, causing him to jump back, holding his nose, as he glared at his rookie.

She had caught you making out, hiding behind the police station like teenagers in high-school.

You hadn't seen Tim during the day, his shift matching yours, but nothing had led to you running into each other. It had been a long day, so you were more than excited to see him.

And as his tongue plunged into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips in the darkness, as yours brushed through his hair, she suddenly stood beside you.

God damn it.

Biting your lip you tried to hide in the shadows, face buried in your hands, as you silently died of shame.

But you felt relieved somehow, too.

At least she wouldn't stalk you and Tim anymore.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tim snapped at Lucy, trying not to lose his cool entirely and let her fall through immediately, even though she made it really hard for him.

Her brows furrowed, as she realized that she not only had upset him, but she had made him angry as well.

Very angry.

Before she could have responded, he continued on. "Now you have what you wanted - are you happy now?" He yelled at her and you were grateful for the parking lot being otherwise empty at this time.

She swallowed, averting her gaze as she fumbled with the hem of her jacket. All the joy she must have felt moments before, was gone now. She had gone too far, only to prove that she was right.

Normally, she wasn't like that. But the way Tim had treated her, doing his Tim-tests and all, she wanted a little revenge.

That, was too much though.

She knew that.

Swallowing, she looked back up. "I'm sorry." she apologized, biting her lip as it quivered treacherously. "It somehow got out of hand, I know that now. I shouldn't have pressed so much. I'm gonna go now, good night."

With that she turned, almost running towards her car.

Mouth agape you stared after her, as Tim shook his head, biting his cheek in anger. He hated it when people snooped around his private life, especially when it was at work and he was ranked higher than them.

She wasn't even supposed to be so interested in it.

It wasn't her business.

"Fuck." you breathed out, realizing that she now held the power to get you both fired. Tims eyes met yours in the dark, the street lamp the only source of light.

"I'm gonna talk to her." you told him, looking back at where Lucy stood moments ago. His brows rose, as he looked at you like you were out of your damn mind.

"Someday she would have eventually learned about us, anyways. She'll get over it, yes, but I don't want her to stay mad at us. And then there's that thing with Grey... If she tells him, we're doomed."

He sent you a pointed look, like he was trying to say the thing with Grey goes entirely on you.

Sighing, you nodded to yourself, before you fumbled for your keys. "I'll call you later, okay?" He only nodded, before he walked you to your car.

"Try and not be too mad at her. She's still your rookie." you reminded him, hoping to convince him not to let her fall through. He huffed, biting his cheek.

"I know."

____

Knocking at Lucy's door, you fumbled with the strap of your bag. Would she even open the door, if she saw it was you?

She did, because only a few second later the door opened, revealing her distraught face. She stepped aside wordlessly, letting you in.

Closing the door behind you, she walked towards the couch, plopping down on it. You followed her, setting your bag down as you took a seat beside her.

"Is he gonna fire me?" she asked, not looking at you, as her voice seemed distant. You shook your head, leaning back. "No, he won't." you assured her. "I wouldn't let him."

She huffed, fumbling with her fingers, elbows resting on her legs. "I thought it would be funny, but I haven't realized how much I invaded your privacy." she started to explain, looking down at her hands.

"All I wanted was to prove my theory right. I didn't consider the consequences. But when I saw you two, it felt like I just won a competition or something."

You chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation, causing her to look up at you.

"You have no clue how good it feels to finally have you knowing about it." you admitted, sending her a crooked smile. "It's like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Grey was suspicious, as well. I might have told him that I'm lesbian."

Her eyes widened, as she laughed, shocked.

"You did what?" she shouted, covering her mouth with her hand. Nodding, you laughed as well, as she slid up on the couch, body turned towards you.

It was all so absurd.

"When we're ranked up, I'm gonna tell him the truth." you said, wiping at your tired eyes. "I feel so bad for lying to him. Tim was so shocked about it, that he almost slipped, almost telling Grey the truth."

She shook her head, before she looked down at her hands again. "I'm not gonna tell him, no worries." she assured you, looking back up. "After all you didn't say anything about me and John, either. That doesn't mean, that I understand why you didn't trust me enough to tell me, though."

You felt bad, knowing that she was right.

"I was scared." you admitted, looking down. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, it was just that he is your TO, and my superior officer as well. I couldn't risk anything - even though I seemed to be rather dumb today, making out with him in the parking lot."

She cocked a brow at you, silently agreeing.

"We all do dumb things." she then told you, scooting closer. "So, are you guys officially dating now?"

You snorted, swatting at her arm, causing her to laugh as well, before you started to explain everything.

____

"She won't say a thing."

Instead of calling Tim, you had driven to his place. He nodded, as he let you step inside. "Did she want something in return?" he questioned, closing the door behind you, as you took off your jacket, hanging it on the clothing rack.

"No." you gave back, shaking your head, as you stood in front of him. "She's my friend." He nodded slowly, clearly surprised.

Standing on your tiptoes, you leaned up to him, hands interlocking at his neck, pressing your lips against his. His hands found their way to your hips almost automatically, as he returned the kiss.

His lips were soft, moving slowly against your own, as he leaned down, so you wouldn't have to keep standing on your toes. His tongue brushed your lip and you let it in, continuing were you had left off.

One of his hands moved up, cupping your cheek as he tilted your head, deepening the kiss. You whimpered into his mouth, the desire taking over, as it suddenly knocked at the door right behind him, causing you to break apart.

Breathing heavily you looked at each other.

He seemed as clueless as you, clearly not expecting any visitors.

Still he opened the door, making you wish he'd just ignored it instead.

It was Grey and his wife Luna.

His mouth was as equally open as yours and Tims were, staring at each other in utter shock and confusion. Only Luna reacted differently, tilting her head, as she tried to make sense of the situation.

You were the first to close your mouth again, as realization sat in. Turning away from them, you silently fumed.

This couldn't be happening, right?

It had to be a bad joke.

"Sergeant, what are you doing here?" Tim inquired, as you bit on your thumb, trying to stay calm. They didn't see anything, right? Surely they wouldn't look through the windows up front, before knocking at the door.

Who were you kidding, honestly?

Grey needed a moment to respond, his wife beating him to it. "Didn't you say she's a lesbian?" she asked, clearly knowing that you weren't in fact a lesbian.

Turning back around, you saw Grey balling his hand to a fist, shaking it as he tried to keep his cool, clearly struggling.

"We don't have time for that now." he then said, clenching his jaw. "Someone broke into our house, we need somewhere safe to stay at for at least a couple hours."

Tims brows rose, nodding, as he let them in, his cheeks turning pinkish.

"Don't think I'll forget about this, though!" Grey added, eyes narrowing, as he angrily pointed at you two. You both nodded, mumbling a 'yes sir'.

You were officially doomed.

"Crap."

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford smut

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