#Silver Salt Films

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Censor 2021

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[ichorai]

little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone. 

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words. 

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his. 

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer. 

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either. 

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas. 

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.” 

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit. 

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust. 

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again. 

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop. 

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks. 

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge. 

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father. 

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off. 

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness. 

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side. 

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry. 

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

 You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife. 

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them. 

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you. 

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs. 

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you. 

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence. 

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you. 

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian. 

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back. 

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner. 

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively. 

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven. 

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.” 

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt. 

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste. 

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep. 

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone. 

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening. 

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning. 

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra. 

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork. 

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!” 

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out. 

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched. 

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said. 

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh. 

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side. 

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips. 

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids. 

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off. 

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood. 

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth. 

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression. 

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name. 

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards. 

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with. 

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion. 

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide. 

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms. 

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice. 

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

[ecle-c-tic]

Middle Earth Asks

🥔 po-tay-toes: one of the hobbits invited you for a meal; who are dining with? Which of the seven meals are you enjoying?

🍞 lembas bread: what's the best road trip snack?

🌾farmer maggot's field: what is your favourite plant? Do you enjoying gardening?

🌼 simbelmynë: You've got the opportunity to bring one character back to life, who is it?

🍃 leaves of lórien: what gift would you most like to receive?

📽 action!: rank all six of the films (or three if you're a hater)

🚲 bicycle basket: what is your favourite middle earth meme?

🌟starlight: you're allowed to live in one of the Elf Kingdoms of Middle Earth, which one are you picking?

💀 Hey, did you know-: What is your favourite piece of behind the scenes trivia?

🌙 moon runes: which of Tolkien's languages would you most like to speak?

🧂 best salt in all the shire: which small joys do you most look forward to? (particular tea, using a perfume, rereading a book, etc.)

✂ cutting room floor: of all of the things that didn't quite make it into the movies, what would you have most liked to see?

☕ may I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?: What is your favourite hot beverage?

🐎 bill the pony: who is the best mount in all of middle earth?

🌳 fangorn forest: Which of Tolkien's creechurs is your favourite?

🔮 palantír: you've found a palantir! Who are you hitting up in middle earth? What are you telling them?

⏳ time and age: which poorly aged scene from LOTR is your favourite?

✨ evenstar: Who is your favourite middle earth couple?

🎆 fireworks: you're invited to Bilbo's 111th, what present do you think you'd receive?

🕷 creepy crawlies: which of tolkien's creatures do you think is the most frightening?

💍 my precious: what role do you think you'd play in the fate of the ring?

📜the company of Throin II Oakenshield: who is your favourite dwarf from the company?

🕶 i care not: what common complaint about the movies or novels doesn't bother you?

📢 motivational speech: which film speech do you find most invigorating?

🔥 barbecue: who is the worst antagonist?

🍿 popcorn: list your top 5 supporting characters

🎇 firefly: which (known) deleted scene would you most like to see?

⛏ expedition to Moria: which side character's adventures would you watch a spin-off movie about?

🎞 extra film: is there an extended scene that should have absolutely made it into the theatrical cut? which one and why?

🎵 can you sing, master hobbit?: Which song (from books or movies) is your favourite?

🖋 quill and ink: which of tolkien's themes resonates most strongly with you?

🗝 lost heirloom: which heirloom/object in the films or novels would you like to learn more about?

💿 leitmotifs and orchestras: which of the films songs (Howard Shore or singer) is your favourite?

🍲eowyn's home cooking: which other way could the ring be destroyed? (funny answers only)

🧙‍♂️precisely when he means to: what is your favourite gandalf moment?

⚔ you have my sword: what is your favourite aragorn moment?

🏹 and my bow: what is your favourite legolas moment?

🪓and my axe: what is your favourite gimli moment?

🍄 MUSHROOMS!: what is your favourite moment from the hobbits?

💎 the arkenstone: favourite Thorin and/or company moment?

🧵 spool: list your top five favourite costumes from any of the films.

📕 the red book of westmarch : what is your favourite quote(s)?

💛 family: what is your favourite family moment throughout the novels/films?

👀 the eye of sauron: who are you looking at disrespectfully?

🗺 arda: if you could travel anywhere in middle earth, where would you go?

👑the silver crown: the war is won, the world is saved, the king has been crowned. Who are you partying with at the coronation?

✏ rewrites: here's a pencil, which ONE thing in the novels/films are you changing?

🐺 GROND GROND GROND: which of the battles is your favourite to watch? is there a combat scene in particular that you enjoy?

⚠ fucking buckleberry ferry: from the clip of Dom and Billy discussing the one swear word they could theoretically get by censors, which line would you change?

📚 boxset: how were you first introduced to Middle Earth?

🏔 the misty mountains: the pass is treacherous, which two characters are you taking with you to make it over the mountains?

🌄 the rolling hills of the shire: what is your favourite outdoor activity?

🌋 mount doom: what middle earth take are you throwing into the fire?

⚙ technology: everything is exactly the same but you can give one character a modern invention. Who is it and what are you giving them?

⛵valinor: we're approaching the end of this game, is there a take/opinion you absolutely want to share?

🦅 the eagles: What thing or thought saves the day when it's not going so well?

🦗 weta: you're allowed to take one prop (or the canon useful version) home with you from the set, what are you taking?

☀ when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer: either share a piece of good news or something you're looking forward to.

📖 final chapter: what unanswered questions do you have middle earth?

[irafuwas]

was squeeing about this with hana earlier but angelina jolie just confirmed a Maleficent 3 film is in the works and im sO EXCITED!!!

Yana drew this super cute artwork of diasofam going to see Maleficent 2 when it came out, so i'm really hoping she does another version whenever the next film is released 🥰

Caption: Diasomnia goes to see a movie after class while wearing matching hoodies

⚡: Silver! Why is it that you are seated next to Lord Malleus!? Switch seats with me at once!

⚔️: Father, Lord Malleus, would you prefer the salted or the caramel popcorn?

🦇: It’s great we get a discount on movie tickets!

🐉: But is it really alright for you and I to utilize the student discount, Lilia?

[deepdisireslonging]

No Cum November Part 7: Double Possession

The team found the last details needed to defeat the ghost. It requires another ritual with the reader in the middle, and their ability to keep their mind when the Winchesters lose theirs to possession.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings/Promises: ritualistic SMUT

Word Count: 1100

Note: For those of you participating in the challenge, how are you holding up? This was a fun one to write, and the inspiration for the series. Let me know how you guys are enjoying it in the comments and reblogs. Happy reading!

Part 6: Dripping

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Dean held back from finishing a knot. “We can switch places, easy. The ghost doesn’t care who’s the receiver.”

Turns out for the campus ghost, there was a grave. A special one, reserved for the professors descended from the first dean of the college. It had taken three more study sessions to puzzle out the location. It was hidden behind the Classic’s library, the old school’s original library before the larger, modern one was built. Where, fifty years ago, the Greek rituals professor worked. The texts for the summoning the fertility god, Priapus, had been in the older library. And it was close to the student’s first orgy. Having found it, you were all going to try the ritual again. One of the first victims had been a student of the professor Dean talked to earlier. Apparently, the grad student was fishing for a PHD concept, summoning Priapus through the ghost of the long-retired professor, and they had taken down two other students with them. You all had disturbed the grave again, opening it fully for this ritual. This time with you tied to the deceased’s tombstone.

“I can do it.” You arched into Sam’s hand as he copped a feel. “I can do it. Start reading.”

This time, they both took position. Dean in front, with Sam behind you. The cold headstone bit into your stomach. The ropes, a soft cording that was helpfully slippery, crisscrossed over your joints, knotting at sensitive zones. Sam knelt, pushing your panties out of the way. Due to the semi-public nature of the location, the boys had opted for you to keep your bra and panties on. But as Sam dove into your sex, you wondered if your underclothes would survive the ritual.

Dean palmed himself as he began reading the text. His voice strained as his cock swelled in his jeans. It wasn’t long before he brought it into the open, tapping the head at your lips. You took him into your mouth. Sucking and hollowing your cheeks made his chanting falter. Behind you, Sam stood, satisfied with how much your sex was dripping. He joined Dean in the chanting, filling you an inch at a time between verses. You heard the flick of the lighter, soon followed by the dripping of hot wax onto your back. He let them fall methodically into the symbols. Dean kept your hair out of the way, careful not to disturb the circle as he had in the first attempt.

Something was different.

When you all had done this in the school, all you could feel were the boys. But now, the air was crisper. More frosty than autumnal. If Dean’s cock hadn’t been in your mouth, you’re sure your breath would have fogged.

The air shifted.

That was your cue.

You easily slipped out of the ropes, prepared to take it upon yourself to keep the professor’s ghost occupied while the guys salted and burned the grave. What you hadn’t taken into account was that while you’d be able to get easily out of the ropes, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to get out of the boy’s grip. They continued to fill you, tease you, take what they needed. Only then did you notice that their chanting was unnaturally even and in synch.

You managed to look up at Dean. His eyes were closed. You gently scraped your teeth along his underside to make his gaze flutter. Under his eyelids, a silver film had taken over. You were sure Sam’s eye looked the same.

A fifth hand ran along your spine. It drifted a finger around the wax circle, tracing the runes. Sam’s candle drips never stopped, and they fell through the hand as if it wasn’t there.

This was it. You would have to move quickly and delicately. Somehow the grave had to be destroyed. But the Winchesters couldn’t leave your holes, or the ghost would take their place and you’d cum yourself to death. Not the worst way to go, but you’d rather it be because of one or both of your lovers, not due to the ghost of some horny professor’s poltergeist.

Dean groaned as you reached up and tightened your hand around the base of his cock. It held him in place, but knocked him off balance. His foot fell back, keeping him aloft. But it knocked the bucket of salt over. Giving his a twist sent his steadying foot into the can of gasoline. You gave it a few moments to leak over the remains before turning your attention onto Sam.

It was hard to focus with how hard he was pounding into you. And the wax kept coming. What had started as a manageable circle had grown to an outward spiral of wax. Each drop made you shudder. Sam wasn’t going to last much longer either. He leaned forward, reaching around with his free hand to flick at your clit. It spotted your vision with stars. You clenched your walls frantically, flexing around Sam’s cock suddenly enough to loosen his grip on the candle. The drips drifted over your back until the candle fell into the grave.

The pit ignited. Beside you, the professor’s ghost went up in flames. The slightly sweet smell told the back of your brain that the Greek god had been dismissed as well.

Still, Dean and Sam continued to fill you. You managed to give Dean’s waist a hard shove, sending him flailing into the grass. Kicking Sam’s ankles and shins also sent him flying. You rolled onto the ground behind the tombstone, shuddering with another stolen release. As you panted, you watched them continue to hump the air as they returned to consciousness.

“Y/N?”

“Heya, Dean. You alright?”

He ran a hand over his eyes. “Yeah.” With a growl, he tucked himself away so he could roll onto his stomach. The ground muffled his complaints.

“Sam?” you called back.

“I’m good. You?”

“Alive.”

“That’s good.”

They crawled over to you. Whispering apologies into your skin, they joined you in a heap on the ground. Dean recovered first. He managed to wrap you in the robe they’d brought. Sam helped you to your feet after he managed to get to his.

“You know,” you cupped the side of Dean’s face, “that Priapus guy isn’t very good. I’d rather have you two any day.”

Sam chuckled. “We appreciate that. Ready to go home?”

“One more thing.” The books sparked when they landed in the grave, going up in smoke in minutes. You watched them reduce to ashes before following the boys to the Impala.

***

Part 8: Exorcism Play (with Demon!Dean)

Series Masterlist

[comicaurora]

I put a damaged, blurry polaroid photo of an eldritch being beyond comprehension (staring at the camera with an unfathomable amount of eyes) into the claw machine

you get back a damaged, blurry print of what appears to be an empty stand of elm trees. written on the back it says "photographs haven't been able to capture supernatural beings since they stopped using physical film saturated in silver salts"

[sunelia]

GOJO X READER: LOVERS

pairings: gojo satoru x gn!reader

cw: does not follow the jjk plot - gender neutral reader - established relationship - fluff - characters are both college students - might be suggestive at the end

synopsis: moments and habits you share with your lover.

word count: 1.9k

Gojo and you have a bit of a cat-and-dog dynamic. You like making fun of one another, sharing inside jokes, and even being childish together. You two are very strong-willed and have very intense personalities. You got to know him through a few mutual friends during high school. You didn't seem to enjoy each other's company at the time, or so you thought. Your conversations were solely based on teasing and challenging yourselves with dumb, imaginary quests. You didn't realized how much you liked being teased by this tall, beautiful, silver-haired man until graduation came to burst your bubble. When you did graduate and entered your university campus, you couldn't believe who was behind you, requiring you to hurry up while picking up your dorm keys. You both lost it as your eyes crossed his, lamenting to the universe why on earth you had to run into him again when you were just starting to stop thinking about him. As time passed, after bumping into him several times, you eventually grew closer over shared classes, study sessions, lunches, parties, and common interests. Laughter replaced bad jokes, silly pats on the back were exchanged for cuddles, and these glares were replaced by a tender and soft gaze. Since then, you two developed a close and sincere bond where communication and affection went hand in hand.

Movie night

You decided to meet up later after class to watch a movie to get the weekend off to a good start. After washing up, you packed a bag with extra clothes and headed to Gojo's dorm. You texted him, "I'm on my way, salt or sweet popcorn?"

He replied, "mmmh… sweet like you!" you chuckled. Man could graduate with a bachelor's degree in pick-up lines if he wanted to. 

You arrive in front of his dorm at around 8pm and knock on his door. He opens and stands in front of it, greeting you with a large smile, his arm leading you inside.

“Welcome my dear, if you'd like to make yourself at home".

You scoffed. "What a gentleman!"

You place your bag in a corner as Gojo wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He kisses your cheek — “I missed you, how was your day?"

"It was actually fun, we did some prototyping during my web design class. I'm glad the day's over though." You turn around and wrap your arms around him. You lay a gentle kiss on his nose and pat his torso.

"Are you hungry?" you ask

"I've already ordered some takeout, your favorite. I wanted to surprise you.“ He's such a caring man.

"Argh, i love you so much for that you know?"

"I know you can't get enough of me!" he laughs.

His phone rings "Oh, it's our food, make yourself comfortable, get changed, you know the drill.” he says, putting on his slippers in a hurry.

You take this opportunity to change into your pajamas and make some space on the little table in front of his bed. You hear the doorbell ring and see a proud Gojo handing you your meal. You settle down on the floor after he puts the food on the table. You began to eat in a cozy environment and decide together which film you'd like to see.

"Are you down for a comedy, an animated movie, sci-fi?" Gojo asks you while he turns on the TV.

"You know how indecisive i am, Gojo, it can take me an hour to choose. But i'd say i'm leaning more for an animated movie."

He searches the animation category and comes across a few results.

You decide to get up and clean the table while heating the popcorn in the microwave.

Gojo was sitting down, focused with his messy hair covering the tiny frown on his face while his arm was resting on his raised knee.

He turns his head in your direction "Is Big Hero 6 good for you?"

You nod and grab the hot and caramelized treat

"I love this movie, great idea!" you sit back down all excited on the cushions and move closer to him.

He started the movie while you hand him the bowl. The film goes well, you laugh, cry and enjoy the moment. In the meantime, Gojo has been able to cup you in his arms while you lie half stretched out between his legs. He takes the opportunity to stroke your hair, which relaxes you even more. Before he knew it, you were already asleep. He began to hear your tiny snores and couldn't help but giggle, "My dummy..."

He turns off the TV, pushes aside anything he might trip over, and gently wakes you up.

He hates to disturb your sleep, but he can't let you lay uncomfortably on the floor. Gojo undoes the bed to buy a little time, then tries to wake you.

“y/n, wake up so i can get us on the bed".

You were deep in your sleep, almost half-unconscious. The only answer you could give him was a compilation of half chewed words and grunts. You eventually got up thanks to him supporting you. He carried you carefully onto the bed and covered you before settling down. You unconsciously pulled him towards you so that his head rests on your chest. He blushes and hugs you tenderly as he falls asleep.

When he’s not feeling well

Everything was going smoothely. You had just finished your last class of the day and was heading out to the library to study with Gojo and some of your friends. You were soon joined by them, but couldn't see your boyfriend.

One of them asks, "Is Gojo coming?"

You replied, picking up your phone, "I'll text him, let's go in anyways." All you had to do was wait and sit inside with the others after the message was sent.

You concluded, "I'm sure his teacher held up his class for a few more minutes."

——

There was still no sign of Gojo after twenty minutes. You apologized to the group and decided to quickly leave the library to call him. It wasn't typical of him to not at least text you. You tried to call him, still no response. You sensed something was off, and you knew in your heart that you needed to make sure he was okay. You returned to the library, gathered your things, and apologized once again to the group, telling them you had an emergency. You speed walk towards the building where Gojo had his last class. When you got there, you saw one of his classmates standing outside and you asked her if she had seen him.

"He unfortunately missed today's class". she says You thanked her as you were already walking away. You knew his two “get away” spots when he felt the need to take a break were his dorm or the small park close to the local coffee shop he liked.

You chose to head to the coffee shop first since it wasn't that far. You slid between the students, holding the totebag that was menacing to fall of your shoulders. You arrived in front of the park and looked the surroundings carefully. No signs of his presence. His room was the only location that remained. Before leaving, you bought him his favorite strawberry frappé.

You reach his dorm after what felt like a marathon. You catch a break and knock on his door.

He was indeed inside, lying numb on his bed, his phone on the table. He heard you and is aware that you are standing outside. After a while, he opens his door in pajamas, his eyes swollen and red. You could tell that he really wasn't feeling well.

"Hey!" You softly cupped his face "Tell me what's wrong."

"I feel like I'm messing up everything. I've failed an important test, i've got into an argument with my best friend, and i feel like a total failure." he whines

"Take this," you say as you hand him the strawberry frappé, "a little sugar boost will do you some good." He took a few sips, and kisses your forehead.

"Secondly," you take him to bed and lay him down with you.

"Despite the weight of your worries, you must solve them one by one. You've failed your test, it sucks and you feel like you did all of that for nothing. It will take a little time for you to cool off, but you can always make up for it by asking your teacher extra graded work or to retake the test."

He looks at the ceiling, sighs loudly, and grips your hands tightly.

You proceed — "Now for Geto's case, you know that you'll be able to make it up to him, you just have to talk to him frankly. Honesty comes first, especially with him."

He gives you a weak laugh, "Especially with him yes, you're right."

You both lay there hands interwined until you turn around to face his side profile.

"It's normal not to feel good, you're human. It's okay to fail, to be sad, angry and even disappointed. Never say you're not enough again because you're worth it. Come talk to me or someone you trust if you ever feel like you are carrying too much weight. You must let it all out."

He gave you a hug as he suddenly lifted you onto his chest.

"That feels good, thank you so much, can you please stay with me?"

After care

Gojo had made the decision to invite you to his hometown so that you two could spend some romantic time together as the last three days of spring break approached. Even though you could occasionally cross paths at university, it was essential that you two stay together for a longer period. You had planned a lovely evening with a dinner date and a late night walk. You spent the rest of your evening at Gojo's house, and it's safe to say that you two needed to reconnect.

A warm atmosphere started to surround you both as the gentle touches on your thigh or on his broad shoulders grew more and more insistent. Finally, a languid kiss confirmed how you both felt. So you spent a delightful late night sharing that moment of intimacy you'd missed so much. Sweet and tender words exchanged in whispers and even delicate praises. The night's soft light cast a comforting glow over you as the moment came to an end. While silently panting, you embrace one another. Gojo loved looking after you after such a significant moment. He loved touching your belly, your waist or your face, and you enjoyed snuggling up to him, playing with his hair or lying on his chest.

Following that, Gojo felt it was essential to help you clean yourself, hence why he grabbed the first shirt he saw to give it to you, guided you into the bathroom while the water began to run. He took great care of you, assisting you in washing your hair by giving it a massage. He was aware that despite how frequently you shared such intimate moments, you preferred for him to turn around while you washed your entire body. He then cleaned himself after that and was the first to exit the shower. You blushed at the sight of your partner with that towel wrapped around his waist.

Once you were clean and dry, you changed into some comfortable clothes and went back to bed to finish the rest of the night by either sleeping in the classic big and small spoon formation or talking.

line divider Sea pink by benkeibear

sunelia.

[sleepingdeath-light]

comforting an s/o who just lost their pet hcs ; deadpool

requested by ; anonymous (09/01/23)

fandom(s) ; deadpool (films) / marvel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; deadpool / wade wilson

outline ; “could you possibly do deadpool with a reader who just lost a pet they’ve had for years? i understand if you’d rather not though! /gen”

warning(s) ; loss of a beloved pet

to get the obvious point out of the way first; comfort and being a comforting presence isn’t really wade’s strong suit

like, yes, he generally knows what to do (physical affection, words of comfort, grabbing your favourite take out and snacks, and a movie you love to watch) and will try to go through the motions — but the moment he arrives on your doorstep and is confronted with how distraught you are, he kind of just panics

food momentarily forgotten, he’ll gather you up in his arms and just sit there with you in the threshold to your home, muttering reassurances and comforts and trying to crack some jokes to make you laugh (soothed by the choked half-sigh of amusement that he gets after one particularly cheesy comment) until you’re okay to stand and he can take everything inside

it’s then that, whilst untying the stupidly stubborn knots on the bags and messily portioning out the food, that the loss actually hits him too — he’d been so focused on looking after you since he got your call that he didn’t get to process what had happened

he’d known your pet too — not as well as you, no, but they’d always been there as your relationship blossomed into the beautifully chaotic mess that it had become today — and without their presence your home (well, both of your home — he spends more than enough time there to call it as much, he thinks) feels much heavier and much emptier

he sees scattered remnants of their presence as he brings you your food and you put the movie on — whether that’s their favourite toy, the spot that was definitively theirs, or their enclosure that’s still sitting, unoccupied, where it’s always been — and it takes more effort than usual to keep up his usual energetic persona

but, somehow, he manages

for your sake and his

he prods you in the places you’re ticklish just to make you squirm and glare at him

he whispers the dumbest things he can in your ear just to make you laugh or chortle or snort — insults at the main characters, sexual jabs at the villains, animated whisper-shouts of frustration when someone does something stupid, and so on

he smothers you with affection and compliments until you’re giggling having to clamp your hands over his mouth, begging him to ‘shush’ so that you can actually focus on the film

then, once the film is over, the two of you are left to lay there in that uncomfortable silence until those inevitable few words are shared and the dam breaks once again

‘i miss them’

‘i miss them too’

and this time wade will let you cry and sob and scream your sorrows until you fall asleep, throat raw and eyes aching and cheeks wet as his ratty old hoodie gets soaked with salt and snot, and then he’ll carry you to bed

he’s not too good at the whole comfort thing, but he does his best for you because that’s what you do for the people you love

and tomorrow he’ll go and get something special for you — after all, in a school that big there’s sure to be a mutant or two that’s artsy and willing to create a sculture or portrait or something for a grieving pet-parent

maybe silver balls even knows who he can talk to about it… he’d call him in the morning

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Genuinely did not expect a serious response (or a response at all for that matter) to my mimic ask but I am glad that you gave one

It was nice to read about the whole machines doing what they're just programmed to do! I've been putting off reading the books but you've definitely convinced me to read them now. That is quite a spooky concept like you said and if that's the direction fnaf is going then awesome!

I've mostly been seeing just memes of the mimic so it was cool and refreshing to read all that info about them and how their creator affected them. Had no idea about all that stuff!

Here's the thing about the FNAF books that a lot of Youtubers Don't Tell you.

The Books take place in three Separate Continuities because there are THREE Series.

And this is how I understand it. Granted, this is all a theory, but I do have evidence to the games to back up these claims.

The Silver Eyes Trilogy: A series of books about Charlie and her Friends as teenagers (the victim of William Afton who goes on to be the Puppet in the games) These books take place in their own continuity divorced from Fazbear Frights and Tales of the Pizzaplex and the Games.... However... At this moment in time, they can really go either way to be confirmed by the games or not. They exist in this weird limbo where they can be proven or not proven. In a weird muddy area where they can either be a parallel, or they did actually happen as events. Take it with a grain of salt for World-building.... But they are entertaining stories... I am still in the process of reading the Twisted Ones. and it is highly possible that TECHNOLOGY exists from the Silver Eyes Trilogy in universe... Whether or not the story in these books is real or not.

Fazbear Frights Book Series: These are all fictional tales that people make up about Fazbear Entertainment. IN-UNIVERSE.

How can I say that so confidently?

We have stories where Men get pregnant with Springtrap, A Girl turns into a giant Bubblegummy monster, and a man cut off his face because a BaloonBoy told him to.

Fazbear Frights are where you see the most outlandish and crazy stories. Some are meant to serve as a parallel, but honestly, all of them are "Campy Goosebumps Horror" type of things.

And they have been Confirmed to be Fictional within it's own in-game universe:

This here is "Catch the Fetch" an arcade machine based on one of the earliest Fazbear Frights stories about an animatronic dog. Where the Protagonist of that Tale is named Greg.

So what does this mean? An easter Egg? Perhaps... But then you have things like this:

A lot of people forget that the first four games, and possibly onwards (given we don't know a lot about help wanted) Are all retconned to be "fabrications of actual stories"

Security Breach is littered with these arcade games, and they give a really clear indication of how all the "Fazbear Frights" Novels in their own universe... Are actual books (perhaps films) sold by Fazbear Entertainment to make fun of their gruesome past.

Which is why people say that stories in the books are so crazy and don't add to anything.

It's because Fazbear Entertainment just pumped out a lot of outlandish horror stories to cover the truth. You start telling stories about invisible ballerina dancers, and robots that steal your body parts to become human, and suddenly, a serial killer murdering children in a rabbit costume just sounds more silly now doesn't it?

The Fazbear Frights books, by admission, are fictional stories/legends/books/films in their own universe.

The Tales of the Pizzaplex:

THE TALES OF THE PIZZAPLEX BOOKS ARE 100% REAL AND HAVE HAPPENED BY ADMISSION OF IT'S OWN UNIVERSE

Every time something super strange or off the wall happens in the Pizzaplex books, either one or two things has happened:

"It was AR/VR the whole time"

"It took place in a different Pizzaplex Location that isn't the Pizzaplex Gregory visited."

"A robot was following it's job, and got decomissioned and evidence of said robot and attraction was purged from the Pizzaplex and reconstructed."

Don't get me wrong. The Tales Books are weird. There's still things in there that I can't really explain. (there was just one story where everyone got possessed by the virus and was trying to convince the protagonist to eat dirt.......Ignore responsibilities eat dirt. become worm. That one was just odd.)

But the Tales of the Pizzaplex seem to have actually happened... As we can see from this explanation of the canon events from the story called "Pressure"

The Fazbear Frights? The first four five nights at freddys? All urban legends and stories made by Fazbear Entertainment itself.

There is also a Character Called Steve Snodgrass in Tales of the Pizzaplex. Who was deemed as a "Scott Cawthon surrogate/parallel..." But here's the thing.

He wasn't a parallel.

He was one for one... Scott Cawthon in this universe!

The "indie developer who was commissioned by Fazbear Entertainment to make light of the tragic past" ....That was Steve Snodgrass.

We actually get details about how the first four Five Nights at Freddy's game series came to be within the confines of it's own universe.

We also get backstory about the Mimic, in excruciating details.

Who we know for a fact is well.. in the games:

(hello beautifal)

Oh.. and not to mention.. there is a story in the Tales books called GGY.... Where there is a very Sus Boy named Gregory, (referred to as Greg, but it's clearly our gregory from context clues) who appears to have a connection to Freddy, and gets the high score on every single arcade game.

And for a group project, he gives himself the codename Dr. Rabbit.

I wonder where Gregory could have gotten that name from?

The arcade games making fun of the tragic past by shrouding everything in a layer of ghost stories and bullshit.

Before all of this, I would have said that "the books are like an au of fnaf and don't matter"

And yes.

That was true... BUT AS OF THIS POINT in the Lore right now....

The Silver Eyes Trilogy: a weird limbo of factual/fictional. Take it or leave it. I feel like the technology and ideas presented are real, but I don't think the story actually happen or they exist in the Game Universe. As far as Silver Eyes are concerned... This is entirely it's own continuity.

The Fazbear Frights Books: The most outlandish and out there FNAF stories. That read like short Goosebumps Horror. In-Universe, it is admitted that these stories exist as stories in the FNAF-universe. They didn't actually happen, and only exist as ghost stories to muddle the truth.

Tales of the Pizzaplex: As of right now... These books I believe are based in the FNAF-universe Reality. Often tell stories of Robots doing their job, and accidently killing people due to programming issues. Lack of haunting, or really crazy things... The most crazy things happen in AR or VR or a different Pizzaplex that is not unlike our own. They often Describe Characters and events from the Pizzaplex that is ours as a one-for-one recreation... and I don't think things are meant to be a parallel or symbolize anything.... If you wanted to research FNAF lore... I think the Tales Books are the best place to start. Because of this moment... they are claiming to be canon to the games universe.

Again. You can take all this with a grain of salt. But Having Reading through the Silver Eyes, Most of Tales, and some Fazbear Frights stories. I do believe that this is what is happening with the books.

Three separate continuities.... three book series.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Why 'Black Sails' Is Still Worth a Watch

These pirates' lives made for some great television.

(Spoiler alert for people haven't watch!)

The Big Picture

Black Sails is an underrated pirate series that serves as a prelude to the novel Treasure Island.

The show explores the origins of Captain Flint and John Silver, and their journey from noblemen to pirates.

The series features an ensemble of real-life pirates, has a prolific cast, and delves into darker and more introspective themes than other pirate shows.

Pirates make for great entertainment. From the swashbuckling thrills of the Pirates of the Caribbean films to the animated antics of One Piece, and recent hit shows like Our Flag Means Death, buccaneers and their battles on the high seas have provided a wealth of stories for screens large and small. One of the most underrated pirate stories happens to be the Starz series Black Sails. Over the course of four seasons, a gripping narrative of blood and betrayal was woven.

Created by Jonathan E. Steinberg and Robert Levine, Black Sails was crafted to fill the void left by Starz's previous heavy hitter Spartacus. And much like the Rome-set series, Black Sails features an ensemble cast and drew inspiration from another creative work. In this case, the show serves as a prelude to the novel Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, and focuses on two characters from the novel: Captain Flint (Toby Stephens) and new crew member John Silver (Luke Arnold). While other prequels to famous works feel the need to explain every little detail that surrounds the preceding source material, Black Sails takes a different path and explores how its pirates came to be the men they are.

Captain Flint and John Silver Are at the Center of This Swashbuckling Story

In the second season, Flint is revealed to have turned from a nobleman's life to that of a pirate following the imprisonment and death of his lover Thomas Hamilton. Adding salt in the wound is the death of Thomas' wife Miranda, which pushes Flint over the edge. Throughout the series, he attempts to gather his fellow pirates into a force that will rival the British fleets; he also tracks down and kills those who wronged him. By the series finale, Flint has finally won his war and becomes the ruler of the pirate nation Nassau. Stephens portrays Flint with a quiet intensity that often boils over into bloodlust and/or rage given who he interacts with.

During his quest, Flint must deal with Silver, who often schemes against him and ultimately winds up betraying him in order to gain a greater share of the gold hidden in the Spanish ship known as Urca de Lima, which drives the plot of the first two seasons. However, over the course of the series, Silver grows to be a loyal ally to Flint and the crew of the Walrus, and uses his schemes to help them survive. True to the book, Silver suffers extreme torture in Season 2 that forces him to have his leg amputated — but even though he has a peg leg, it doesn't make him any less dangerous.

'Black Sails' Explored the Lives of Real-Life Pirates and Deeper Themes

Black Sails was also notorious for introducing several real-life pirates into its narrative. Chief among them was Blackbeard (Ray Stevenson), who goes by his real name of Edward Teach. Teach enters into a partnership with Flint and the other pirates when they seek to retake Nassau from Captain Woodes Rogers (Luke Roberts), who Teach wants revenge against for reasons initially unknown. Stevenson is utterly terrifying as Teach; he towers over everyone and even defeats Flint in a sword fight — when Flint is the one who challenged him! Other real-life pirates include Zach McGowan as Charles Vane, Toby Schmitz as Jack Rackham (otherwise known as "Calico Jack"), and Clara Paget as Anne Bonny.

Black Sails contains what may be one of the most prolific ensemble casts for a cable series; each member went on to star in more genre fare. Tom Hopper, who portrayed Billy Bones, is a major part of The Umbrella Academy on Netflix. Jessica Parker Kennedy, who plays Max, made an appearance on The Flash as Barry Allen's daughter Nora. Stephens has appeared in the James Bond film Die Another Day, as well as Netflix's Lost in Space. Stevenson has been in all sorts of genre fare including Ahsoka (in his final performance), Punisher: War Zone, Thor, and G.I. Joe: Retaliation. This is another thing it shares in common with Spartacus, as that show has seen many of its alums go on to alternate genre fare (none likely more famous than Lucy Lawless, who defined early genre TV when she played a certain warrior princess).

Black Sails stood out from other pirate series by going into darker places, especially where its characters were concerned. Though Flint was the protagonist, he'd commit cold-blooded murder, especially if anyone crossed him. Betrayals were second nature; one minute two of the pirates could be allies and the next they'd be at each other's throats. And for all the blood, sex, and swearing, the series was rather introspective; it explored the mental cost Flint's past took on him, and was willing to question whether or not he could truly find peace. Black Sails was definitely a series ahead of its time, not just in pirate media but in genre storytelling on the whole, and the map it laid out would lead to many similar elements playing out in shows that would soon follow, like Game of Thrones and The Witcher.

Black Sails is available to stream on Starz.

Note from admin: Black Sails coming to Netflix US on 1st January, stay tuned!

Source: Collider

[gone2soon-rip]

ANDRE BRAUGHER (1962-Died December 11th 2023,at 61.Lung cancer).

American actor known for his roles as Detective Frank Pembleton in the NBC police drama series Homicide: Life on the Street (1993–1999) and Captain Raymond Holt in the Fox/NBC police comedy series Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013–2021). He won two Primetime Emmy Awards and was nominated for two Golden Globe Awards.

Braugher started his acting career as part of The Public Theatre's Shakespeare in the Park, appearing in Much Ado About Nothing (1988), Coriolanus (1989), Twelfth Night (1996), Hamlet (2008), and As You Like It (2012). He transitioned his career into television, gaining roles in Kojak (1989–1990), The Court-Martial of Jackie Robinson (1990), and The Tuskegee Airmen (1995), followed by leading roles in the ABC medical series Gideon's Crossing (2000–2001), the CBS crime series Hack (2002–2004), and the TNT comedy series Men of a Certain Age (2009–2011).

Braugher's film roles include Glory (1989), Primal Fear (1996), City of Angels (1998), Frequency (2000), Duets (2000), Poseidon (2006), The Mist (2007), Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer (2007), Salt (2010), The Gambler (2014), and She Said (2022). He also had supporting roles in series such as Thief, The Good Fight, House, New Girl, and BoJack Horseman.Andre Braugher - Wikipedia

[lesbianboyfriend]

can i ask for lesbian book recommendations 🥹🕺

yeassss ofc my love <3

erm and obligatory disclaimer for any who might read that i don’t think “queer” or “lesbian” is a necessarily coherent category of books or adequate descriptor for a novel which is why i’ve also provided the actual genres here (sorted into which ever one i felt best fit) and descriptions. and these books have much more going on than just being about lesbians. however all books are undeniably awesomer with lesbians so yayyyyy

FANTASY:

-the salt grows heavy by cassandra khaw: fantasy horror; murderous mermaid and plague doctor come across a cult of children (could be read as not lesbians bc one character is nonbinary but i choose to read as. lesbians)

-the empress of salt and fortune by nghi vo: political fantasy; monk unravels the tale of exiled empress’ rise to power

-when the the tigers came down the mountain by nghi vo: political fantasy; monk unwinds the tale of a tiger and her scholar lover to prevent other tigers from eating them (stand alone sequel to empress of salt and fortune)

-ship of smoke and steel by django wexler: ya fantasy; girl has to steal a ghost ship to save her sister’s life

-the mermaid, the witch, and the sea by maggie tokuda-hall: ya fantasy; pirate falls in love with one of the ship’s hostages, a girl being sent to an arranged marriage against her will

-tremontaine created by ellen kushner: political fantasy; there’s a lot going on in this one okay just trust me that it’s really good esp if you love political intrigue (this was released serially and is easiest to acquire an electronic version)

-the deep by rivers solomon: fantasy/spec fic; African slave women thrown overboard gave birth to mermaid-esque descendants. one holds these traumatic memories for her whole people and must grapple with that pressure

-wild beauty by anna-marie mclemore: ya magical realism/fantasy; a family of women who can create flowers and whose lovers always tragically vanish fight to keep their land and to unravel the mystery of a strange boy who appeared

-siren queen by nghi vo: historical magical realism/fantasy; girl’s rise to stardom amidst the monsters of hollywood back in the days of the studio system

-gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir: sff; um. how to explain briefly. gideon wants nothing more than to leave the ninth house, but her nemesis harrowhark needs her sword skills to pass the emperors trial and become immortal. sure. (caleb i know you’ve read this just adding for any other viewers yayyy)

HORROR:

-white is for witching by helen oyeyemi: horror fantasy/magical realism; a house with women in its walls calls to miranda silver while the people she leaves behind struggle to make sense of what happened to her

-plain bad heroines by emily a. danforth: historical horror; when filming a movie about the macabre history of a boarding school, its past starts to become the reality for the stars and author of the novel it’s based on

LITFIC:

-girl woman other: contemporary litfic; the intersecting stories of Black british women told in verse

-nightwood: classic literary; i feel like i can’t describe this one well but nora and jenny are obsessed with robin, whose penchant for wandering and inability to commit drives them crazy. toxic dyke drama at its best

-the thirty names of night: lit fic; transmasc syrian american unravels the history of artist laila z who encountered the same rare bird his mother saw right before her death and realizes their pasts are intertwined

-under the udala trees: historical lit fic; coming of age set against the backdrop of civil war in Nigeria, two girls from different ethnic communities fall in love

-everyone in this room will someday be dead: contemporary lit fic; that moment when your ocd lands you a job at the catholic church even though you’re an atheist and also your relationship is falling apart

-stone butch blues: historical lit fic; butch lesbian realizing and grappling with her identity throughout the 40s-70s

-the color purple: classic lit fic; story of two sisters separated in their youth—one is forced into an abusive marriage and falls in love with her husbands mistress, wondering what became of her sister

-oranges are not the only fruit: semi-autobiography with slight fantasy elements; exploring growing up lesbian in a deeply religious pentecostal sect

SCI-FI:

-the weight of the stars: ya sf romance; aspiring astronaut is forced into friendship with a girl who waits on the roof every night for radio signals from her mother in space

-the seep: sci-fi/spec fic; what if aliens invaded and formed a hive mind of everyone and also your girlfriend turned into a baby again. wouldn’t that be fucked up

-the stars are legion: political science fiction; an awakes with no memory amid a group of people calling themself her family who claim she is the only one who can save their world

-not your sidekick: ya sci-fi; superheroes are real and they fucking suck

SHORT STORIES:

-sarahland: contemporary/spec fic short story collection; various stories about people named sarah

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Snippet: Salt Line Part II Chapter 4

It was only early afternoon by the time he left the Citadel. The white film of clouds covering the sky seemed to leech the saturation of all colour. At least in the upper level of Insomnia, where most buildings were made of pale stone, metal, concrete and glass. Cor squinted at the bright silver disc that was the sun and hoped this was not some kind of omen.

He left the governmental district, which was relatively empty of passers-by. The main street was much more crowded. Children and teenagers after school meeting up, adults with toddlers or pets on their way to the nearby park, people just relaxing and appreciating their after-work hours. A Galahkari woman, dressed in greens and golds and browns stood next to a bookshop and looked at him with piercing eyes.

Cor froze, all hairs on his neck stood on end. A small child ran into his left knee, but he didn't even budge or react when the crying started and the mother arrived. All his attention zeroed in on the Galahkari woman. She was tall, with long black hair wound in complicated braids and full of beads and bones. Her skirts were long and multi-layered, their colour complimenting her dark skin. There was a shawl that looked like it was made of silk feathers, artfully draped around her shoulders, accentuating her bare arms. Cor might not be able to see the colour of her eyes from such a distance, but he just knew they were gold.

Their eyes met and the air between them grew tense like a live-wire. Power brushed against his. A greeting. A warning. Suddenly the bones in her hair didn't just seem to be decorations. Cor felt something in his facial structure shift in response. An acknowledgement. A challenge. The Galahkari woman tilted her head.

Just who was she? What was she?

Even at this distance, from that brief, controlled brush of her power against his, could he tell that she was too human to be fae, but too old to be human. The taste of slowly rotting greenery bloomed on his tongue.

He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving her. She did not move a muscle, but from one moment to the next, she was gone. Gone, as if she had never been there at all. The people around Cor kept moving as if nothing had happened. As if the woman and her wordless warning had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Cor growled, low and deep enough humans could not hear it. Still the people moved to give him more space, their instincts telling them to keep their distance. He crossed the street in a large loping gate until he reached the spot where the woman had been standing. The taste of rotting greenery grew nearly nauseating, joined by the feeling of bird claws tearing at his muscles from the inside and something scaly slithering across his skin and squeezing.

Knowing it was futile but still needing to move, Cor searched along the nearby alleyways, but could find neither hide nor hair of the woman. In the current weather her striking green skirts would have been like a beacon.

Frustrated, and asking himself what by Pitioss he was doing, he returned to the main street and continued on his way. However he could not shake the feeling that something important had happened. Something of which he could not predict the consequences. Should he ask one of the Galahkari who the woman had been? Would they even give him an answer?

No matter what, he would need to inform Regis and Pax of the new dangerous element within the city. Only Chaos knew what she would do other than delivering a nebulous warning Cor couldn't quite grasp the shape of.

[myoddessy]

hey! Hope this isn’t annoying or to much but I would love it if you wrote a hcs for the jackass cast dating a female cast member, who is the craziest one, she’s done for anything and everything no matter how weird, dangerous, or insane it is. i guess pretty much a girl who is like johnny and steve o combined. I see to many ones with girls who are shy or scared, and they are so boring. can’t wait to see what you write, even if it’s not this!

YES OHMYGOSH whenever i imagine a female jackass member, she's always batshit insane and i love it so much- for these hcs, i did johnny, bam, and steve-o but if you want to see some others then i'll do them asap

RECKLESS CREW MEMBER!S/O

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE !!

you guys are fucking terrifying oh my god-

okay but let's start with the fact that nobody was surprised when you ended up together. like, you both do so many stunts together because you're both up for anything that it was only a matter of time before you started dating.

whether it's the classic johnny knoxville or the gorgeous silver foxville, this man has no shame and with loudly say the most inappropriate shit when you do a dangerous stunt.

"my ding ding's harder than a turnbuckle" is automatically associated with you bleeding in some way atp.

that being said, he gets really worried about you when you do some of the crazier stunts .

you'd 100% be jeff's fav because you're down for anything, but he could honestly go without johnny clinging to his arm like a worried mother when you're in the bull ring.

overall, 10/10 power couple ( unhinged version )

BAM MARGERA !!

he thinks you're crazy hot but, like, in a psychopathic way

like, he knows your batshit insane and that's one of the main reasons he finds you so hot if that makes sense

pls make fun of him for throwing up easily, idc if you aren't much better, he gets so pissy and it makes for great content

another one who's scared for you but will also be the one suggesting you for death-defying stunts most of the time

97% of the time, if someone other than jeff volunteers you for a stunt, it's bam

the other three percent is probably johnny because nobody else wanted to do the stunt and he played it off as if you were the first choice

bam doesn't volunteer you out of spite or a want to see you nearly snap your neck, he just does it because he knows you can handle it and knows you'll love the footage that comes out of the stunt — regardless as to whether or not you get fucking ragdolled

i can see you and jeff rubbing your hands together like scheming flies when you plan a but where you're working with snakes that are kind of wrapped around your arms and you're totally chill about it, but bam gets called in and loses his shit

overall, 9/10 he's heart eyes 24/7 but an instigating little shit

STEVE-O !!

oh he gets so happy when he finds out your down to do any stunt

will definitely bring you along for wildboyz and will refuse to comment on you showing him up on stunts and shit

yk that one scene in 3.5 (i think??) where he says that when filming wildboyz, he refused to do a bungee jump? you definitely did that instead of him just for funsies

i mentioned it in the bam segment, but you'd both do so many wildboyz bits with animals and you'd both eat shit nearly every time but you don't care because it's funny

i can see you both getting really competitive over who can do the most disgusting thing and not hurl when everyone's drunk at someone's house...

spike probably intervened after you snorted a line of salt and pepper off of ryan's ass

overall, 9 and a half/10 purely because you'd both be incredibly scary to be around and idk if that's a good thing or not

[fandomfluffandfuck]

hi s i absolutely ADORE you can(t) teach old dogs new tricks. i just wanted to know what images you have of steve and bucky when you picture them for the series. idk if you’ve mentioned it already but i would love to know

Aw, thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it!

I don't think I've put any actual images out there and... it's just as well 'cause I don't think there are really any images that exist for the exact look I imagine for them.

Basically, I'm imagining Steve older than we ever see him in the MCU (not counting Old Man because... he doesn't count) with almost entirely silver hair (shaved short sides and a longer quiff-like top) and a salt and pepper beard. Bucky is young, like, 40s Bucky before the war but with his longer hair. The Wakandian Jesus look, y’know?

A more drawn-out answer could be the character outlines I have in my original plan for the series (so don't mind the horrible grammar, haha):

Steve Rogers

Same/similar background

Brooklyn

Poor

Mom was single (Dad died before Steve can remember him) & poor, an immigrant from Ireland, a nurse in Hospitals around the area they lived

Mom died of cancer when Steve was in high school

Raised Irish Catholic

Uncircumcised

Born in 1969 (54)

Sexual Orientation

Gay

Ma had a feeling he was… she could probably tell… but he never told her before she died (she died when he was 17, and spent the rest of high school bouncing around between friends' houses until he graduated)

Left Brooklyn

Came to San Fransico to find new people & work (came out in San Fransico by the time he was 19)

Started as a photographer, and had a good eye for it (film camera w/ dark room development)... moved from scenery landscape photos to photos of people to fetish photography through a boyfriend (a past Daddy)... then slowly integrated more and more into the kink scene, was a boy for a long time, sold photos of himself, then photos of his subs… his professional dom business took off

(two coming outs, one coming out as gay, the other coming out as kinky w/ his kinky lifestyle)

Epidemic

1981 to early 1990s (AIDs epidemic)

Lots of friends died during HIV/AIDs crisis

He survived the HIV epidemic

Old-guard Leather & BDSM / Occupation

Leatherman

Professional Dominant

Sex worker

People pay to have scenes w/ him

Bondage & impact play are his specialties BUT he does a lot BC he’s been in the scene for so long

Was a photographer B4 pro dom… casual then a fetish photographer

Appearance

Blue eyes

Greying hair (salt & pepper)

Hair is short on the sides and a little longer on top

Beard

6’2” & 260-ish lbs

Obviously works out a lot…

His arms and shoulders are huge and his stomach is soft (a belly but when he flexes it’s pretty hard under a layer of fluff. His whole waist is wide, though). Also. He has an unfairly round and pert butt

Needs glasses when reading

Fashion

Often in a t-shirt & leather jacket with dark wash denim when casual

When domming… leather: leather peaked cap, leather jacket, leather shirt + leather tie (or leather vest w/out a shirt under it), big, wide leather belt, leather pants (or leather chaps on top of dark Levi jeans)

Usually prefers tight briefs as underwear

Aaaand Big, leather boots

Collar

Steve's play collar is black leather with silver hardware. It has a silver o-ring on the front, two o-rings on the side, a silver padlock on the back, and all around the collar there's a silver chain overlaying the leather. He had a good friend and BDSM gear craftsman make it for him, originally with the intent to collar someone else, but... it never ended up happening, Steve got a different collar instead, he just fucking loves this collar. It reminds him of the plain chain and padlock collars he used to see all the time at the leather bars and bathhouses. Rugged, masculine, junk-yard-esque collars.

Bucky Barnes

Background

Grew up in modern New York

Brooklyn (he was growing up by the time Steve had left the area for the West Coast)

Middle class

Parents are alive, Dad is an alcoholic (mean drunk) & Mom did the best she could, but they don’t talk often

Circumcised

Born in 1997 (26)

Sexual Orientation (1)

Gay

Came out when he was 18 (2015, June 26, when all 50 states legalized gay marriage)

Religion

Parents are both Jewish… Bucky goes back and forth with it… he isn’t practicing actively, but… it’s a little hard to leave the faith completely behind after being raised that way

Sexual Orientation (2)

Leviticus 18:23 & Leviticus 20:13 (Torah)

Mother was speechless, she nodded and grabbed his hand, when she turned away, Bucky saw her eyes were glossy (crying)

Sober father made him write out passages again and again and again and again after he came out, believing that it was a problem to be solved

Drunk father yelled at him, saying that he couldn’t believe his son was this way, he tried to do everything right!

Bucky wasn’t kicked out, but he didn’t exactly feel safe… so he left and lived with a friend (at their parent's house until he could afford to rent a place of his own)

He occasionally speaks to his Mom, but more often, he speaks to his sister. He doesn’t speak to his father.

While in NYC, he dated one guy for almost 2 years (stayed until he was 23) and went on a few dates w/ some more guys

Since moving to San Fransico he’s dated around more (23-26)

He hasn’t connected w/ anyone really... COVID-19 pandemic

Sexual Experience

Has had vanilla sex... kind of bored by it

KNOWS he's interested in kink

He’s topped in vanilla sex and the power he got from that, he liked… he wants more… more power dynamics

Wants to be a dom

Restraints really appeal to him (cuffs, rope, etc.)

Occupation

Web Developer

Codes

Works online (he used to go into an office in NYC, but when he expressed his decision to move & put in his 2 weeks, they didn’t want to let him go... online now)

Designs the front-end (the parts of a site a user interacts with) & back-end (the behind-the-scenes part) of sites (referred to as “full-stack”)

Doesn’t have a degree, he took classes in high school, then a few through the nearby community college, and was good enough to get hired, then he’s been building his career since then

Appearance

Long dark brown hair (often pulled back into a bun when he’s working on something)

Steel blue eyes

Stubble (short beard)

6’0” & 200-ish lbs

Works out... nice arms & NICE legs

Has a good amount of body hair, he obviously manscapes, but it’s dark & thick

Fashion

Around his apartment, he’s often in just a t-shirt and basketball shorts (or sweatpants)

Wears a lot of jockstraps

When he’s not home, he’s in a lot of ripped jeans (black) & t-shirts (loves his denim jacket) + he always has his dark aviator sunglasses BC his eyes are sensitive

I hope that was somewhat interesting 💀💀 and that it gives you a clearer picture! Thanks for the ask <3