#i'm unsure if that is a word in itself if it is and has a bad no no meaning i'm sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paymechildsupport · 1 day

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Divine. // Heian Sukuna x M!Reader <3

smut brainrot :( -!! Overstim, - oral, - sex with a lot of feewings, - monsterfucking (he has 2 cocks), - tadbit body horror possibly --------------------------------------------------

aghjakhg he's so.. :3

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Sukuna couldn't quite believe it: your hands, so soft, were gently running themselves over his chest.

"What are you...?" The words clogged in his throat, feeling you start to trace down.

You shifted in his lap, alone with him and solely him, -- under the dark awning of the night. No one would come to look for the two of you, not now, when it was so late out.

You could barely see the massive body in front of you, -- so you felt him. You ran your fingers over the expanse of his chest, his shoulders, his four arms, - mapping a general shape in your mind's eye. You couldn't see but you could see him, -- see him in a way no had before.

Air eluded itself from his lungs and he shuttered involuntarily. He had never been touched, been held like this, handled so tenderly. Fingers, miniscule compared to his massive figure, grazed over the markings etched onto his skin. You could faintly feel yourself touch over a scar, a raised, rough mark on his perfect body. It only made you sink deeper into him, his loose embrace of his arm around your waist. Your fingertips sketch the defined muscle, feeling every dip of skin and flesh, -- living proof of the decades of hard, grueling work engrained into his abdomen. His abs slightly flex when you run over them, you can feel the strong muscles ripple with each sharp intake of breath.

You reach the curve of his second mouth, running your thumb over the thin lip in his stomach.

"Careful..." he mutters. The last time someone had gotten so close to that area, it hadn't ended well for him. Sukuna could briefly picture his mangled skeleton, twisted and bent at all the wrong angles.

The Curse was in awe, how you effortlessly touched over his body, hardened by the decades of war and bloodshed it had borne witness to.

A noise involuntarily ripped itself from his lips, - the broken sound of a tiny, cornered animal. He had never in his life been touched in such a way, -- revered almost.

You reach back up, fingers dancing along his skin, tracing every line of those inky black markings. Sukuna realizes too late when you reach for his neck, pausing there, to rub the place where his pulse was. The blood rushed underneath your touch, rapid and humming and alive. It was such a vulnerable spot for him, but Sukuna stays frozen, rooted to his spot, so you don't stop. You travel up, all the way up to his face, where they lingered over his jaw. You press the pads of your fingers into the hard bones of his face, feeling along his jaw, his chin, and the jutting outline of his nose.

In his long lifetime most had shunned him: turning on him with huge swords and fearful expressions. But with you, he no longer was the ghastly monster, he just simply was.

"Beautiful...." You breathe

Sukuna's own breath faltered,

"You think I'm beautiful?" He sounded surprise, unsure, -- a kind of insecurity that should have terrified him, -- but it was with you, and he embraced this vulnerable state.

You smile softly, only Sukuna with his cursed vision could make the shape out in the dark,

"Very."

Sukuna wanted to lick the worship off your lips.

The lower arms on your abdomen tighten.

Silently, your fingers meet the rough start of his second face. You freeze, feeling the harsh change in texture from his smooth skin. Sukuna hesitates; would this be where it all came to an end? When you look at him with anything but deep adoration? Where the affectionate touches would be met with violent resistance, and you'd hate him, find him to be the grotesque and horrifying monster everyone else did?

Sukuna hated himself for feeling so hopeful.

But you simply start your exploration again, fingers travelling up and down the rough expanse of melded flesh.

"Fascinating.."

Sukuna was surprised; you found his second face fascinating.

He waited for the moment you'd change your mind, stop lying to yourself, start spitting crude insults and accusatory words, to swear, to hit, to resist him in some way.

But it never came.

You trace the rough folds of his face with a caress nothing short of adoring.

For the longest time, he had been denied this.

Sukuna's eyes were closed now. He couldn't comprehend the mixture of emotions he was feeling in this moment.

He was completely exposed, vulnerable... beautiful...

His second face... usually filled with terror... was receiving such tender care.

His thumbs trace to the hem of your top, gently pressing down into the soft skin, rubbing what he hoped were affectionate caresses. No one had ever made him feel such a way before, and he wished to show you the same affection, the same adoration, as you showered onto him. He had to admit he was quite inexperienced-- making contact with another living thing usually had some violent motive, but all Sukuna desired to do was wrap his arms around your tinier body -- shield you from the rest of the world. The idea of anyone else getting this kind of attention from you filled him with a strange bitterness unknown to him: jealousy.

He could feel every tiny detail of your movements, every inch of you getting slowly leaning in closer, every carefree intake of breath. He felt envious of the way the oxygen so effortlessly entered your lungs, how you inhale it without a second thought. It would be so easy for him to simply reach out and crush your windpipe, steal the air from your lungs the same way you did his.

In this moment, he saw and felt it all. Every inch of your body was beautiful to him.

"Mmm..." he whispered, relishing in the feeling of your presence so close to him.

Carefully, tentatively, you dip your head down, bringing your face closer, lips softly grazing his cheek.

Sukuna almost choked.

The feeling of your lips on his cheek sent chills through his body. He had always seen himself as the menacing and terrifying harbinger of suffering who had to be kept at a distance.

But now, he was seeing from your view... And from your perspective, he was beautiful.

His heart pounded against his chest as he felt your breath on his cheek.

Then you kiss him;

Every muscle, every tendon of his body seemed to tighten, and you were surprised they didn't just snap altogether.

All kinds of new, delicious sensations coursed through him,

Mwa :3

He had spent countless years of his life slaughtering people and taking control of everything he could... But here, he was weak again, like a newborn child.

He felt his breath grow short, labored, completely lost in the sensations of the kiss. All his fears and regrets, all the pain and misery accumulated from his years of cursed isolation, separated from the world around him, becoming the untouchable King of Curses, -- It all melted away. It was pure, unadulterated bliss.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, pressing you against him. Having you so close, you seemed so delicate to him, yet you were exploring him without hesitation, without fear, the first person he had encountered in so many years who didn't think of him as a monster.

His muscles were completely tense, but he had no desire to stop. He was enjoying every second of it.

You were kissing him, and he felt your tongue peek out from your intertwined lips, slipping into his mouth and meeting his. You fit so nicely against him, his hands slotting perfectly onto your waist, hips fitting like two puzzle pieces. It was all so... soothing to him.

The way you were taking control was indescribable--your kisses making his heartbeat so fast he swore it would explode, his breath was fast and short. He didn't think he could keep these feelings in for long without combusting altogether.

You pull away, gasping for air (unlike Sukuna, who as a curse, if he could have his way, would have kissed you for hours, days even).

"Your touch is.... divine"

Sukuna could bathe in the way you gazed at him, the way your eyelids drooped, the way your bright irises shone up at him through your lashes. Many once eerie, cold maroon eyes met yours with enough loving reverence to shake Heaven Herself.

As the word left his lips, he was staring at you. The look on his face was one of utter contentment and happiness.

You had kissed him so delicately, so tenderly. He felt every sensation burn itself into his mind, desperately grasping to remember the way your lips felt on his.

His grip on you was gentle and cautious. He didn't want to crush you. You were so small and slender. Such a frail and delicate human in his grasp. Yet the same, you were something else, something he had never experienced before.

You wanted something so intimate with him. It had Sukuna spiraling deeper and deeper into a side he had long since forgotten about. He felt frail, weak... human, -- yet Sukuna couldn't find it within himself to care. The rush of sensations and emotions he felt from your contact, from your kisses and the way you touched him, -- It was intoxicating.

He wanted you, every single part of you...

No matter what.

---

You laid with him that night, and he took you-- right on the dirt ground beneath a sky of stars. Sukuna reveled in the way your body writhed underneath him, such a beautiful, fiery creature.

He bent down, placing a gentle, loving kiss to your forehead, licking the salty sheen of sweat from your skin. You shudder, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as another hot lick of pleasure curdles through you, searing white.

He couldn't get enough of you, decades of societal neglect and the absence of human companionship had starved Sukuna, and you were a whole feast. He ravished your body, the carnal hunger never satiated until he filled you with his full.

You clung desperately to his strong forearms, nails digging into the firm muscle. Incoherent babblings cascaded from your lips which he dipped down to hungrily lap up as you mewled underneath him. He'd crash his lips onto yours, the sweetness almost lost from the first time, -- drowned in the desperate need of the kiss.

Two large hands held you steady, keeping your legs apart and waist in place as Sukuna continued his rolling thrusts into your lower abdomen. Every snap of his hips against yours sent another coil of pleasure curling in your stomach.

Puddles of his seed bubbled from your opening, leaking through the small crevices and corners from where his massive cocks somehow didn't take up. You swear you almost shatter completely the moment you feel those sharp teeth graze the walls lining your insides.

Sukuna smiles from inside of you, two long tongues lolling out to lick at the coating of your guts. He pulls out the slightest bit, just enough so a relieved smile breaks on your face. He wished there was a way to permanently engrave the moment your hopeful expression shattered into his brain-- the way your eyes widen in horror, your mouth slacked open as the two tongues bully their way between your organs. They twist, intertwining, drinking the wetness from your body dry almost, and coming to a deadly point prodding at your stomach and swirling your intestines.

You cry out, the agonizing pain clashing deliciously with the pure bliss you felt. Your mind blanks and all the colors melt together.

Everything turns molten. Sukuna reaches down between your thighs, taking you in one big hand. You choke on your own spit, coughing and spluttering, hands flying to your crotch, only to be gently swatted away. Sukuna chuckled, gently pushing your body down as your back arches.

He continues to play with you in his hand, kneading the flesh between the pads of his fingers. He runs his knuckles up and down, coating his fingers with the tears from your crying tip. He tugged you playfully, watching like an eager puppy when your relief pours into his hands, drizzling in between his fingers, squirting onto his chest, painting the black markings white.

Sukuna places two lathered fingers into his mouth, groaning from the taste of you sitting on his tongue, and he sucks down hard.

He needed you like the earth the sky's rain. You gave meaning to his long, empty, accursed life. You were forever damned to him, and Sukuna would have it no other way.

You were his god, his stars, his beauty.

And he found you absolutely ... divine.

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[A/N]: the other kind of lobotomy kaisen

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rayofmisfortune · 3 months

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Let's see here... how many things do I have on my wip pile?

I may find a way to plop the scrapped boio back into the fic, we'll see, but it's not very likely

#ray's ramblings #so many things yet so little time #and motivation *sobs*#thanks for gettin the creative juices flowin jesty jester :3 #i'm unsure if that is a word in itself if it is and has a bad no no meaning i'm sorry #i do not mean offense-#PLEASE FORGIVE ME #anyway tis fun to think abt how many things r loomin over my back n death glaring @ me lol

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feluka · 5 months

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"but trump has openly said that-" what i'm getting from this is that you don't recognize fascism unless it's idiotic enough to openly declare itself as such. you don't usually get the luxury of having your politicians be stupid enough to spell out their intentions for you through a pitiful twitter rant. your average politician knows how to mince their words and feign sensitivity and present their bloodlust as compassion and their ambitions as justice. if you're unsure where someone stands i recommend you start looking at what they do/have done in practice.

and if you're looking to point fingers at what people have said and what language they've used then, i dunno, i think "i have no notion if palestinians are telling the truth" is pretty damning.

#watch people interpret this as me endorsing trump. here they come!

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vivvangel · 3 months

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fantasize | sim jake (extended ver.)

synopsis: nerd jake who's known to be quite self reserved, but he cannot seem to get you and your skirt out of his mind. › pairings & contents: nerd!jake x classmate reader, dom!jake x sub!afab!reader. smut with plot ✧ warnings: kissing and teasing!! - perverted thoughts, jealousy, fist-fucking (jake), blowjob, doggy position, guided mastrubation, jake has a thing for skirts, heavy degradation.

can be read by itself, however, reading the headcannons is advised !

wc: 1.5k

ever since he jerked off to the imagination of fucking you in that pretty skirt — jake thinks he's lost his mind. jerking off so often, getting horny so often, that wasn't his thing before, but you absolutely ruined his brain wearing that skirt.

"ah, fuck" he hisses, rubbing his tip. every time he closes his eyes and strokes his cock just a little faster, jake can't help but fantasize about the ways you probably would swallow all of his cum, maybe even whimper his name,, how your pussy would be throbbing, dripping wet for him only. he didn't even know he could crave someone so much, so desperately, so fucking desperately.

with his swift hip movements, jake continues to thrust his cock into his tight fist, in desperate hopes of recreating the sweet tightness of your perfect cunt. he was mentally cursing at myself for fucking his fist so many times at just the mere sight of you, but nonetheless, he tightens his grasp around his cock to mimic the tightness of your, what he imagined to be your perfect pussy, his head falls against the bed's headboard of his bed, as literal shocks of warm satisfaction blurred his peripheral vision — "f-fuck", jake grunts, letting his eyes roll back.

this can't be this way. he has to have you, one way or another. he scoffs, thinking to himself that this is completely ridiculous. why would someone like you even look at someone like ... him? he brushes his thoughts off, and goes to his desk to finish some assignments off.

the day after went as bad as it could. he was sitting in his usual place, a row or two behind you, and what does he see? he glares at the guy next to you, with his arm around your shoulder. he wants to approach the guy in question, and do something he would regret. he groans to himself, and as the lecture continues, he grows more and more restless, and if it was even possible, even more jealous. once the lecture finally ends, he's the first to get out of the room, and to his other class. that night, jake didn't get off to you, resulting in him being extremely, ungodly, horny the next day.

he can't bring himself to approach you, knowing you might have a boyfriend, but he gets over his nervousness and goes up to you — and holy shit, you're wearing a short skirt again. "hey, uh y/n -- do you have-" he pauses, his eyes travelling down to your legs and thighs, but he looks back at you. "uh, yesterday's notes?", you tilt your head, as a smirk spreads on your lips, but you play dumb to his sudden question, you nod. "you could've just texted me, jake", you softly say, taking out your notebook out of your bag. he has no idea how he's keeping his cool, but you know his name? oh fucking hell. "u-uh, i could've but, i don't have your number" he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, making you chuckle. "give me your phone, i'll put it in if you need me next time" you smile, giving him your notebook. jake almost hurriedly takes his phone out, motioning it to you and letting out a dry chuckle, "t-thanks" god, he felt fucking stupid. how did you have him stumbling over his words? little did he know, you thought he was so fucking cute.

you grab his phone from him, putting your number in, saving the contact as "y/n baby💋" and when jake reads that, his eyes widen. "y/n baby?" he hesitantly asks, "yes?" you respond, the smirk never left your face, and his jaw drops. "no, i meant --" he's unsure of what to say, he's literally flabbergasted. you let out a chuckle, "i'm messing with you, i get it" — "don't you have a boyfriend, though?" he abruptly asks, his tone almost coming off as protective. "me? what?, no" you tell him, completely confused as to how he came to that conclusion. "the guy, yesterday, arm around your shoulder and all-"

"you were watching me yesterday, too?"

"that's not what i asked"

"so, you were watching me yesterday, too"

"for god's sake, y/n — wait, what do you mean 'too'"

you stand up, crossing your arms. "do you think i don't see you staring at me, jakey?" you smirk, and he's trying to form a coherent sentence. "i'm not-- 'm not staring, just.." he trails off, unsure how to end that sentence. you break the silence, "jake, i have another class in a bit, i'll see you later today? i'll text you! bye?" you wave, rushing out of the room to get to your class. all while jake stood there, dumbfounded.

jake has no idea how he was in deep inside you and you on the other hand, had no idea how someone that cute could be this hot. you felt almost stupid for thinking he'd be the submissive type. boy, were you so so wrong. you didn't know that that a mere skirt, and some teasing was all it took jake to smash his lips onto yours, and pulling you onto his lap — in his dorm, may i add. you were flustered, how could someone who looked so innocent be so . . . sexy?

and what exactly followed afterwards?

his hands explored your body under your crop-top, and you couldn't help but let out a moan into his mouth, in the heat of the moment, riling him up further. he pulls out of the kiss, slapping your thigh, making you whimper. "what a fucking slut, do you just let anyone touch you, huh?" you shake your head, signalling a no — you expected him to be nicer with your response, but you earn another slap on your exposed thigh. (you think to yourself, "maybe wearing a skirt is useful after al"l)

"wear skirts these days intentionally, don't you? you like the attention you get? what a desperate slut" he scoffs, resulting in you biting your lip. how was he degrading you so bad, but you liked it? "j-jakey.. please do something, anything" you breathe out, and he lets out a dry, almost dark, chuckle. "anything? mhm, you'll take anything i give you like the good girl you are, right baby?" you nod your head, feeling your panties drenching by the second. "hmm, 'm not gonna let you off so easily, earn it, slut" — your eyes widen,, "are you okay with this, pretty?" he asks, his tone coming off more kind and soft, it's almost like a whisper. "treat me like the slut i am, jakey" — "is that so?"

you don't understand why, but his voice makes your core keep tingling. you choke over your own words, making jake smirk. "on your knees, pretty girl" he demands, and you reciprocate immediately, getting on your knees on the floor, as jake slouches on the couch, you can see his raging boner under his sweatpants — and holy shit. your hands hurried pull down his pants, quietly gasping at his length, making him smirk. "too big for your pretty little mouth, mhm? too bad, baby". you wrap your hand around his cock, jake's own hand enveloping yours, "fuck slut, cmon, it's all yours" he uses your hand to stroke himself up and down, jerking himself off while you look up at him with glazed eyes. "f-fuck baby, your hand feels so good, mind letting me how your pretty mouth feels?"

you would never ever deny, wrapping your lips around his cock, your tongue eagerly licking and teasing his cock, making him grunt. "d-don't tease, baby". jake suddenly felt your lips sliding up and down the head of his length, feeling his cock hit the back of your neck. jake groans when you take him deeper, and deeper into your mouth. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his hands then going to the back of your head, holding you as he starts thrusting his hips unintentionally. you almost gag, but you control it. as jake pushes his dick down your throat for one last time, he lets go. his cum filling your mouth, and dripping down your chin, "fucking hell, baby. you look so pretty my baby" he says, picking you up. you'd think as a nerd, jake wouldn't have time to work out, but you were so wrong. he was rather . . . strong, to your surprise.

taking you to his bedroom, he wastes no time. "i'm asking just to be sure, though you're clearly more than ready, but-- can i do this, baby? fill your cunt to the brim, baby?" he asks softly, putting you down on his bed. "please, jakey, please..." is all you could say, and that's all it took him to undress you, not taking your skirt off, you tug at your skirt, but he puts your hand away. "what?"

"want the skirt on" he simply answers,

"you have a thing for skirts?"

"just on you, i guess" he awkwardly chuckles.

"should wear them more often"

"that-- that, you should"

he kisses you, "day dreamt about this, baby, got off to the thought of you so many times" he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "on your stomach for me, please, pretty?"

what can he say? he can't get over the thought of fucking you in a skirt

and, let's just say, assignment completed !

viv's note 💌: thank you for waiting so patiently for this, lovies. hope yall like it. and before u complain about the ending!!! i wanna give you guys a separate smut drabble of that instead of having it here! hope you all aren't disappointed:/ love u guys sm<3

taglist: @strayy-kidz @raelyaa @myspamera @spabrin @ikaw-at-ikaw @kenzory @yaatrickyaaa @nakedsim @heelvsted @isa-2007 @keepingupwithjaeyun @jellyporo @woooooya @sussyjake @jaeyunology @maryismad @maoyueze tagged some of my moots too ♡

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tojisun · 4 months

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!! hurt and comfort; simon’s pov (re: bimbo!reader); mentioned johnny; dark simon but only if u squint very hard // work is a continuation of this one ^v^ // bimbo!reader mlist

divider by @/plutism <33

simon noticed how quiet you’ve gotten, demure smiles and puffed out laughs never breaching past the first trickles of giggles. you seemed distracted, eyes glazing over and your fingers pausing from where they were playing with the loose threading of your sweater.

well, technically it was his, but you’ve long stolen it from his bunk and simon truly would rather cut off his arms than ask it back from you.

simon waits, mulling over how to approach you, how to talk to you when you're obviously worried about something, but then you take the first step.

“simmy, why’re you with me…?”

the hesitation in your voice makes him ache, his heart wrenching itself from the cages of his ribs, threatening to smother him with his grief. he parts his lips open, a question on the tip of his tongue — "who made you doubt my love?" — but he holds himself back, choosing instead to take your hand in his.

you look up at the first touch of his fingers along the back of your palm, the pads of his fingers gliding softly, tentatively, before reaching to tangle them with yours. simon's breath hitches at the weak smile that tugs up at your lips, a wet sheen lining the corners of your eyes.

"oh, petal," simon murmurs, pulling your hand up to his lips so he can press a kiss along the ridges of your knuckles. he earns a wet giggle as you shoot him a shy look, surreptitiously holding back your tears, and simon briefly wonders if you can feel your nose twitching because of your aborted sniffles.

"i'm with you 'cause i love you."

he shifts when he says this, giving himself more room to use his other hand — greedily reaching forward to cup your cheek, thumbing the skin just underneath your eye.

"you understand?"

it is a gentle prodding, one that he hopes was able to hide his own hesitance because if you are doubting his love, if you are questioning why he is with you, then-

then.

does that mean he isn't showing it enough?

simon breathes in sharply, his own world caving in, and it is only the hold he has on you that keeps him tethered. his mind runs on overdrive, the what-if's a catalyst to his unstoppable spiral: what does he need to change? how else can he show you his affections? how else can he reassure you? what can chase away your doubts?

simon's fear grows, threatening to creep up from the base of his throat and to spill into the space between you two, but even so, he forces himself to stay steady. to hold onto you just as gently.

he can process this later on his own — confide in mactavish if he needs to — but right now, in this moment, simon needs to comfort you.

to show you that his promises — "yeah, sweetheart. you and me, together forever." — are true. that he will fulfill them.

that-

"yeah," you reply, voice less wobbly but not any less unsure. "i understand and trust you, simmy, i do! it's just that they..."

simon's gait changes, his trained ears picking apart your mumbled words.

'they.'

someone did this. someone had tainted simon's love for you; made you doubt his intentions. worse, someone made you doubt yourself.

"shh," simon coos, pulling away just a bit before finally picking you up from your spot beside him and dropping you gently on his lap.

your arms loosely curl over his shoulders, hips swaying as you make yourself comfortable on top of him. simon's hands find purchase on your ass, not really doing anything salacious, especially not with this atmosphere, but only holding on to ensure that you don't wiggle yourself to the floor on accident.

you're watching him with big doe eyes, looking all parts his princess even when sadness continues to reverberate from you. simon presses forward to rub his nose against your own, startling a squeak from you — a distraction before his careful questioning.

"tell me everythin' from the start, petal," simon whispers. "let me help you, yeah?"

"okay," you sniffle, nodding softly.

and you do: you tell him about noah thompson, the frat boy who couldn't take "no" for an answer and insisted on bothering you even when you told him that you were taken. that you were spoken for. you told him about noah who insisted that the perfect match for you was someone you could be with everyday — "he taunted me, simmy. asked why you're never around." — and, especially, someone younger. you told him about noah who, in his frustration at your continuous rejection, began to steer hatred your way; calling you "dumb" and "stupid" and "easy."

the last one was said in a hiccupped cry and simon was quick to wrap you up in his embrace, tucking you underneath his chin and murmuring promises and reassurances because you are not dumb nor stupid nor fucking easy.

gods. you are such a perfect girl, the sweetest of them all. the kindest. the loveliest.

and noah knows. that is why, shrouded in his jealousy after seeing the token of his affection be so protective of her lover, he said those things to you. but simon doesn't say that. he doesn't craft anything that could make it look like he's making an excuse for noah's disgusting attitude. so instead, he remains quiet as you pick up your words again.

because, finally, simon is presented with the root of your sadness: noah telling you that simon could only ever be with you for your body.

"i told him you couldn't be because if you're only with me for my body then, simmy, you would've left a long time ago! you wouldn't spoil me and mitty," simon almost coos at the new nickname you gave mittens, "and you wouldn't introduce me to your friends! you wouldn't take me out to see the penguins or go to the butterfly gardens with me. and that's just some of the stuff i remember because you do so much for me but he won't listen!"

simon isn't shocked by the sob that ripples from your lungs as you press your face on the crook of his neck, crying out in your frustration. simon's own lips wobble, his previous self-doubt now crushed at having heard you protect him with such ferocity. at having believed in him with such confidence.

he rubs your back with his palms, unwavering in the flow of his praises and comfort. he presses a kiss on the top of your head, then your temple, before planting multiple along your damp face. you try dancing away from his lips with another wet huff before finally collapsing in his arms in your exhaustion.

"i'm sorry for askin', simmy," you mumble. "i know you love me but-"

"s'all right, petal. y've got nothin' to say sorry for," simon replies, tightening his arms around you. "i'm glad that you came to me and asked. i promised you, didn't i? that we'll take things together, as a team?"

"mhmm," you say with a soft nod. "as a team."

"that's right. you and me: a team."

you crash on his lap and simon basks in the quiet seconds before carrying you to the bedroom. he tucks you underneath the sheets, making a mental note that he has to come back and at least wipe your makeup off and, if he takes a while, then wake you up just enough that you can wash your face.

but for now, he has things to do.

fishing his phone out, simon shoots a message to johnny: "find me something on noah thompson."

"how much?" johnny writes back.

"enough that he won't bother petal anymore," simon replies.

a minute rolls by when johnny messages him again, "we've got something." then, "will she know?"

simon hums to himself. "no," he writes back.

johnny doesn't send in any more replies, but simon understands. no more needs to be said, anyway. not when it's about you.

tagging: @ghostsbimbo @kenz-ee @yannauauau @yaebaal @ivymarquis @liwooa @loonalockley @kariiiel @hawsx3 @durkakakayata @littlecellist

#suns.f #bimbo!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #female reader #suns

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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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eldritchravens · 2 months

Text

Welcome Home - The Homewarming Update : A compilation of the secrets I could find

⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD!⚠️

This post is simply a compilation of all the things I could find during my exploration of the website. I'm not going to delve too much into theories. Enjoy the read!

1- Statics

Every background is now filled with statics. I tried zooming out but I couldn't find anything. Not really a secret, but still interesting to note.

2- It's a dog! Oh, and a pea!

Found in the "Official Welcome Home Cook Book" in the merchandise page. I am... A little worried about Barnaby. For those who are aware, the pea is foreshadowing for a much bigger secret.

3- Audio distortion

Surprisingly, I was only able to find one instance where the audio distorts. In the "Homewarming Storybook Record", when Wally speaks here (timestamp is 18:16), the audio gets distorted. Please let me know if you found more audio glitches on the main website!

4- The page is breathing

I was able to capture something that made my skin crawl. Look very closely at this illustration. It's... breathing. I'm unsure if any other image in the website does that too. Very troubling.

5- Lost track of time

Uh-oh! Looks like our beloved writer is losing their perception of time itself. An effect of the black substance maybe? You can find this on the News page.

6- Pixels? Smudges? Oh, and a new friend!

In The Neighboorhood page, Home now has little white pixels around him? I'm unsure if this was intentional or not. Interestingly, the secret link under Home dissapeared along with every other traces of Wally.

The logo on certain pages looks... dirty? Look closely, there are brownish stains on some letters. This doesn't appear everywhere.

And! New friend! Hello new friend!

7- Symbols!

Okay, now onto the main course. Something I think we've all noticed straight away! There's a ton of tiny little doodles splattered around the website. The doodles are all named after a letter. Here is every letter translated from their respective symbol you can find on the website :

Home : M I O A Merchandise : P Y E R Media : Y G About us : A R Stickers : E News : T Neighboorhood : S F N E Wally : W Exhibition : N Ghestbook : W W W Transcript : Y

"www" huh? Interesting, like a web link. At first, all of this doesn't really mean anything, until we stumble upon this!

Fascinating, it's a code! Eddie here is giving us the translation to every single doodle. Next, if we solve the question here "What does Home wear at parties?", it gives us the next clue we need. The answer is "ADDRESS". Address? Now, remember the "www" thing? That's right! We need to assemble the letters we found to make a link!

8- Away from Prying Eyes

After assembling a link, you will be able to visit a secret page. In it is by far the biggest secret in this update : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/

When I tell you I lost my marbles when I discovered this. There is a lot to say here! Firstly, one thing to note is that unlike any other secrets we had found in previous updates, Wally didn't put this here. Instead, it was this mysterious "W". Go read the whole thing! It's PACKED with information!

"W" purposely put this here for US to find. W is in distress, confused and scared; this looks like a call for help.

Might or might not be important, but the word "Paranoid" here starts with a capital. It did catch my eye, so maybe it is noteworthy.

This entire phone call is absolutely fascinating and gives us answers about the lore. I highly recommend people to give it a listen : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/phone

AND THIS??? OH MY GOODNESS!!! Clown is spoiling us with gifts for this Homewarming! Truly, thank you Clown and the whole WH team, you're doing such a marvelous job. Watch the whole thing here : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/commercials

And what's this hidden among the commercials? Eddie! Remember how I said the pea was foreshadowing? Eddie can hear Home's heartbeat. Well, our dearest mailman doesn't look too well :( Thankfully Frank seems to be looking out for him!

_________________________

Important things to note: This update is almost completely void of any trace of Wally infesting the website. The symbols were placed by the website manager here. Wally is not there anymore. Also, Eddie is purposely left out of the main update, only to be the center of attention in the commercial compilation.

Well! That's all I managed to find for now! Please let me know in the replies if I've missed anything. Thank you for reading, and Happy Homewarming! <3

Edit : Added some new things I just noticed!

#welcome home #partycoffin #welcome home update #welcome home secrets #welcome home puppet show #welcome home homewarming #homewarming #welcome home wally #welcome home home #welcome home eddie

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yanderenightmare · 9 months

Note

can you expand on your idea of bully ! Tsukishima from haikyuu??? please, it sounded delicious uwu

Haikyuu!! IMAGINE

Tsukishima Kei x darling

TW: NSFW, dubcon, exhibitionism, "fingering in public"

DINKERBELL

“Tch- look at you sitting here like a bookworm~”

His words snuck up on you from behind, making you suck in a gasp where you sat, concentrating in the quiet library with a pen in your notes and your nose in a textbook – shrinking in your seat under the mean glare of the librarian who told you to hush.

“Who’re you tryna fool, huh?” Tsukishima crudely continued in spite of it, gripping the back of your chair while leaning over – his lips brushing the shell of your ear while he whispered. “Everyone knows you’re just a pretty pair of tits on legs- tch, no one expects there to be any actual brains in here.”

You pursed your lips with furrowed brows and rose from your chair, casting a sour look up at him through the slim glasses he looked down at you through – his face soft but with a sly smirk curling his lips.

You didn’t have time to humor him, you thought while gathering your books into your bag – this assignment wouldn’t figure itself out, no matter how hard you wished it would.

“Aw, come on~ you know I'm just joking~” He stopped you – snatching the textbook out from your flimsy grip and lifting it higher than you could reach.

“It's not very funny, Kei.” You sulked. Halfheartedly grabbing after your book, knowing you wouldn’t reach it either way.

“It’s funny to me.” He replied with a cock of his chin. “Besides, it’s not really my fault you make yourself such an easy target.” Smirk spreading while he glibbed, lazily lowering the book again with eyes giving you a patronizing leer. “You need my help, right?”

You bit your lip, shifting between looking up into his knowing eyes and the heavy calculus book weighed in his palm – then the assignment on the desk. Thinking about how long you’d sat there, pulling on your hair and chewing your pen, stuck on the same equation.

You gave a defeated huff, sitting back down in surrender – and he offered a soft chuckle, pulling up a chair right beside you, opening the book to the right chapter.

Your pout never dropped as he started tutoring – staring at the formulas he pointed to with worried eyes, twiddling your pen unsurely with a growing storm of hopeless confusion festering in your head.

You felt close to crying when his arm went from resting on the back of your chair to slipping between you, hand brushing your thigh – traveling beneath your skirt slowly, soon with fingers stroking the warm fabric of your panties.

“Kei…” You whined lowly. “Not here…” Begging with bashful eyes fluttering shyly around the library, terrified that anyone would see.

“You seem distracted… Maybe you want me to tutor you in something else, hm?” He ignored you, keeping his hand tucked between your thighs even as you tried closing them – running his long fingers up and down, teasing your slit through the thin cotton, smiling once feeling you get damp. Despite acting all cute and demure, you’re always so easy.

“We’re in the library, Kei...” You protested, keeping your voice hushed – cheeks heating as your breath flared, trying to keep your hips still.

“Yeah? What better place for you to learn something new?” He said playfully, not bothering with lowering his voice like you as his finger hooked around the trail of your panty and pulled it to the side. “You just need to stay quiet. Shouldn't be hard for someone who never has anything worthwhile to say anyway.”

“Tsukki-” You nagged with an insisting whine, rubbing your knees together to keep him away. Embarrassed and nervous and now hot and bothered – you choked on your heart, praying no one else in the quiet library had taken notice of the two of you.

“Spread wider.” He ordered, unbothered by your concerns – making you yelp with a strict pinch to the inside of your thigh when you didn’t obey. He clicked his tongue. “I told you to keep quiet- I'm not going to detention all because your dumb mouth couldn’t figure out how to shut up.”

You only whimpered with another breath, giving in to his wishes – sinking your teeth into your lip while opening your legs with a quickening heartbeat.

“There you go- good dummy~” He praised, now with a finger diving through your wet slit, up between your swelling pussylips to rub against your perky clitty.

You moaned under your breath, feeling lightheaded and fuzzy and warm. Withholding further sighs and lusty sounds by biting into your lip, making them come out as petty whimpers instead. Thighs quaking where you fought to keep them open despite the burn in your loins telling you to clamp them shut tight to ride the pleasure that soon washed through you.

“You know… it's okay to be stupid as long as you’re useful in other ways.” He teased – his eyes set on your expression, watching it curl in bliss as you soaked his fingers with slick. Offering a curt chuckle. “And I can think of plenty ways I want to use you.”

He wiped his fingers on your panties and pulled them back in place, patting your cunt in kudos before getting up.

You were left softly blinking, catching your damp breaths while slowly coming to – enough to see him packing up.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a rush. The half-finished assignment spread on the desk sobering you up – enough to make you pull your thighs back together and send the worry back into your hopeless eyes.

“I gotta spell everything out for you, don’t I?” He sighed, acting exasperated before a grin crept up his face like before.

He bent down until his face was but a hairs length from yours, one big hand laid flat on the textbook on the desk, balancing him as he curled a finger under your chin.

“You and I take this assignment back to my place- I finish it for you, and then…” He paused, drumming his fingers on the pages while giving his teeth a quick lick. “I finish you right after.”

You bit your lip in turn, watching him pull his bag up on his shoulder while lifting the book for you to take.

“Sound good?” He asked then, waiting for you with a raised brow.

Smiling once you took the book in both hands with a cute nod to your head.

“Then hurry it up, Dinkerbell.”

tip-jar: Kofi

#yandere tsukishima #yandre kei tsukishima #yandere kei #yandere tsukishima kei #bully tsukishima #tsukishima smut #haikyuu #yandere haikyuu #haikyu smut #kei tsukishima #kei tsukishima smut #kei tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki #tsukki x reader #tsukki smut #tsukki x you

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bagdaddyb · 7 months

Text

Self Centered

Summary: Wednesday realizes just how self-centered she has been. (reader has powers connected to nature)

Pairing: fem!Reader x Wednesday

Warning: slight angst

AN: Love the Wednesday character. Cold emotionless cutoff while also sadistic mean and cruel

"No Wednesday."

Those were the words you'd muttered to the girl before disappearing into the crowd. No. Wednesday was almost unsure how to process it. Since she'd came to this school of miscreants there hadn't been a single person not willing to bend to her will and since you'd started.... whatever it is you have with Wednesday you'd never turned away from any of her desires. So what changed? By the time Wednesday has recovered from the blatant rejection you're long gone and she's left to do nothing but return to Ophelia hall. She goes over the whole interaction again, taking note of your slumped shoulders and baggy eyes. You weren't yourself today, honestly if Wednesday truly thought about it you hadn't been yourself for some time. How long had it been since your demeanor changed? You don't smile at her anymore, you never seek her attention. When was the last time she'd spoken to you before today? She's been so caught up trying to investigate her stalker that she's completely neglected other parts of her life. Entering her shared room she's unsurprised and slightly disappointed to see Enid laying in her bed speaking with Thing.

"I just don't think this color suits your skin tone, the lighter green would go much better."

Thing taps and signs in response causing Enid to gasp.

"You take that back."

Upon hearing the door close the blonde's attention is grabbed eyes locking with black ones.

"Hey Weds, how's the investigation? Did (Y/N) agree to head into the forest with you tonight?"

"No."

The ravenette says as she neatly deposits her things on her side of the room moving towards her desk chair to start her writing hour.

"I'm not surprised."

Enid lets out in response gaze moving back to the display of nail polishes she put out for Thing to choose from. This catches Wednesday's attention, turning in her chair she burns Enid with her glare.

"Why is that?"

"Well she literally almost died during your last 'investigation' when she was stabbed and said "I'm never helping you again Wednesday Addams" while I stitched her up."

Before she continues Enid lets out a sigh muttering she's gonna kill me under her breath before continuing.

"And I'm going to tell you this because you're my best friend, (Y/N) has been unhappy for some time. You treat her more like your minion than partner. You drag her along on these dangerous stunts where she almost always gets hurt yet you never put forth any effort into the relationship, the last few things she's agreed to have been purely because thats the only way she gets to spend time with you. She is tired of it all being one sided so you need to get your act together unless you want to loose this relationship you pretend to not care about."

As Enid speaks its like a light bulb pops above Wednesday's head, recalling past encounters, conversations, and arguments she now finds herself feeling conflicted over. Standing abruptly Wednesday leaves her room, completely disregarding Enid and her writing hour. She needed to find you. It was never her intention to use you, or was it? She'd been approaching this like she would approach anything else but she now realizes that in and of itself is the problem. This isn't anything else. As much as she will deny it she cares for you in a way that is completely foreign to her. Arriving at your dorm room she knocks three times. Waiting only thirty seconds before knocking again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

Wednesday bites back her snarky remarks when Bianca opens your shared dorm door. The siren does nothing to hide her disgusted face in turn.

"(Y/N) isn't here. She's always in the gardens during this time. Of course you'd know that if you cared about anyone other than yourself."

That is all the ravenette gets before the door is slammed in her face, Wednesday's eyebrows furrow as she turns on her heel. Just how self centered had she been? In her eight months of knowing you and five months of courting she'd learned little to nothing about you. Besides physical attributes and your general knowledge Wednesday never made an effort to get to know you better lazer focused on the hyde investigation then later her stalker you were always kept on the back burner. For the first time in her life guilt washes over her and it makes her bristle. Her feet move quickly towards the garden, entering she doesn't even have to look following your voice carrying through the flowers. Wednesday can't help the way her lips turn in disgust as she walks, the garden was to bright countless flowers planted aimlessly with no value yet she couldn't deny the health of the garden. Every flower in bloom properly watered and glowing. Coming around a corver she sees why observing you as you sang along the the music coming from your phone. You fingers were at work using your powers to meticulously grow different flowers and plants in healthy soil. You worked diligently so immersed in it that you fail to notice the brooding aura observing you. You fill the flower box you're working on with purple lillies a beautiful contrast to the blue bachelor buttons in the box next to it. Stepping back you observe your work humming in approval before turing to head to a different part of the garden. The moment you spin you freeze eyes meeting black ones you'd never once seen in the garden before. You are truly at a loss of words at the girls presence as she'd never once seeked your company and for a moment you consider pinching yourself. Surely this must be a dream.

"Wednesday? Ummmmm.... what are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize."

Okay now you were sure you were dreaming. You look around before pinching yourself.

"I must be living in the matrix."

You say before looking around again. Not sure if this is true reality. Silence envelopes both of you as Wednesday stares realizing she's never truly had to apologize. Especially not of her own volition. She's stumped on what to say or do but you don't wait long scoffing you begin to walk past the ravenette.

"If this is your way of apologizing spare me."

Wednesday stays quiet denying herself the mean and witty response knowing it wouldn't help her situation as she starts to form words in her brain she follows you past a dead section of the garden three planters tucked away in the middle of the garden that you don't even glance at as you continue foreward. Wednesday pauses for a moment taking in the uncared for section in contrast to the overly cared for garden before moving to quickly catch up with you.

"(Y/N) I apologize for my previous actions. As surprising as it may be I have not realized the fault until now. You are more than my pawn but I have failed to treat you as such. So I hope you can forgive me."

You merely hum in response not taking your eyes off the planter you stood infront of.

"Ok Wednesday."

You dig your figures in the soil trying to decide what would look best in the array of colors before you. Wednesday can tell her words have little affect and the fact that she may of already lost you causes her stomach to unsettle. Not easily detered she sticks around watching you mend the soil before speaking up again.

"That patch back there full of dead plants, why did you walk right past it? You seem very keen on keeping everything else in the garden grown and healthy."

You jump when she speaks honestly surprised that she was still there.

"Ummmm.."

You hesitate before releasing a sigh and turning to face Wednesday.

"It was a patch of flowers I grew for you when we first began our relationship. I grew them in the beginning as a gift symbolizing the start of our bond. I was going to show them to you the first time I invited you to the garden but as your rejections grew harsher and the light of what our relationship truly was shined brighter..... I stopped caring for the flowers. Now the bushes are barren and dead yet still as symbolic as ever."

You release another sad sigh eyes dropping to the ground before turning back towards the soil.

"If you don't mind Wednesday I'd like to be alone. I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to."

More important. The words Wednesday used everytime you've invited her to the garden. Everytime you've asked to spend time together in Jericho. Everytime you've tried to have conversation about anything other than her current obsession. Everytime you tried to engage her in a subject or activity revolving around you. She'd made you feel unimportant.

"No I don't."

Wednesday pauses a moment unhappy with how unstable her voice sounded.

"While I have failed to prove it in the past you are the most important thing in my life. I...... care for you deeply and I do not wish for our relationship to be forgetten, barren, and dead. This is all new to me..... these feelings, this bond.... but I won't allow myself to be held back by my lack of knowledge. So I will sit here all night if I have to. Today, tomorrow, and the next if that is what it takes for you to forgive me."

Your vision becomes cloudy as tears form in your eyes, the once grey sky becoming dark with clouds and as the first drop falls so does your first tear. This was all you ever wanted, effort. Tears fall as your heart pounds in your chest after finally being showed you meant something to the Addams girl and if that wasn't enough the feeling of a hand wrapping around your forarm was.

"I'm sorry mon cher."

Another apology things that were unknown from Wednesday Addams coupled with physical contact something you'd never experienced from the girl.

"I forgive you."

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednsday addams #maybe the beginning of something more #bagdaddyb

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gilmore-angel · 1 year

Text

unexpected pleasures || A.T x fem!reader

summary ♱ reader has just wed the infamous aemond targaryen, and though she's nervous, she will soon discover there are many pleasurable things to come (tldr reader gets finger fucked good)

warnings/contains ♱ arranged marriage, awkwardness at first, smut obvi, sub!reader dom!aemond, fingering, praise kink!! use of good girl, pretty girl, wife. overall very fluffy!! soft!aemond<3. let me know if I should add anything else!!

authors note ♱ okok this is probably trash but I'm literally forcing myself to write rn<3 lol anyways this is also my first time actually writing for aemond which is crazy bc I've been obsessed with him since like early January💀. if you enjoy please reblog! likes are obviously appreciated but reblogs are the thing that actually help the writer<3 oh and lmk if you want a part two!!

navigation 𔓕 follow and turn on notifications for @baysfics to know when I post my writings

married life isn't so bad after all.

of course, you've only been married for about three hours now, but it's going better than expected, which at this point is all you can hope for.

your new husband, prince aemond, has been quite pleasant thus far. you have only had roughly six full conversations since you were betrothed two months ago, but based off of them he was very polite and well educated.

though you had dreaded the wedding day, everything had gone smoothly. the ceremony itself was a big event, full of lords and ladies you didn't even know the house of, all eager to get on the new princesses good side. and of course there was the kiss you shared with aemond, one that sent an unknown feeling through you, settling at your lower belly. and now, the grand feast to celebrate the union.

it had less people there, only family and the very important houses were allowed to attend. you sat at the table in the middle, sitting in the center along with your husband. on your other side sat your father, mother and siblings, the same went for aemond. your husband stayed mostly silent during the feast, only speaking when spoken to.

your belly slightly ached with nerves for what was coming next; the bedding. thankfully, the queen had insisted upon a private bedding, just as she did for her other children when they wed. the action soothed your nerves a bit, but they still clung to you.

you had been warned by your mother that the bedding was an uncomfortable and painful process for the woman. but she also informed you that it is something all woman must do to please their lord husband and produce heirs.

you felt your heart sink when the king stood up weakly to announce it was time for you and aemond to head to your chambers. you both stood up and gave your goodbyes, your mother giving you a reassuring smile before you left.

there was an awkward silence as you walked with your husband to your chambers, escorted by guards. you glanced at him, only to see him looking straight ahead, blank expression on his handsome face.

once you arrived the guards pushed open the heavy wooden doors. you gave them a small smile in thanks before aemond dismissed them. as the doors closed aemond let out a small shaky sigh, you couldn't tell if it was out of nervousness or dread. you both stood awkwardly, unsure of where to begin. he spoke first, breaking the deafening silence.

"would you like help taking down your hair?" he blurted out. you nodded, giving him a awkward small smile.

"please," you moved past him to sit at the vanity. you began taking out the many odd placed pins and braids in your hair. aemond came up from behind you to start assisting in the process. the feeling of his long fingers in your hair made up for the times he would accidentally tugged too hard trying to take down the hairstyle. you both worked in silence, the only word spoken was his occasional 'sorry's when he would notice you wince.

now that your hair was down, the room was once again filled with an thick silence. eventually you stood up, turning to face him. you sucked in a breath, looking up at him nervously.

"should i..... should I remove my clothes, my prince?"

his eyes widened at the question, but he nodded, "yes, my lady... I can help."

he moved behind you, undoing the laces of the dress with shaky fingers. the gorgeous dress fell to the floor, pooling around your feet. you stepped out of the dress, leaving you in a silky shift and small clothes. you felt quite vulnerable as you begun taking your shift off, even more so once it was gone.

aemond let out a shaky breath at the sight of you in nothing but your small clothes. he looks up and down your body, desire filling his eye. he walks closer to you, looking deep into your eyes.

"may I kiss you, my lady?" he asked, his usual cold tone gone, now replaced with a soft, caring one. you nod, eyes wide.

aemond smiled softly before leaning down and kissing your soft lips. this kiss was unlike the other one you both had shared just hours before. this one was out of pure want, not obligation.

you gasp softly against his lips when he deepened the kiss, your hands flying up to his strong shoulders. his hands found home on your hips. he pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips, "is this okay?"

you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes. "yes, my prince, I just... I don't really know how to do this properly."

he smiles at you softly, moving one of his hands to caress your cheek gently.

"that's okay, just copy what I do, okay?"

he leans back in, kissing at a slow pace. his lips are soft and warm against your own. you feel something wet poking at your bottom lip and soon realize it's his tongue. you open your mouth slightly and gasp when he slides his tongue in, exploring where he can reach. the sensation causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips.

he begins pushing you backwards gently until the back of your knees hit the edge of the plush bed behind you, causing you to lay down on it. to your surprise, aemond gets on his knees before you and pulls you down so your legs hang off the bed. leaning up on your elbows you look down at him extremely confused. "my prince... what are you doing?"

he simply smiled and blushed, "let me know if you wish to stop, okay my lady?". his big calloused hands went up and down your thighs, pulling them apart. you laid back, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. his hands eventually found their way to your small clothes.

"may I remove these, my lady?" one hand continued rubbing you thigh gently. you hum and nod. that wasn't good enough apparently and aemond lightly pinched your thigh. "words, wife. I need to hear some words out of those pretty lips."

you blushed deeply, taking a deep breath, "yes, please take them off."

he smiles, murmuring under his breath "good girl". you felt a tingle in your lower belly, growing each time he touched or talked to you.

he carefully slid your small clothes off, throwing them somewhere in the room. he sucked in a big breath at the sight of your bare cunt. you squirmed slightly, his gaze lighting you on fire almost.

"may I touch you, wife?" he spoke softly, a poorly hidden desire behind the words.

you nod but quickly remember what he told you. "yes, you may."

with one hand he softly rubbed your thigh, with the other he rubbed one finger up and down your lips, pushing past them and exploring the wet outside. your back slightly arched at the unknown but not unwelcomed feeling. he moved his finger higher until he found your clit. a high pitched whimper escaped your lips at his soft but achingly good touch.

he looked up at you with a sweet smile. "does that feel nice, wife?". his finger moved in gentle circles, pressing ever so slightly.

a few breathy whimpers and moans slipped out of your mouth. "yes," you breathed, "so so nice..."

he let out a hmm, continuing his movements. he moved his finger up and down, gathering your wetness and then spreading it around your sensitive clit. as he rubbed on your bundle of nerves, his other hand came up, softly pressing against your slit.

"this may feel strange, my lady, but I promise it'll feel so good soon, okay?" he pushed a long thick finger into your previously untouched hole, groaning at how tight you were. your back arched off the bed as a loud moan rang around the room. he slowly started moving it in and out, sending waves of pleasure through your body when he curled his finger upwards. your gummy walls tightened around him, almost as tight as he cock felt in his trousers.

he looked up to see your reaction, smiling when he saw your head thrown back in pleasure. soft whimpers left your mouth as his movements quickened.

"may I add a second finger, sweet girl?" something about the way he said the affectionate name sent chills down your spine as you slightly bucked against his hand.

"hmmph, yes, yes please husband." he smirked as he added a second finger. he pumped them in and out fast, his other hand still focused on your puffy clit.

suddenly a new feeling hit you. like some sort of knot in your belly, ready to explode any second. a panicked expression washed over you at the strange sensation.

"aemond, aemond! something is, fuck, happening!" you cried desperately, clenching the sheets beneath you hard.

"shh, it's okay, it'll feel so good. just let it happen sweet girl." it was too much and too little, it was overwhelming yet you needed more. it hurt but felt so so right.

before you could reply waves and waves of pleasure washed over you, drowning you in the feeling of him. your whole body shook, hips bucking wildly into his hand. creamy white cum drooled onto his fingers and hand. he groaned at the sight and fucked you through your peak.

he eventually slid his hand out and climbed up the bed, hovering over you. he brought his cum covered fingers to you mouth, "open," he commanded softly, sucking in a shaky breath when you wrapped you lips around them. he pulled them out, moving to caress your cheek, "such a good girl."

he began kissing your neck, trailing his hand back down to your thighs. you whimpered sweetly causing him to chuckle.

"oh, sweet wife, we are just getting started."

#aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #bay writes🌻

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neonovember · 29 days

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OH MY GOD CARMYS GF (READER) GETTING HER FIRST TATTOO AND HIM COMFORTING HER AND HELPING HER TAKE CARE OF IT DURING THE HEALING PROCESS OR WHATEVA‼️💳💥💳💥 IDK I WAS JUST SITTING HERE AND THOUGHT OF IT IF YOU DOJT WANNA WRITE IT THATS OKAY

could even make the tattoo be his name or his initial or somethin 🤯🤯🤭😏

love you and your writing 😚

thanks for keeping us fed 😌

carmen berzatto x reader

okay so yes, maybe hozier has jolted me out of my writers block. i'm just a women after all.

Inked Devotion

this request was fun! i really didn't know what to make the tattoo so i left it a blank slate for whatever you wanna imagine, hope that's okay!

word count: 1.7k

things; tattoos, mentions of braces, carmen's unyielding devotion to you

Your eyes dart across the tall walls lined with inked models and men in dark beards nervously. You can't shake the tension that seems to imprint itself under your skin, your knees jittering with a rapid tap against the linoleum floors.

When you had brought up wanting to get a tattoo, a half joking mutter under your breath as you traced the many littered on Carmen’s body you hadn’t anticipated to actually go through with it.

And yet here you were, shaking like a leaf despite the diffuser jutting out whisper of eucalyptus that was meant to be calming. Whilst Monica, a woman you'd meant a handful of times ran through the list of after care necessities you should be listening to.

You can’t though, you don’t hear a thing as you stare unseeingly through the dark auburn tresses of her short hair, wrapped up in the thoughts that have begun to eat away at the already dwindling confidence you had when you first walked in.

“Hey, you still with me darlin’' Monica's Brooklyn drawl draws you back to her, and you duck your head sheepishly as you nod furiously. Like a goddamn high schooler getting caught looking out the window instead of listening to Hemingway.

Monica smiles toward you, humouring warmth filling her pale skin that, surprising to you, were incredibly stark of tattoos. In fact, if it weren’t for the posters taped to the walls, the black and white tiled floor, and the ominous tattoo bench in the corner you would have thought you walked it not the wrong place. It was stereotypical of you, and you had been a loud advocate for not judging a book by its cover, but goddamn, what tattoo parlour had potted plants and candles that smell like cinnamon?

“Sorry, uh, what did you say?”

“It’ll be alright, the pain really does depend on each person but Larry here will catch you if you faint on my tattoo bed” Monica winks with a smile, and you shift your gaze to the man stationed unmoving near some marked drawers, the mass of muscle hidden beneath dark jeans and a shirt bursting out of him.

It wasn’t the pain you were worried about, you had period cramps that sounded worse than that, it was more so the prospect of having your virgin skin imprinted with something forever. You had never done something like this, teenage recklessness had passed you by without a blink, and you had little to show for it but carved words on your old dresser from a knife and a dark eyeshadow phase that lasted less than a month.

It was a little pathetic, getting your first tattoo eons after any respectable age, and your trepidation seems blatantly clear as Monica shakes her head with a smile.

“Many people get their firsts well into adulthood, did I tell you about my last appointment? A 52 year old woman wanting a goddamn tramp stamp.”

You can't help but let a giggle out, the unsureness leaving you at Monica’s words

“You still want this right?’ Monica replies, and you shift your gaze to Carmen, who was already watching you fondly, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he pushes his golden strands back and gives you a nod

“It’s all up yo you gorgeous, if your having second thoughts there is a really good Thai place i wanted to che-”

“No, no I want this” You cut him off, and he chuckles softly, “Besides we already designed the stencil and everything” Carmen nods at that, placing his large palm onto your own, squeezing it with reassurance.

“Damn right we did, thinkin it's my best work yet” Monica chirps from the other side of the bed between you.

“Alright, just sit on that bed down there, get settles while I grab some things”

You nod, walking stiffly towards the leather bed, tissue paper crinkly under your weight as you shift into a comfortable position. Your eyes follow Monica like a laser, watching as she santises her hands and slides on powdered sterile gloves.

It reminds you of days spent in Dentists chairs, visions of rubbery fingers tightening wires into your teeth flashes behind the darkness of your lids. Funny, you had worried about your lack of experimental youth, and yet here you are now feeling like a kid again.

The thought makes you smile, and you open your eyes to feel the heated gaze of Carmen looming over you. Face distorting in horror when Monica’s tool makes a clatter, eyes widening comically in that way that always makes you laugh.

“Alright Doll, I’m just gonna need you to sit up for me whilst I get the skin prepped. Alcohols gonna feel a little cold to the touch, kay?” Monica says.

All you can do is nod as she rips open the matte packet, pressing it into your open skin shaved clean per her request a few prior. Who knew how much prep a tattoo would need, you were sure it was on par with even one of Carm’s dishes.

Unfortunately for you the only numbing cream useful for tattoos had something that would have made you break out in hives, so it was cold turkey for you. Monica had transformed the design into a stencil, and as she was transferring it into your skin it seemed to come to life all at once.

You had spent hours going over designs, and whilst you were extremely happy with what you both came up with, it was like when the lines and shapes had traced your skin, you finally saw it. And the moment you did you couldn't stop the wave of emotion that rushed through you, filling your eyes.

“Hey, baby, hey what is it” Carmen rushed urgently, crouching down when he noticed the way you sniffled.

“Awe doll, you don’t like the design? I’ll change it in a flash, this is just the stencil it aint permanent at all” Monica quickly stopped, looking up at you with concern

“No no, I’m fine” You squeezed Carmen “It’s so, it's beautiful Monica” You rushed out, trying to ease the lines of concern that appeared on her face. Monica bloomed at your reply, fondness heating her cheeks as she traced your skin comfortingly.

“Thank you” You whispered to her as she shushed you.

“At least we got the crying bit over and done with, it might hurt less now” She winked, before reaching for her tattoo gun.

“Ah shit” You grunted, shooting daggers Carmen's way when he snorted out loud.

Returning to your skin, Monica pressed the pointed tip of the gun to your skin, the first sink of ink burrowed into your skin causing you to clench your jaw.

Monica looked up to watch your expression with a smile,

“See, ain't too bad” Carmen replied before you gripped him white knuckled, making him wince regrettably.

It took some time, you won’t lie to yourself that is fucking hurt. But soon enough the sharp stab had resided to a dull ache, and you instead had become all too focused on the movement of Monica's hand swaying through the strokes of the design.

You were in awe, she breathed her being into it, and as the design took inches and inches of your skin you understood why she was booked out for months. With one last intricate curl, and a wipe of cleansing soap across the inked skin it was finished. Revealed to both you and Carmen's eyes in all its glory, and you both just stared.

“God, now I wish my first was as good as that instead of wonky stick and poke” Carmen said after a pregnant silence had passed.

“It..wow, yeah. Yep, I want to be buried with this” You said softly, giddiness erupting in your body as you shook your hand grasped in Carmens.

“I’m glad doll, I mean this is meant to be professional but goddamn does your skin just take it. Fuckin’ gorgeous” Monica replied, leaning back as she places the gun on the table near.

“Hey, I'll report you to HR” Carmen bitterly replies, moving you closer to his side as you laugh.

“It’s my business, I am HR” Muttering under her breath as she rolls her eyes. Wrapping your skin in adhesive sheets, Monica repeats the after care instructions, thankfully and this time you listen.

Carmen had already grabbed your things, motioning for you to start heading out after you both furiously thanked Monica for everything. You crinkled with joy as she hugged you, breathing in the smell of old spice and medical grade rubbing alcohol that followed her.

Her studded rings glistened in the afternoon sun as she waved you both goodbye, as you couldn't help but skip in your stride across the sidewalk. Finger tracing the raised blotted skin, whilst your other hand hung onto Carmen as he twirled you around.

“My gorgeous ink stained sweetheart” Carmen called to you, and you were brought back to his chest gently like a tide again.

“Thank you too, you know” You said into Carmen's cotton shirt. It was the one you got him after your first date, it had been a deep cobalt then. You regretted it just as you gave it to him, fearing you were being too forward. And then he wore it until it faded into a light blue.

“Wouldn't even have this forever on me if you hadn't been the one to bring it up again” You replied softly, fingers tracing his jaw.

“Would have spent a year learning how to tattoo myself if you wanted me too. Monica just seemed quicker” Carmen mumbled before you softly hit his chest with a smile.

“Hey, it’s true. Your skin deserves to be remembered, I could trace it till my fingers atrophied and I’d still have the memory of you under my skin memorised” Carmen divulged, eyelids drooping as he leaned down into your embrace.

You shake your head, heart panging so deeply it hurt till you pressed your lips to his. Tasting the outpour of Carmen that he let loose into you everyday.

And Carmen had stayed true to his words weeks later when it had healed, tracing it till his fingers weren't enough. Till he had to wrap his mouth around it and taste it with his tongue.

He swears even your inked skin tasted sweet.

tags <3 @parmforcarm @hansfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @nolita-fairytale

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spctrsgf · 8 months

Text

the cantina

summary: men at a cantina are never a good sign. luckily, you’ve got one small trick up your sleeve that you didn’t even know you had.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: f!reader (din uses the nickname “sweet girl,” I'M SORRY I COULDN'T PASS THE OPPORTUNITY UP), mentions of sex, protective din (deserves his own warning), fluffy as hell

a/n: i am SO sorry for my lack of activity, i've been so unbelievably unmotivated :((( here's an old fic i wrote because protective din has my heart and soul<3

“Hey.” Your head picks up at the sound of Din’s modulated voice, dragging you out of your head. The kid lets out a garble as your attention turns away from rubbing between his ears, but he quickly quiets when you resume your earlier motions. “Mhm?” Your eyes land on the thin strip of glass on his helmet in an attempt to hold his own gaze.

“Would you like to come with us?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “To?”

Din’s helmet lifts as if in confusion, and it seems to hit him that he never vocalized his plan. “Into town. I need to meet Karga and the kid needs food.”

You look down at the kid, his pearly black eyes now pleading, and relent almost instantly. “Sure.”

Din nods, leaning against the wall as you get yourself together. You could feel his eyes tracking your moves, even through the visor, but he wasn’t judging. Just observing. It’s slightly unnerving, but you try to let it slide off your back. Pulling on a light jacket and sealing the kid in his capsule, the three of you then head on your way.

You follow Din as he weaves diligently through both buildings and people, but it’s not like anyone’s really getting close. The locals lend you the courtesy of their attention as you pass, stopping to watch with folded emotion. Maybe they don't get many passersby here.

Nonetheless, the harsh stares punch and stab their tiny claws into you as you fold in on yourself. The new notion makes you unbearably uncomfortable. In contrast, Din stays tall in front of you, the beskar wrapped around him serving as a barrier.

You drop your head at the snarl of one man you made the mistake of connecting eyes with, picking up your pace. As your footsteps become mindless, your mind prepares to delve into itself with the questions you’d since busied yourself away from since leaving the Crest.

Why did he offer to take you with him?

Why was he talking to you now? He used to be so quiet.

Did he feel unsafe without you?

No, that wasn’t it. You couldn’t protect him half as well as he could on his own under all that armor. Hell, he was the one protecting you.

Was he worried about you?

No, let’s be realistic here. He’s worried about the kid, and the kid’s recently taken a liking to you. Din wasn’t worried about you, he didn’t return your feelings…

You yelp as you nearly run into the said man’s back, avoiding a gnarly bruise from the rocket he had strapped on. Din turns, and you take a step back with increasingly red cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t know we had stopped,” bubbles out of your mouth.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds open the door for you to step in. It wasn’t meant to be rude, you know; he just didn’t talk unless he had to.

But, he didn’t have to ask you if you wanted to come earlier, he could have just told you to-

You squash that thought as you step into the cantina, straightening your shoulders. The atmosphere squeezes the air out of your lungs as everyone turns towards you. Or more accurately, Mando.

He nudges you in gently as he sweeps past you, Karga already having his ecstatic greeting halfway out of his mouth.

You hover near the door, unsure of what to do. Sighing, you stride towards the bar, deciding to buy a drink and keep yourself occupied until Mando is done. You feel a cascade of eyes on you again, but this time, they’re on you for a different reason. You will your shoulders to not slump as you pull at your attire, now hating the way it hugged your form.

You gingerly place yourself on a barstool, ordering a random soda in a haste to have something to do. The bartender droid slides the drink to you, but before you can catch it, a hand reaches out to grab it.

“Put it on my tab.” The man next to you says as he plops himself onto the seat next to you. You reach out with a hand that shivers to grab the drink, meeting his gaze with a small smile.

“Thanks, but I can pay for it.”

The man shakes his head. “How could I let someone as stunning as you pay for it? Please, allow me.”

“Alright then. Thank you.” You take a sip of the drink. He seems nice enough.

“I’m Qui.” He holds his hand out.

You respond with your name, meeting him halfway to shake, but instead of doing that, he lifts your hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of it.

You swallow deeply, retracting your hand. Is he flirting with me? Your brain swirls with this newfound discovery. No, that’s bullshit, don’t push it. Your eyes flick across his face quickly before dropping down to your drink. He wasn’t that cute at all, really. You much prefer men that wear a beskar helmet and have a kid with big green ears.

…too specific?

You could feel Qui’s gaze on you as you watch the condensation drip down the side of your glass, hovering in places that make you squirm. Oh Maker. You shift uncomfortably, apparently wiggling too much for the man next to you. His hand shoots out to grip your arm alarmingly fast, and you freeze, unsure whether or not to push him off. “Aren’t you gonna finish that drink, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You hate that nickname.

You cough to clear the shake in your voice, turning to meet his intense purple eyes. “I’m okay, thanks. I actually have some business I need to attend to, but thanks for the chat. And the drink.” You turn to walk away, but his hand grips your arm harder, yanking you into his chest.

“I’ll come with you. Someone as attractive as you shouldn’t be walking home alone.” His eyebrows wiggles suggestively.

You shake your head, pulling away from him again. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a few blocks away.”

Qui puffs out his chest slightly. “Are you sure?”

You nod, expelling out a quick; “Yep!”

“Could I get a method of contact then, love?”

Love. You only want to hear that one from one person's mouth, and it definitely wasn’t Qui’s.

“Uh, maybe another time?” You back up slightly, unsure of how to reject someone when it’d been so long since you’d been asked.

Qui surges forward and grips your arms again. “C’mon, please? You know you wanna meet up with me again.”

Maker, how big is this man’s ego? It certainly wasn’t helping that everyone’s now turning to watch the scene unfold in front of them, none even thinking of reaching out a helping hand.

You yank yourself from his hands, taking on a sense of urgency. “No. I said no.”

Qui’s face twists into a sour frown, jutting out a quip of your name and then “Give me fucking something to contact you with.”

“N-“

Qui leans in, and you could smell the foul smell of alcohol reeking from his breath. “I said give me something. I won’t ask again.”

“Please stop.” You put your hands up and step back, beads of sweat rolling down your back.

“Give it!” He yells, and if people weren’t looking then, they sure are now.

You decide that words weren’t going to get through to this man, no matter how hard you tried. Frozen in place, you brainstorm as quickly as you could. You need something that would threaten him, or even someone-

“Is there a problem here?”

Ah. Like that.

You hear Mando come up behind you, jumping slightly when his hand grips the side of your waist as he comes to stand next to you. Qui frowns, muttering your name in confusion. “Who’s this-“

“I’m a Mandalorian.” Mando didn’t offer his hand out, only a tilt of the helmet.

“Well yeah, I see that-“ he turns to you with a sickeningly sweet smile. “C’mon, you're hanging with him? Ya haven’t even seen his face, I bet.”

Mando’s hand tightens around your waist, and if looks could kill, Qui’d be fucking dead. A pile of fucking bones.

You surge out of Mando’s grip in a wave of anger, coming up to Qui’s chest. “I don’t need to see his face to know he’s not a fucking asshole like you.”

Qui’s smile only falters for a few seconds before it renews even brighter. “Ah, I’m an asshole like this? Because you might be saying something different if you and I left right now.”

Qui’s hand raises to grip your hip, but you’re being yanked backwards into a metal covered chest before he can do so much as move. Your shoulders relax as you puff out breaths of air, coming down from your surge of anger. Mando wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you both diligently out of the cantina, dropping a few credits to a waitress on your way.

The walk back to the ship is quiet, and you’d assume Mando is upset at you if it weren’t for the hand that grips your shoulder tightly. You and the kid are ushered in before Mando closes the hull door almost aggressively.

You busy yourself with situating the kid as Mando watches the door close, silent. The green eared menace is already half asleep, so you don’t bother taking him out of his pod, only wrapping a blanket around him.

You go to turn around to plot the coordinates to your next destination, knowing that Mando is preoccupied in the depths of his helmet, but when you turn, you nearly bump into the said man.

His hands fly to your cheeks in a millisecond, tilting your face left and right as if you had just been in a fight. You let him turn you around to fully assess you, confused at display of affection. As soon as you come back to face him, your eyes dart around his visor like you would be able to read him.

“Are you alright?” Mando’s voice cuts through the silence of the hull. “I- I’m okay, yeah.” You mumble, going to tilt down your face.

A gloved hand catches your chin and tilts it back towards him. “That’s not very convincing.”

“Mando, im fine-“

“Din.”

Your breath catches. “Um, yeah. Din, I’m fine. Just a little shaken, I’ll be okay. I think.” You lift up a hand that’s shivering as if it’s cold.

“You’re okay,” He states, and upon hearing two words that you’d never thought you’d hear from Din’s mouth, you relax slightly into his infinitely stable grip. “He’s not here.”

You nod, believing him. You go to pull away, feeling better now, only for the shock of the whole experience to hit you like a truck. Your chin wobbles as tears threaten to spill over the ducts of your lids.

Din’s helmet lifts up sharply, and if you weren’t so focused on crying in front of the strongest man you knew, you would have registered it as fear. Your eyes flick downwards as a tear slipped out, not wanting to look at him. His hand shifts to your jaw as he wipes the tear away with a care you’d only seen him extend to the kid, gloves kissing the skin of your cheek.

“I’m sorry,“ you burst out of Din’s grip in embarrassment, hiding your face. “This is stupid, I shouldn’t be crying-“

“No,” Din snarls, the ferocity of the word causing your head to shoot up. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, it’s that idiot’s fault for touching you,” his hands grab at your forearms like a little kid and drags you towards him again, capturing you in a tight hug. “I swear I would’ve- I wanted to-“ he takes a deep breath. “You’re okay.”

You two stand like that for a while, Din whispering reassurances that you weren’t sure were for you anymore. You cry a storm and a half into the crook of his neck, between the lip of his helmet and the edge of his undershirt, finally calming down enough to pull away some minutes later.

But, when you move to pull back, Din’s arms don’t budge. You relent your efforts almost immediately, knowing deep down in your gut that both you and him need this connection now. You weren’t complaining, anyway– this is something you’d wished would happen for so long. Maybe not under these circumstances, but you would take whatever you could get.

“Din,” you mumble into his shoulder. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

“Please don’t leave.” He barely says those three words, but you hear them loud and clear.

You tighten your grip on him. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me now.”

He let out a huff of air, and you couldn’t tell whether it was a huff or a laugh. “You were never a nuisance.”

You flush. “Ah, well that’s good news.”

Din let his helmet drop to your shoulder, the cold beskar a contrast to your burning skin. “You’re amazing. I don’t deserve you, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl. Now that was a nickname you could get used to. In fact, you already loved it.

#din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #star wars imagine

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mountainsandmayhem · 16 days

Text

Right Person, Wrong Time

Joel Miler x Female Reader

AN: This is for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge. And for once, I did not write smut. I know, who am I? This is not beta'd or really proof read. I'm basically having imposter syndrome over the whole thing soooo...Love you, say it back, bye!

You know that famous saying, “Right Person, Wrong Time”? Well, that was Joel Miller. He had the potential to be the absolute love of your life, but as a single father to a teenage girl and a small business owner, he just didn’t have the time right now. You were about to turn thirty, him thirty six in just a few days time. So, the night before his birthday you made the gut wrenching decision to end things with him.

“What do you mean we should see other people? There’s no other people.” He proclaimed, eyes filling with tears, mirroring yours.

“It’s just not the right time. I want to get married and have a baby, Joel. Do you really want that?” You have to remain strong, it had only been three months, you hadn’t met Sarah or any of his family. Same with your side, he knew about your sisters but no one else was at risk of being hurt by this break up outside of the two of you. This was the right thing to do before you both got in too deep.

Right Person, Wrong Time.

Almost twenty five years later and you still find yourself replaying that conversation. Every September, Joel flashes behind your eyelids - still perfectly clear, almost like it had just happened yesterday. Dark curly hair, patchy scruff, big brown eyes and furrowed brows; one day he’s going to have a permanent crease between them from all his sexy scowling. If you focus hard enough, you can feel his rough and calloused fingers on your skin. You can still hear his deep and silky voice, almost managing to make you feel lighter every time he said your name or called you darlin’ or sweetheart.

“That feel good, Darlin’?”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

The outbreak happened not even 24 hours after you broke up with him. Had he survived? There’s no way you survived and he didn’t. Your suspicions were confirmed the day Tommy Miller showed up.

For the most part you liked to keep to yourself, running the community garden. You’re thankful for the small and safe community, but word gets around. And when you hear that Tommy’s brother has come to town you shrink even further back into the shadows, unsure if you want to see him again. Would it hurt more if he remembered you, or if he had no memory of you and that conversation that has imprinted itself upon you? Joel Miller is your last memory, both happy and sad, before the world fell apart.

Him, and the little girl he showed up with, left before you found the courage to approach him and soon winter took over Jackson, leaving you without the garden. Without the distraction from your thoughts of Joel.

The winter is long and brutal. April finally rolls around, and you trudge out into the rain and head to the dining hall for dinner. The gates open in the distance, but you’re lost in your own thoughts. This is more rain than you have seen in months. The garden is going to love it, you think. Just as you’re about to step up the creaky wooden steps you hear your name. It floats across the commune in a deep, gravelly, and oh so familiar voice.

You stop, tears flooding your lash line and the mud squeaking under your rubber boots as you turn to look at him through glassy eyes. Your lips part and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. The world around you melts away. All you can see and hear is Joel Miller. He’s aged, grey peppers his temples and facial hair, he has those lines that you knew he would permanently etched between his brows, but those big brown eyes are like they’ve been frozen in time as they dance around your face.

“It’s you,” he says softly, voice shaking in a mix of sadness and relief, as he takes a few steps towards you. “I-I can’t believe it. I’ve, well…” He rakes his fingers through his soaked curls as you stare at him. The rain is coming down in a steady sheet, the ground becoming a muddy mess, and both of your clothes completely soaked through. You haven’t taken a breath in what feels like hours.

It’s you.

“I have thought about you almost every day since the world fell apart,” he continues, his warm voice washing over you like molasses. “When I was at my lowest I would think of that little dimple you get when you smile, or that time wine came out of your nose from when you laughed at that stupid joke I made. I don’t remember the joke, but I remember how happy you looked as the sun set and the orange glow lit your skin. I’d remember the way your face scrunched up when you tried whiskey for the first time. I would remember where all your freckles are, and how soft you were against my lips as I kissed every single one. I’d think of that first time we made love, how I’d never felt that overwhelmed with emotion for another person before, how in that moment I realized that I was truly fucked when it came to you. It was anything you wanted, sweetheart. Even if it meant you wanted to break up. I never should have let you go, darin’. I’m so sorry. I tried to find you before we fled for Boston.”

By the time he’s done talking you’re right in front of him, chest grazing his, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. You have no idea how you got that close to him. You don’t remember moving your feet. Joel Miller, your Joel Miller. Greyer, lines around his eyes, but yours.

As the rain pelts down you waste no time, reaching up around his neck as he lifts you up and into his embrace. Your noses graze as you whisper a quiet ‘I missed you so much’ into his lips.

“I’m never letting you go, baby. Never again.” He says and then you press your lips into his in a searing kiss. It lights your whole body on fire, you feel like you’ve been hit by a defibrillator.

You’re alive again.

====================

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi i @pedritoferg @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey @iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel angst #joel miller angst

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cowboydisaster · 8 months

Note

could you write a fic about simon and a reader who is going through withdrawals? Sorry if that's not real specific, you can take it in what ever direction you please. Thank you

Hope

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! reader word count: 2k summary: Simon helps you get through withdrawals, offering you hope in the darkest point of your life. a/n: heed the warnings please!!!! I cried a good bit while writing this. You're never alone my friends, and there is always hope. Always. (p.s. there is a mention of wanting children in this fic, so keep that in mind. p.p.s why does tumblr destroy my image quality, it makes me sad.) warnings: opioid addiction, withdrawals, addiction, emetophobia, illness masterlist

"Si-Simon, I can't do this. I'm n-not strong enough." You whimper, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt with every pathetic ounce of strength that you can muster. Your voice is hoarse, throat thick with mucus and body covered in a stale cold sweat that soaks through your oversized t-shirt. Simon has never seen you so weak, so frail in his arms.

He's seen you take down men twice your size, clear rooms with more than ten enemies. You've faced countless opponents, broken through endless physical and mental barriers, but in the end, the one thing you couldn't defeat was the pills.

If you'd known you were trading your life away when you were handed the bottle, you never would have taken it in the first place.

"For the pain." The doctor had said, "Just until this gunshot wound clears up."

Only it didn't. Before you even realized it, your body was already addicted. You craved the numbness that the damned capsules gave you, the release from the endless pain that singed your nerves day and night. You couldn't give them up. You tried– but the sickness that came when you stopped– you were sure it would kill you.

Simon didn't know what to do. You lied, you kept him at a distance, never fully explaining to him what was going on. He didn't realize how bad it was. He tried not to pry, or to push you, but Simon put his foot down when he found you on the bathroom floor unconscious, a bottle of pills on the counter, half empty. His words reverberated in your ears, a harsh warning that he wouldn't watch you kill yourself.

"You have to get clean, Y/N." He'd said from a place of love, but you couldn't help but crumble under his judgment, "I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. You 'ave to sober up."

So here you are, a heap in Simon's lap, the both of you intertwined on the bathroom floor as you fight the overwhelming illness that accompanies withdrawals. Everything you've survived: loss, wounds, torture– it pales in comparison to the misery you're experiencing now. You refused to go to a detox center, not wanting to lose your position in the Task Force. You promised Simon that you'd let him drive you to the hospital if things got bad, but you want to do this at home.

Bile rises from your stomach, lingering in the back of your throat as you gag. Immediately, Simon pulls your hair back into his fist, and helps to position you over the toilet.

You dry heave, gagging on air as both of your cold hands grip the toilet bowl. Your wedding band glints in the dim bathroom light, bringing another layer of anguish to your already broken soul.

He shouldn't have to deal with this.

"Easy, love. Get it all out. I've got you." Simon coos as your stomach aches and flips, desperate to rid itself of any contents. Only you haven't been able to eat, so nothing comes up but painful bursts of air. You gasp and heave, collapsing back against Simon and erupting into loud sobs. Your bones ache as you fall onto his chest, and his hands hover over your form, unsure on how to hold you without shattering you even further.

"I can't– I can't! Simon, please! Please. I'm going to die. M' gonna die–" You panic, "I'm not strong enough. You know that I'm not." You plead, begging for the substance that he has already flushed down the drain, your mind refuses to believe that it's actually gone.

Simon's previously unbreakable heart manages to crack, and he wishes more than anything to carry the burden of your suffering. You're his wife, and it's his job to take the weight off your shoulders, but he can't do this for you. He can, however, be with you every step of the way. You showed him a new way of living, a way to do more than just survive. You've shown him love when he was undeserving of it. It's unbearable for him to see you, such a beam of light, in so much pain.

"Look at me, baby. Look at me." Simon holds your face until your eyes meet his. Those chestnut colored irises hold your attention– the same ones you looked into as you read your vows, as you suffered pain, and loss, felt love and lust. They've watched after you through everything.

"You can do this, yeah? You're the strongest person I know. Stronger than any other soldier in the Task Force, stronger than me. If anyone can beat this, it's you." Simon reassures.

Your face crumples when you realize he's firm in his decision. You shake your head, clammy palms coming to rest against your face.

"Please, Simon." You beg once again. Your body is trembling like a leaf held against the wind, cold wraps around your bones suffocatingly, squeezing every ounce of comfort from your being and leaving you high and dry. Pure, unadulterated suffering.

"Come 'ere." Simon whispers, standing up from the tile floor and scooping you into his arms. He hooks his arms under your head and knees before carrying you into the bedroom.

The soft bed dips under your shared weight as Simon lays down with you, his body wrapping around your own like a perfect puzzle piece. He pulls your back to his chest, letting you use his tattooed arm as a pillow. Your sobs quiet down to muffled whimpers as you shake lightly, wishing you could go back in time, solve this before it became a problem.

Father time has never been merciful though, has he?

"Blanket or no?" Simon asks. You nod your head quickly.

"Yes, it's so cold. I'm so cold." Your teeth chatter lightly as you reiterate. Simon pulls the thick comforter over your forms, tucking it in around the edges as he adjusts behind you.

An hour ago you were burning up, stripping off your clothes and sobbing at the heat clawing its way through your body like some sort of fiery plague. He'd put you in a cool bath, checking your temperature probably more often than what was necessary.

You shake and writhe, whimpers and groans of agony slipping past your lips every once in a while. It's killing Simon to see you like this. Every ounce of light has drained from your eyes, the life has seeped from your pores, replaced with the lingering disease of addiction. He misses your laughter, your smile. It could light up a room. You've gotten the boys through many dark days. You were the sunshine of the Task Force. Failed missions, loss, heartache, no matter how bad things got, your optimism never ceased. Not until recently, anyhow.

"We'll get there again." Simon tells himself like a mantra in his head,"She'll get better."

He's personally seeing that you do. He won't allow you the pills to take hold of you, he'll fight. He's seen more soldiers die from pills than bullets. He won't let you meet that fate, he won't.

He can't lose you.

The room is covered with a calm silence, only the sound of your quick breathing to let him know you're still alive. Simon is quiet as well, and you drown in the silence, hoping for any kind of distraction to pull you away from your unending misery. You can feel yourself giving up, wanting nothing more than to slip into old habits. You slip your eyes shut, opening them only once a voice rumbles in your ear.

"I was thinking… when you're better we'll get a bigger house." Simon quietly blurts out from behind you.

A wrinkle forms in between your brows, and you crane your neck to look at him. You're sure he's trying to distract you, coming up with random conversation to keep your mind off of the present. When you look back, his gaze is far away, fixed on something on the far wall. A small smile graces his uncovered lips– he's been keeping the mask off at home recently, you've noticed. There is a light in his eyes, a light that you used to think would never grace the eyes of Simon Riley.

"What? Why would we need a bigger house?" You ask with a small chuckle. He's succeeding in his distraction, you realize.

His eyes flicker down to yours, hand gripping onto your waist as you turn towards him in curiosity. Your eyelids are heavy, another wave of exhaustion coming over you.

"For the little ones." Simon responds.

He says it on a breath. He says it so plainly, so effortlessly, that tears immediately well in your eyes. He's never responded to your questions about children– usually shutting down or ignoring the topic wholly. Your lip wobbles, and he runs his thumb over the cracked skin.

"Ch-children?" You ask, a new sense of hope filling your being. A new reason to fight– to get clean. Children. A family.

"A girl, with your eyes…" Simon chuckles, "Probably with your attitude too."

You laugh at that, tears slipping down your cheeks in landing on his hand that cups your face.

"Maybe a boy. Hopefully he gets your features n' not my ugly mug." Simon huffs.

"What changed…?" You ask, wincing as a wave of nausea pulses through your body. Simon's eyes go wide for a second, and his grip tightens on you, ready in an instant to carry you back into the bathroom if you need. The pain passes and you shake your head, signaling that you're okay. Immediately, he relaxes. It's quiet for a moment as Simon traces his thumb over your paper thin skin.

"A dog, a new house, babies, anything you want. I'll give you anything you want, just get better for me, baby." Simon pleads, a hint of vulnerability tracing his words. It's one of only a few times he's begged you.

"I don't want a future without you in it. I want my wife. I want our kids terrorizing the place, I want to get old and retire the Force with you. Hell, I'd turn in my letter of resignation today if you asked, just please, fight for me, love."

The tears are falling freely now, you don't try to stop them. Guilt fills your being at the realization of everything you've put your husband through for the past few months. Through it all, he's never left your side. He's still here. Kissing closed your wounds, and promising to plant flowers in their place.

A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead before amber eyes peek down at you through blonde eyelashes. You chew on your lip, a bad habit.

Your resolve is set, and even though your body shrieks for the opposite, you'll get through this. You have to.

You have Sunday mornings to look forward to, lazily pouring Simon a cup of tea in his favorite mug. You have a house to buy, with two bedrooms instead of one. Dragging Simon through the shops and picking out all the different onesies he'll let you bring home. You have walks through the park to go on. You have to pick up takeout on Simon's late nights at work. You have to sit on his desk while you share an entree and talk to him until he forgets about the paperwork he's supposed to be doing. So many little actions to go through, little memories to make. You can't give it up. You won't.

There is so much to fight for, so much to hope for, all given to you by the man before you. Tears sting your eyes again as you finally speak up.

"I promise you, Simon. I'll fight. For us, I will."

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon riley #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #cod mw x reader

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hobietopia · 10 months

Text

★ cruel ; neteyam

synopsis. as of recently, neteyam's been slipping away. attempting to get to the bottom of his negligence towards you, he spews harsh words that begin to form cracks within your relationship. will neteyam be able to fix this despite being the cause of your pain?

info. angst / no comfort, gn!na'vi!reader, 1135 words

warnings. arguing, yelling, outta pocket teyam (boo 🍅), one use of y/n, crying, grammatical errors, based off "queen elizabeth" fight scene :P

neteyam has been distant.

physically, he's there, but mentally — he's lightyears away from you.

it hasn't always been like this though. during the beginning of your courtship, neteyam was nothing short of attentive and caring. he was everything you wanted in a lover but as of recently, he slowly began drifting away from you. at this point, he's been more of an acquaintance than a mate.

and if you were being honest, you couldn't help but find the situation slightly comical. your mind fills itself to the brim with memories of falling so deeply in love with one another, but now — now, he's just gone.

"you never have to hide from me," he told you.

his words were doused in honey, every single insecurity that plague your mind began melting away. he wanted to know the real you. not the village's tskarem, not the "golden child" title that the elders bestowed upon you.

he wanted to know you.

he wanted to drown himself in your scent, burn the feeling of your body next to his, he wanted to know the ins and outs of your soul.

"i am just neteyam when we are together. not the clan's future olo'ekytan, not the successor of my father. i am simple and plain neteyam."

the memory brings the smallest of smiles to your lips, yet it does nothing to ease the surge of loneliness that consumes you, your heart. it keeps you up at night, eyes wide open as you replay everything that had let up to this point of your relationship. you were beyond tired having to play this game with him, so you decided to bite the bullet and ask him.

"neteyam are you here — oh, kiri!" you speak out, sending her a sweet smile her way. she returns the gesture, "hi, y/n! he's near the shooting range." she states simply, going back to her weaving.

you thank her before scurrying away. luckily, he wasn't too far and you were able to catch up with him. your hands nervously tremble, wringing themselves out in hopes to stop the shakiness. your strides are slow, but with a few encouraging words, you will yourself to walk up to him.

as if on cue, he turns around and catches you staring. his eyes catch you off guard, sunflower-hued orbs swirling with something you can't seem to put your finger on.

"hey..." you say, tone unsure. the sunlight sparkles, flashing through tiny openings of leaves as they sway in the wind. the mossy floor quiets your footsteps as you get closer, standing next to him wordlessly.

he parrots your greeting before going back to his previous task. he draws his bow, eyeing the target that stares back at him. "have you been well?" you ask hopefully. he shrugs, muttering something about being busy and that he's fine. your lips purse at the lack of communication on his end.

"okay, stop. what is wrong with you?" you ask sternly. your eyebrows scrunch in displeasure, subtly creating space between you and him by taking a step sideways. he looks back at you, surprised at the sudden fierceness to your voice.

he sends you a quizzical look as if he genuinely had no clue what you were hinting at, "i do not know what you are talking about." he states it as if it were a fact.

you roll your eyes at his deflection, crossing your arms irritably. "do not play this game with me," you scoff, sounding like a parent scolding their child. neteyam's eyes downcast shamefully towards the bow in his hands, the seriousness of the situation beginning to crash down on him.

"look, i know you have been having a hard time with your duties, but 'teyam, i'm here for you. there is no need to run away from me, from us —"

"there is no 'us'," he cuts you off, not sparing you a single glance. "there is nothing here. you have absolutely no knowledge of what it takes, what is thrust upon me as the next olo'ekytan. i am forced to love you, a simple clans person who does not contribute a single thing to this village," he grunts out, nostrils flaring in irritation.

"yes, i have my duties but i will not be forced to go through yet another day where you think we are true lovers. so back off." his voice grows angrier with each word. his words resemble a whip, every word that tumbles past his lips begins to hit you again, and again, and again. his breath gets caught in his throat as his face flushes a darker plum color.

your jaw drops slightly, an instant gasp leaving your lips. the tiny noise knocks neteyam out of his defensive state and with every passing second, regret begins to consume him whole.

both of you stay silent for second, just staring at each other in search of how to respond, to no avail. he watches your face morph into one that is more closed off, walls building themselves high as you straighten out your posture before responding.

"my mistake," you swallow thickly, voice almost mocking him in a sense. "i apologize for thinking there was an us. i thought i was speaking to just neteyam, not the chief's son. forgive me for thinking otherwise." your tone is monotonous, gaze meeting his in an intense staring match.

his brows drop, eyes widening as his frown begins to grow deeper. "y/n..." he tries to take a step closer to you, in return you take a step back. you cut off his advances before they can even start. "i am truly sorry for the fact that our entire relationship was a mere inconvenience for you."

neteyam hisses as if you had slapped him across his face, and after everything he had just spilt, he wouldn't be surprised if you actually did so. but there you stand, the sparkle in your eyes dimming. his mouth open and closes, trying to muster up enough words to form a proper sentence. and to rub salt into his freshly cut wound, "was there anything else the chief's son needed to say to me or am i free to leave?" you ask calmly, eyes never leaving his.

his hands twitch nervously, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates his next move. "there's nothing else to say on this matter," he mutters.

you nod affirmatively before turning your back towards him. as you begin walking away, neteyam's hands instinctively reach for you, calling your name desperately as the space between you and him grows bigger.

he knew he had messed up, big time.

"that's enough, neteyam." your voice stern, pointing an accusatory finger his way. he continues to watch your retreating form, heart willing him to run after you, yet his brain forces his body to remain deathly still.

⋆ ˚｡ ୨୧ reblogs / feedback are highly appreciated. thank you!

★ diwa's notes. i always write fluff n shit so i decided to change that LOL there might b a pt 2, not sure tho :P

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greycaelum · 10 months

Note

Hi! I love how you capture Gojo's character in your series. I was wondering if you could write a scenario where the high and mighty Gojo Satoru felt insecure and undeserving of reader at any point in their relationship through the Kaleidoscope Series? I wanna see Toru be sad and then comforted mehehe. Hope this ask finds you well!

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters { Lose }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Synopsis: Y/n left for a few days and Satoru has to handle the kids.

𑁍 Genre: family theme, fluff, angst to comfort

𑁍 CW/TW: (2.8k)— arguments, insecurities, regrets, Satoru doing his job (overboard manner), not proofread

𑁍 Grey ✒️☕: Hi sweetheart thank you for the wonderful ask, I hope I managed to make it well this time

Being married to Gojo Satoru has meant that you will have more work than you anticipated. Contrary to the eyes of the mass that Gojo Satoru's existence is the entire Gojo Clan itself there's so much that runs behind what people see.

In the absence of Gojo Satoru, his wife, The Madame of the Gojo Clan, Gojo Y/n controls everything.

"I have to leave for a business trip in Kyushu 'Toru. Can you handle the kids for three days?"

You asked after tucking Saika into bed.

Satoru shot up from the bed, removed his glasses, and look at you with a confused face.

"What do you mean? You're pregnant Honey. It's not safe for you or our babies to travel long distances." Satoru walked over to you and held your hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles. "I cannot let you go with your delicate situation Baby."

"I'm okay Satoru, besides I consulted my ob-gyne and she said it's alright." You chuckled at the sudden protectiveness, not that Satoru isn't normally protective of you already.

Satoru ran his hand over his hair. Good grace. He's not letting you outside of this house or even letting you get in that piece of flying metal, that who knows might fall just because life is a bitch.

"No. You're not going anywhere, Honey." Satoru was sentenced with finality. The frown on your brows slowly curled and retrieved your hand from his lips.

His heart fell at your withdrawal as you looked at him and sighed.

"Love, this is my job. Alright? This is my duty as your wife, my duty to the Gojo Clan because I'm the Madame. I won't go if I think I'm unfit to." You tried to be understanding yet firm as you explain this logic to him.

Years of marriage certainly taught you better than to enter an argument head straight. Instead, you calmly laid out your facts.

"No means no. Honey, you can ditch all your work if you want to. You're with our child. To be exact you don't even have to work with your state." Satoru put his hands on his waist, assuming an authoritative stance.

The room dropped several degrees as Y/n raise her brows and narrowed her eyes at the imposing tone of his words.

"I understand you're concerned—"

"Oh, believe me, Honey, I'm beyond concerned I'm fervid." Satoru cut you off with a frown.

"But you're not changing my decision Satoru." The softness of the way you call his name was gone. It was cemented with stubbornness. "I'm pregnant, not invalid."

You could be such an angel at times but that stubbornness of yours... Satoru blew out a sigh.

"I'm not saying you're invalid. I'm looking out for you and our children. What if something happens? The stress of work, or just simply going out there, away from what's supposed safe for you and the children. Can't you send someone else?" Satoru's voice was an octave higher, trying so hard to find the right words without sounding rude.

"Satoru, I know you are concerned, but again, I won't put myself or our child at risk if I'm unsure that I can do this safely. I am pregnant, but that doesn't mean I can forego my duties. That's not how this works. I have my responsibilities, and those responsibilities I'm doing not just for myself, but for this family as well." Your voice constricted, not wanting to shout or even raise your voice at him, marking the end of the discussion as you turn your back to pack your luggage leaving Satoru standing where he was.

The next day, sure enough, the car that will send you to the airport arrived. Kouki and Saika knew something was up with the perfunctory kiss you gave to their father, and Satoru's sad eyes as he loaded your luggage to the bag. The kids watched from the doorstep, a worried look on Saika's face while Kouki had his usual emotionless expression on.

"Call me if anything ever happens no matter how minuscule it is." Satoru pulled you into his arms before you could enter the car. Damn, you feel so soft his heart is being pricked to let you go. He hates disagreeing with you. It throws him off.

"I will be back sooner than you expected, I promise." You nod, cupping his cheeks noticing he's pale. Price of a sleepless night...

Satoru watch the car drive off until it was out of sight. The sinking feeling like his feet is being shackled to the ground slowly started creeping in. An unpleasant feeling swirled inside his gut.

Kouki watched his sister bite her lip. Anxious with the sudden cloudy mood between their parents. She is after all a four years old girl who is learning how to sense her surroundings.

"Mama and Papa just had a fuss, but they're going to be fine." Kouki's blank face soften and pat his little sister's head. "They love each other after all."

What's so special about that trip? Satoru pondered as he do his work, taking in more jobs than he usually does. Using it as a distraction but ultimately ends up pondering over you while he fights off curses.

He remembers your words. Somehow he understands what lies beneath those lines. The cold truth behind it, even if you won't say it out loud.

This is my duty as your wife, my duty to the Gojo Clan because I'm the Madame.

It's the price of marrying him. The burden of being his wife.

Satoru grits his teeth.

"G-Gojo-san?" Ijichi flinched at the vivid way the poor level 3 curse was exterminated. The force was more than necessary. It was like bringing out a bazooka for a mosquito. Raw and brutal as that.

He thought he was already aware having been married to you for almost 10 years. But he is still so witless.

The hole in his heart couldn't be filled. It's like something inside him was gnawing him alive. Like there's sand inside his gut. Unsettling the cold sweat in his spine. Do you feel this way whenever he heads out to battle every time?

It's a dreadful sensation.

He couldn't imagine this happening to you. Especially since he heads out to battle almost every day.

Because this is his duty, as the strongest, as Gojo Satoru...

"Fuck!"

He never wanted you to face any difficulties that will ever endanger you. That's why he built a home away from the Gojo Estate. He doesn't want you to be subjected in the eyes of his clan. Not the hostility, and not the burden... He never wanted you to carry any of it.

But it seems like every time, he fails.

"Do you regret me?"

You once asked him, lying on the hospital bed after being attacked by Tachibana's daughter, barely escaping the preemptive danger.

Since then and until now, his answer is the same.

"No, I never. I regret putting you in this kind of situation."

It's his biggest regret. To put you in such peril because he loves you. He loves you so much that he pulled you into his rotten world. He wants to protect you, but then he cannot stop you from doing what you want, what you could to grow. Because deep down the thing he never wishes to see is your eyes filled with hatred looking towards him.

It would break the cracked heart you pieced together. He could never leash you, nor cage you no matter how much he loves you.

"There is no curse more twisted than love." He said that to Yuta because he knows it more than anyone... Probably because his love is as twisted as it could be just to have you.

Ringggg

His phone vibrated and he answers it without saying 'hello'. His mind is too clouded to form the right words without using the usual cheery masks he uses in public.

"..." The other line doesn't answer as well.

There was only their breathing. A steady one and the other one breathed quietly to listen as closely as possible. They didn't speak for a good moment, simply staying in that silence, listening. Satoru hid his lips in the high neck of his uniform.

"Satoru?" You finally spoke.

"...Mnn?" He swallowed a huge lump in his throat. "You called Honey, did something happen?"

"..." He could see you shaking your head on the other line even if he cannot see you. "I just wanted to hear you, that's all."

He faintly chuckled. "Are you going to sleep?"

"Hmmm." You answered. "The business deal is going smoothly. They'll sponsor the orphaned children's education in exchange for them as working students for the company."

"You're... working so hard." Satoru bit the walls of his mouth. "My wife is so hardworking." Did the praise have to be this bittersweet to his tongue?

"You should reward me when I come home. Lately, I've been craving some orange juice and baklava."

"Mnnn, I will."

Silence ensued over the two of them again... Soon your breathing slowed down. Satoru sensing you're probably asleep, just opened his phone until your call dropped, most probably because of low battery.

You have always loved kids. Probably that is why Kouki and Saika turned out to be such angels despite him being a menace. You're such a good wife and caring mother it puts him to shame always being away. So what right did he even have to stop you from doing your duties when he's the one who's often away to do his own?

Satoru closed the book, and look at his daughter who is fast asleep by his side. She has white hair and blue eyes from him but she looks just like you. He can already see the riot she will make when she grows older.

The door opened with Kouki holding his cinnamoroll plushie.

"Hey Buddy, can't sleep?"

The little guy walks over and climbs into the bed on Satoru's side.

"Are you and Mama upset, Papa?" Kouki settled quietly and held his plushie.

Satoru carefully lifted the blanket to Kouki's chest while making sure Saika doesn't wake up.

"Kind of, but we're gonna be okay. Coz I love Mama so much." Satoru kissed Kouki's forehead, reassuring his son.

"Mnn, I know. I love Mama too." Kouki nodded and blinked at his Papa. "Papa?"

"Mnn?" Satoru removed the blindfold from his eyes and replaced it with his sunglasses.

"I love you too." Kouki yawned and closed his eyes.

Satoru let out a deep breath and chuckled. Biting his lips as he leaned down to kiss his son one more time.

"I love you most Kikufuku."

The business deals went smoother than you expected, the three-day trip you thought became a two-day trip and before you knew it, you are on board the plane back to Tokyo, leaving your assistant to clean up behind as you did your best to come back early and surprise your family.

You won't say quarrels with Satoru are unusual. It's normal in marriage to have it. You have some quarrels with him, but most of those are solved within that day and the two of you talk about it as civilized as possible. It's a very rare thing for the two of you to shout or snarl at each other. It was only two or three times in the duration of your marriage that the argument reached the point of screaming.

With Satoru's line of work, the two of you decided to always work on the problem as soon as possible so no one walks out the door, angry. The one you had recently is one of those civilized quarrels but deep down you knew Satoru was still against it even the moment he hugged you in the car, he just let you go against his will... Because that's the person he is. He will never hold you back against your will.

That business deal was very important for you, perhaps being a mother makes you really soft and empathetic that you cannot turn your eyes away from those children that have lost their parents. The least you could do for them is make sure that their future will be taken care of.

You opened the door and everyone was already out of the house. The kids are in school and Satoru is at work. The house is spotless...

"Y/n?!" The door burst open and Satoru stood there with his blindfold falling down his neck, his breathing id ragged, probably from the hurry. His strides were quick as he cross the hallway and reach to pull you in his arms.

He smells so good... Like baby soap and powder... You inhaled his scent and returned the hug, it's not so tight because he was afraid to squish the baby bump but it was still warm...

"I was supposed to surprise you, but you surprised me first 'Toru." You chuckled and smiled.

Satoru was silent as you brush the underside of his eyes and stare at him with those eyes of yours that were filled with love. He could never get tired of the way your fingers caress him like he's the most fragile thing in the world. It feels so soft, so precious, so warm.

"Are you hungry? I'll cook." There was something stuck in his throat that was so hard to swallow.

"I'll take a shower first." You move and went upstairs leaving him in the kitchen. He was probably alerted by the guards that you're back that's why he looked as if he ran. When you came down, the sliding door to the backyard garden was open. Satoru was also there and so are your food.

The garden is blooming full of hydrangeas with butterflies fluttering around and the faint scent of the drizzle this morning wafted the air. It's a soft scene with the silence between you and your husband. You silently ate while Satoru simply stared at you, sometimes offering you more food which you accepted, not shying away when you're eating for three persons now.

"You know—"

"I'm sorry—"

You both spoke at the same time making you laugh a little and gestured for him to go first.

Satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his head, and awkwardly smirked.

"You know, I realized I was stupid for asking you not to go... For almost stopping you to do your duties. I didn't realize how unfair I was when I'm often away doing my obligations too. I was just really scared... for you, for our children that I didn't think how one-sided it was on your part for me to stop you from going when you've always been there to support me whenever I go." Satoru looked at you and his eyes finally softened. "I guess, the next time I will just tag along with you wherever you go. I won't stop you, and I'll make sure you're extra, extra safe with me by your side, won't you like that Baby?" His teasing tone was back.

But before he could see your reaction he was enveloped in a hug.

"I'm sorry... I know I can get really stubborn. And that will be the last trip for now." You pulled back and smiled. "So, this one..." You touched his heart and look at his eyes. "...will never worry that you'll lose me or our children."

You know how much he has already lost, and you will never be one of those.

Satoru pulled you onto his lap, making you sit sideways as he tuck his nose against your neck, his hand protectively splayed over your growing bump like a snug protection. You hugged him back, peppering kisses on his temples, whispering assurance as you run your fingers through his hair feeling him slightly whine at the tenderness you are showering him.

"You will never lose me Satoru, not me nor our children. So you have to always come back home because we are waiting for you."

Satoru nodded, nuzzling into your kisses.

Many of his elders said that he needs an obedient and submissive wife. But he knew that while you've always been nice, you still have that stubbornness rooted inside you, and yet... You may never be as obedient as per standard but he knew your understanding made you stand out the most. The heart to love him and to compromise was something you have given home boundlessly. You loved him enough to understand and compromise. He never needed a submissive wife. He needed an understanding spouse. Someone who understands it's hard to be with him and yet still stayed. And that was you, with the stubbornness that made him love you more.

"I won't say that is the last trip you'll take." Satoru grinned making you frown and look at him. "It's going to be autumn soon, and you know what that means?" Satoru already made arrangements for this.

Then it clicked on you. Ah... yes, Kouki and Saika have been looking forward to this every year. The annual vacation to their favorite place.

"How does a babymoon in Switzerland sound?" Satoru kissed your lips and grinned.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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