#babe's writings

[novakiart]

spideypool but it's a comedy of errors

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[starrylevi]

Obsessed with the idea that people forget you have Captain Levi’s heart until they see him do little things for you. Like at breakfast, before his morning meeting with Erwin, he’ll pass by your table and casually hand you a loaded plate. “They didn’t have those croissants you usually like but I found those weird ass pastries you can’t stop talking about.” And then he’ll just walk away without saying anything else. Or like, while you’re all suiting up for a mission, he’ll randomly walk up to you and adjust the thigh straps of your odm gear to make sure they’re properly secured and you’re just like “!!!” inside. Or like for every group meeting he arrives early and saves you the seat next to him and when you arrive, he’ll pull out your chair, waiting till you sit so he can briefly place his hand on your thigh as a greeting 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

sleepy morning sex with jason todd that starts with him gently grinding himself into your ass as he spoons you, so lightly he barely notices it. his arm is wrapped around your waist and his head is buried in your neck as he holds you against him, and by the time he’s fully hard, you’re both groggy but awake, and his hand has found your breasts under your baggy shirt.

he groans quietly into your skin as he pulls his boxers down just enough to free himself, slipping his cock between your soft thighs and thrusting slowly. you shudder against him as his length grazes the cotton of your panties with each movement, and his hand comes down from your breast to rub small circles on your clothed clit. there’s no urgency in his movements, and the room is quiet apart from the rustling sheets and your airy breathing.

before long, your wetness starts seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear, and jason takes that as his sign that you’re ready. he hooks his fingers into your waistband and pulls your panties down to just below your ass, only exposing you as much as he needs to. he slides his cock between your folds to collect your arousal, his tip soon prodding at your tight entrance. you instinctively reach for his hand, and he places a tender kiss on your temple before sinking into you slowly.

you gasp as he stretches you, and he squeezes you against him reassuringly. his strong body on yours, the angle of his hips, and the intimacy of the moment leaves both your sensitivities heightened; all it takes is a few gentle thrusts against your sensitive spot and some whispered affirmations—y’feel good, ma, so good—for your walls to start tightening around him as you whine. your orgasm brings jason to his, and his grip on your waist tightens suddenly as he releases into you, muffling a low moan into your neck. you turn your head to face him while he’s still sheathed inside you, a sleepy grin on your face.

“mornin’ ma,” he mumbles with a smile, his tired green eyes searching yours. “sleep well?”

[berriblossom]

-fem reader, btw- (Daddy/Dilf addition)

Imagine a "friend" of yours just being a man larger than life, known to be a force to be reckoned with, strong hands that can do some good damage, and a voice that can clear crowds. He's just so strong, tall, and well-built that you can't imagine hed be this gentle with you.

Holding so close to his chest, whispering how nice, sweet, kind you are for him. His voice is nice and gentle, unlike loudness he is known for. Its subtle and deep, perfect for when his cock is slowly pushing in and out of you, how he holds thr plush of your thighs, asking you gently "keep them open baby, you can hold f'me a little longer".

The slight tease he has when he rubbs his fingers against your clit, making your cunt squeeze so nicely around him, just you soft whines and please while he groans about how much he adores you.

Every time you walk with in public, he just loves holding you close. Having you pressed up against him right now is just heavenly. His weight on your side is so comfortable, so safe-feeoing.

He loved how every other man you'd ever be with would never compare to him, how they don't treat you like royalty, don't show their adoration like he does, don't fuck into you like he does. Everytime you call or tell him about your last "dates" he just wants to roll his eyes in shame about how terrible those others must have done you.

He just holds you against his chest as you tell him about the days you had at work, especially this one guy who won't catch a hint, he just wipes away the frustrated tears and kisses your pretty little head, reminding you he can take care of you happily. Hell he will give you the keys to his house, car, office, and even bank details for you. No matter how much or little is there, he will give it all to you.

After another house of fucking his cum into you, pleading you'd just be his sweetheart, his favorite and best girl, as he fucks his cum into you with his fingers and tongue, tasting the beautiful taste of your fluids mixed, a match made in heavenly sinfulness. His eyes creek upward as you beg for him to have you, let his be yours, let him take care of you, he smiles as he makes you cum over and over and over.

When he helps you finish, he will show you how he treats his girl, how he treats her so well.

WRIOTHESLEY, Blade, Welt, JING YUAN, Neuvillette, Itto, ZHONGLI, Boothill, Alhaitham, CHILDE, AYATO,

-> helloooo been a while.....

[jonahmagnus]

In world where there are two types of tower-dwellers, a Princess is locked in a tower.

There are two types of tower-people: A Princess, put there to remain pure until marriage or until rescued, and a Wizard, put there by choice to study and learn in isolation. Princesses are defined by their beautiful long hair, and Wizards are defined by their beards and impressive 'stache.

There is a Princess, and she lives in a tower. She was put there recently by her mother and father, to keep her pure and untouched until they can secure the marriage to another kingdom and a prince shes doesn't love. She has long, almost brown sandy-blonde hair, pale green eyes and a slim, tender build. She is not the fairest in the land, but she is tall and pretty. If compared to a rose, she would be the humble yet graceful willow tree, slender and long. She has wanted to be a wizard since a young age, but there is no way for a princess to become a wizard. Princesses are delicate girls to be protected and sold off until their either dead or Queens or have found True Love, unsuited to the life of experimentation and study of a wizard. That is what her mother tells her, in a quiet scolding that is far more forceful and cruel then it has any right to be. And the princess, terrified, believes her.

She used to run the castle halls, stick in hand, robe fashioned out of a delicate silk bedsheet, shouting fake spells at birds while her servants chased her. But as she grew older, her restraints became tighter, and more and more often, she was confined in her room to embroider in solitude with barely the comfort of a window or a maid. The life she is forced into makes her hang her head low, makes her hands be paper-soft, and demands her hair be long and beautiful and perfect like all other princesses. The world she longed to be a part of was a world of study and experimentation, and as the kingdoms princess and tool, she could not even dare to hint at her desires into adulthood. She could become a witch, she knew, flee the castle barefoot and sink into the loving embrace of the swamp. But witches don’t live in towers, and they make potions instead of spells, and they don’t grow the flowing whimsical beards that wizards do.

But that does not mean she has to be bored in her tower. Fascinated by magic as she always has been, she arranges with a long string of bribes for books on spells and forbidden potions to be smuggled along with her meals. She studies them while the clock ticks down for either a prince to arrive or her marriage to be finalized. Either one will doom her, and she wants to enjoy herself as much as possible until her marriage. She pours over the books long into the night by candlelight, and all day, she rests her pale, tired eyes. She experiments, and she reads, and she studies non-stop, barely stopping for meals and littering her books with an assortment of food stains. She cuts off her hair to use in bubbling gold potions, her skin becomes scarred with a rainbow of the consequences of failed experiments, and her dresses turn into makeshift cheesecloths and fire-fuel. She washes late into the night after she is done with her work for the day in the darkness, not glancing into the mirror that has become cracked and dusty. When her eyesight starts to fail from strain and working in darkness, she fashions for herself bottle-round glasses, blown by herself in the depths of her tower. Engrossed as she is in her studies, she does not notice the tower warp, and the meals stop rotting, and how she started out in one circular room but now has a loft and a second floor and the fact that the tower seems much much taller then it was originally.

What she DOES notice though, is when brushing crumbs from her face she feels facial hair on her upper lip.

She rushes to the bathroom and thrusts a candle into the holder as she looks at herself. In the dusty mirror, she sees the beginnings of a bushy mustache sit on her upper lip, much further along in growth then be logically possible without her noticing. It’s a pale blonde, like her hair, and she notices faintly that there are streaks of grey in it, a very familiar shade of classic wizard grey. She brings a trembling hand to her upper lip.

Much, much later, a prince rides up to the tower. It is tall, and warped, and very clearly belonging to a wizard, despite the royal family claiming their daughter lives here.

He shouts up, a bit nervous because of the thorny vines wrapping the beautiful stonework.

“Hey! Does a Princess live here?”

A young man with large bottle glasses and a rather impressive mustache leans out of the tower, his short, sandy-blonde hair spilling lightly in the wind. He starts to say something, then glances back into his house. A smile breaks out on his face as he seems to realize something.

“No!” He shouts back, after a moments hesitation. “But a wizard does!”

[traffrogers]

Not @briefle, @terraglows and i making a comic for @hotguycomiczine???? surely????? with much help from @gingermaple

[erwinsvow]

an idea… rafe and shy reader having sex for the first time

everything's overwhelming with rafe, but this is particularly so. you thought you were completely ready for it, from the way you had handled everything else so well. in fact, rafe was the one taking things at the slowest pace possible, trying to make sure he didn’t pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

you didn’t like it—thought he was trying to be something he’s not. he’s gentle with you but never like this, never to this extent. it must be a big deal then, sleeping with rafe, giving him your virginity, you finally decide, if he’s acting so differently about it.

in fact, you think you’ve been ready to give it up since you first started dating him. rafe brings it out of you, coaxes a different side of you out with gentle words and soft touches. you’re going mad over it. you can’t count the amount of times you’ve crawled into his lap at any given opportunity, anywhere the two of you are alone—his truck, the couch in your living room and at tannyhill, the hidden booth at the country club. you’re begging for it, not sure how much more obvious you can get.

you finally decide tonight’s the night—following a nice dinner with the two of you. you had spent extra long getting dressed up, a pretty white lingerie set on underneath your blue dress, all done up for rafe. finally back at tannyhill, entire body vibrating and tingling with excitement, you don’t wait another moment, crawling into rafe’s lap and kissing him hard. you take off your dress and rafe stops just for a second to take in how forward you’re being.

“hey,” he finally breathes against your lips, pulling away. “c’mon, you’re not ready for this.” 

“yes i am!” you whine, impatient and horny, feeling rafe get hard underneath you. you want him to be able to do all the things you know he wants to do, want them done to you. “i am, i am-” and you lean back to kiss him, ending up pinned underneath him before long.

he knows you’re not, but he plays along. you’re so wet already he doesn’t have to do much, but he makes you cum all over his fingers anyways, hoping it’ll satiate you.

“please, rafe,” you moan against his mouth, pushing in for another needy kiss. “wan’ it inside. please.” and he does know you, knows everything about you, but even he can’t resist when you say things like that.

you watch with big eyes while he lines himself up with your wet hole, hovering over you. you think you’re so ready, that three of rafe’s fingers inside you should be comparable to what you’re about to feel, that you’re more than prepared. your eyes squeeze shut when rafe pushes inside, all the air leaving your lungs. you try to moan out but it’s more of a gasp than anything else, one that rafe swallows into a kiss. 

your eyes get watery—it’s just habit. it hurts, too, because rafe is so much bigger than you expected. you bite your cheek, looking up at rafe through teary eyes and clasping a hand over your mouth—you don’t want to admit that he was right. 

“c’mon kid, give it up. y’not ready for this, i know you,” rafe says, leaning in close to your ear to whisper it quietly. he’s not even half-way inside you.

“i-i can take it,” you hiccup. you hate disappointing rafe.

and it’s not that he doesn’t want to—he does, desperately so, wants to fuck you within an inch of your sanity every time you walk into a room and look at him with your shy eyes and sweet smile. he wants to break you, wants you cumming on his dick until there’s nothing left in your head, no shyness left in your heart. but he wants it when you’re ready for it, not like this.

it only takes another minute, you finally admit you’re not ready, and rafe pulls out of you. you feel like crying, terribly sad and dejected, wishing you could just be normal for rafe for once, be what he wants. 

“stop,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. his arm rests over your stomach, trying to get you to lighten up. “when you’re ready for it, i’ll fuck you until you can’t think. s’just not today, kid.”

you finally agree when he says that, getting over it because you know without a doubt in your mind—rafe knows you better than you know yourself.

[daphnalia]

and they were galpals

[financeprincess]

I love Tumblr and Pinterest and YouTube but you seriously need to get off your phone as much as possible if you want to make actual changes. Stop the doom scrolling. Turn off notifications. Turn on DND. Log off. Delete apps. Delete accounts altogether. Unsubscribe from texts and emails. Put time limits on the apps on your phone. Unless social media is making you money, limit it as much as possible. Overloading yourself with information is just another form of procrastination. At some point you actually have to take action. Less consumption, more creation.

[willowser]

katsuki blames the alcohol for making him stupid.

really stupid.

not that he's had a lot, but his tolerance is low for a guy of his size, and he can feel the edges of his inhibitions dulling with every drink of whatever denki has shoved in his hand. it doesn't taste like absolute shit, which is rare enough to have him indulging, just a bit, for the agency halloween party.

another sip has his head feeling a little swimmy, and before he knows it, his eyes are trailing across the room until they find you. again.

whatever the hell you're supposed to be tonight—a witch, or something else in a pointy hat—is really fucking with him, and has since you walked in. the costume isn't revealing in a sense that it's inappropriate for a work event, but it's...hugging you in all the right places. in every single one of them.

without tights, it would be on the too-short side, but—and no, katsuki can't fucking explain this—something about them is making everything worse. and your calf-high boots ain't helping, either.

it's just—your fucking—hips.

katsuki couldn't tell you what song is playing, but you're swaying back and forth to the tune and one of his canines digs into the plastic of his cup, so deeply that it makes a terrible creaking sound and dents beneath the pressure—and that's when a sharp elbow is delivered to the center of his chest.

mina is at his side when he looks, and her wide, freaky eyes scan his face before narrowing in her little shit-eating way.

"you're a pig."

katsuki chokes, and the little freak takes that as an admission of some kind.

"oh my god," she gasps, mouth falling in all her disgust and awe. "you can't even deny it!" and then she laughs, high and chirpy, and there's no way you can't hear her. "oh, you're down bad."

"cram it," he snaps, sinking his scowl into his cup. "i dunno what the hell you're talkin' about."

"you know i really thought better of you," mina sniffs effectively, turning her face up and away. "not the type to be blantly checking out somebody's ass."

katsuki bristles, and his aggrivation growns until the plastic in his hands starts to melt. "i wasn't—"

"i'm kidding!" mina snorts before flicking him in the nose, narrowly dodging the hand he swipes out at her. "quit being a baby and go shoot your shot already."

"piss. off."

but the hero is unaffected by him, simply scrunching up her face in response before turning on her heel to disappear further into the party.

she's wrong, katsuki thinks, because he's not a pig like sero or fucking dunce face or even kirishima, from time to time, who gets red in the face over a low cut shirt and a pair of tits.

fucking ridiculous, katsuki thinks, because he's way better than that.

it's just—the alcohol. that's making his lids heavy and his thoughts dark and his face hot. has him peeking at you over the lip of his cup, has him picturing you in his head when he's forced to look away.

and, well, maybe, the short cut of your dress has a little something to do with it, too—but he's keeping that shit to himself.

taking it to the grave, even.

[super-nova5045]

sylvia plath, todd anderson and virginia woolf (aka ACTUAL tortured poets) watching taylor “im breaking up with my boyfriend for his intense depression and blaming it on him, im dating a racist who enjoys watching woc being brutalized and harasses young woc artists, i sent my fans out on a hate train to attack a young woc actress for a line she had to say as part of her job to show how mentally ill her character was, im dating a maga supporter, i refuse to say anything about a current genocide despite being the most influential person in the world right now, i am a billionaire, i fly 13 minute flights and have the highest carbon emission of any celebrity, i am a known white feminist who only speaks about issues when it affects me and has constantly let my fans get away with extreme racism and even encouraged it by associating myself with known racists” swift call herself a tortured poet (her writing sounds like a bunch of thesaurus words slapped over gabba hanna and rupi kaur-esque poetry that was created purely as a trinket for an edgy pinterest board)

[rochenn]

Eye Level, pt. I

Getting into the comic groove by making Dooku (loneliest most pathetic man in the galaxy) develop a Thing for his tailor. Part two in progress!

[feyhunter78]

Even If You Call It Love

Description: You are set to leave for Winterfell with Cregan, but Aemond doesn't want to let you go.

Part 1

“I have already had the servants pack the spices you wish the kitchen to use when we arrive, and the Glass Gardens, I will have the gardener clear out a space, you may plant whatever you wish.” Cregan says, his hand in yours as he spins you around, your new cloak—Stark gray and trimmed with fur—flares out around you as he does.

“Thank you, but I would not want to make more work for them.” You protest, smiling up at him as he pulls you into his embrace, lowering his head to brush his lips against yours.

“You are their Lady; they are and will be glad to do it.” He says, before connecting your lips, his hand moving to support your lower back as he dips you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You cup his cheek, heart skipping a beat when he leans into your touch, his storm gray eyes closing, a blissful smile adorning his face. “If you say so, husband.”

Cregan chuckles, eyes open, staring down at you so lovingly it takes your breath away. “Once we are home, I will show you I make good on my word, wife, and if the gardener has too much work to do then I shall simply clear the space myself.”

“You would get in the dirt and do a servants’ work for me?” You ask, peals of laughter spilling past your lips at the very idea.

“There is an endless list of things I would do for you.” He breathes, his lips brushing yours with each word, punctuating his statement with featherlight promises.

“We shall test that at home then.” You jest, tangling your fingers in his hair, your lips parting instinctually for him when he deepens the kiss.

A servant knocks on Cregan’s door, shattering the moment, and he groans, the vibrations buzzing against your lips.

“Yes?” He calls, kissing the corner of your lips, then the other, then your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, until he has covered the plains of your face with chaste kisses, making you giggle.

“Lord Stark, there are servants preventing us from loading Lady y/h/n’s belongings onto the wagons.” The man calls through the door.

You bite your lip, watching as Cregan’s brows furrow. “One moment.” He says, pulling you back up onto your feet. He presses a kiss to your hand, bidding you to take a seat on the settee, then opens the door and steps outside with the man.

Their conversation is quiet at first, then increases in volume until you can hear each word as clearly as you heard Cregan whisper his affections for you, his lips pressed to your ear only two nights prior.

“I care not what the prince says, he cannot keep my betrothed’s belongings hostage.” Cregan says, his voice is a mountain, sturdy, unyielding, unable to be ignored or burrowed through.

“My Lord, she is a lady of Princess Helaena.” A new voice explains.

“Yes, and the princess has given her blessing, so that is not a shield he can hide behind.” Cregan snarls.

You purse your lips and get up from the settee, toying with Cregan’s ring around your neck. You join the two men outside, placing a hand on Cregan’s bicep. “My love, please, I will speak with him.”

Cregan takes your hand and presses it to his lips once more before turning it in his hand, with such gentleness it makes your heart stutter. “You should not have to trouble yourself with him.”

“And yet, I must.” You say, giving him a reassuring smile.

He sighs and presses his lips to your palm, then your inner wrist, nipping at the pulse point before soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “I will escort you there, then we shall depart to see your father and then onwards to Winterfell.”

“I cannot wait.” You say, and you mean, truly, deeply, mean it. You cannot wait to be married to Cregan, to be his wife.

“I will not call off the servants; you are not thinking straight.” Aemond says the moment you enter his solar, his arms clasped behind his back.

“Prince Aemond…” You sigh, moving further into the room, watching as he paces. This is not unlike him, he detests change, and is beyond possessive. Truly you should have seen this coming and had your things moved in the middle of the night, then perhaps you would have been able to slip from the Keep without ever facing him again.

“Aemond, please, call me by my given name, if any shall, it should be you.” He says, stopping before you, a torn expression you have never seen before on his face.

You do not wish to hurt him, you never have, but you can no longer put his feelings before yours.

“I need my things, Aemond, I cannot travel without them.” You say carefully.

“You cannot leave, I have need of you.” His voice is steady, that sense of confidence still lingering, though it is fading fast.

“Need? What need?” You ask, unable to reconcile the man before you with the man who turned you away only two days prior.

“What need? All of them, you are mine, are you not? I simply did not realize how essential you were to my day-to-day life, but I have now, so you cannot leave.”

You bring your hand to the front of your neck as Queen Alicent does, a calming gesture you believe she does not realize she does, but you have picked up, nonetheless. “Aemond, why now? We have been doing this dance for years, I am tired of it, the steps have grown listless, the music dull, the other dancers have left the floor, and I would like to leave with them.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling in the air just beside your cheek. “I have made you wait; it was cruel of me, and I see now it has driven you into the arms of another, but I would end your wait if you would stay.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you close your eyes against his mournful gaze. “You have said that many times, made many promises, how am I to know if you would keep your word?”

“I am a man of my word; how could you question that?” He says softly, his hand finally making contact with your cheek, caressing it gently.

You meet his gaze now, heart heavy, you cannot make him see what he does not wish to, but you will try. “I must question it, for if I do not, I will spend many more years here waiting for you to love me, and I cannot do that, not anymore, not when I kno—”

“That there is a wolf pup willing to chase your skirts and slide into your bed now that you have revealed how truly desperate you are for affection?” His words are harsh, but his tone is still soft, as if he does not think it an insult what he has just said.

Your brow furrows, ice creeping in your veins. “Are you insinuating that Cregan sees me as some kind of whore?”

“It is Cregan already, not Lord Stark or Lord Cregan?” Aemond slides his knuckles down your cheek, your neck, ending at your collarbone, taking care to stop at each mark Cregan has left on your skin even though they are covered with cosmetics. “I am insinuating that he is a beast, and beasts can sense weakness. He is seeking to exploit your weakness, ñuha nūmio.”

“He is not a beast, and he would not do such a thing.” You say, turning your face away from Aemond, your hands buried in your skirts.

He scoffs and picks up the signet ring—Cregan’s signet ring—that hangs from your neck on a sturdy but elegant silver chain. “Why else would he set out to charm you? My dear y/n, you bring no benefit to House Stark, and while you have many wonderful traits, you are not a highly sought after prize by any means.”

You take a step back, Cregan’s ring slipping from his hands and knocking against your breastbone. It is sobering, the cool metal, and it gives you strength. “That is your opinion, Aemond, but it is not Cregan’s.”

“Since when have you cared for any opinion but mine? What has changed, tell me who has turned you against me?” He pleads, his violet eye shining with a strange light.

“You, Aemond It was you who has turned me against you. I told you that I was not happy, and in truth I do not think I have been happy for a long time. So please, tell the servants to allow Cregan’s men to collect my things.” You beseech him, silently begging him to see sense. “I do not wish to share all my future husband’s clothes until I am able to procure more, but I will if need be. Do not make me do that, you know I hate dull colors.”

“We could be happy, I could make you happy, if only you would give me time.” He promises, taking your hands in his own, ignoring your words as he always has. His hands are cold, and you realize they do not fit yours as Cregan’s does. Your fingers do not seamlessly interlock, instead they fight each other for dominance, for room, for freedom.

You shake your head sadly. “No Aemond, it is too late…I am sorry, but you must let me go.”

His eye is rimmed red, and he shakes his head as well, silver hair falling forward like a curtain. “I cannot.”

“You must.” You whisper, squeezing his hands before sliding yours from him and taking a step towards the door. “You do not love me—”

“I do, I do, I love you, y/n.” He insists, grabbing your hands again and taking one step forwards for your backwards one.

The pain in your chest is a sharp, piercing one. This is all you have wanted for so very long, but now…it is nothing, it feels hollow, desperate, and you see Aemond as he truly is for the first time.

“No, My Prince, you do not. If you loved me, we would be wed. You would not have let anything stand in your way, I know you, I loved you, I have seen what you do when you do love someone, and you do not love me.” You tell him, giving him a tearful smile.

“And this…Lord Stark does?”

“He is marrying me.” You say, and it is the only thing that needs to be said.

Aemond releases your hands, but not before pressing a kiss to each one. “A victory for the North.”

You nod, fighting back a sob as a single tear hits your joined hands, and Aemond turns his face from you.

“You must write to me, if you have need, or…miss me.” Aemond says, clasping his arms, behind his back once more.

You turn and reach for the doorknob, “do not wait for my letters Aemond, it would not make either of us happy.”

Cregan stumbles back when you pull open the door, a sheepish smile on his face, but he is ready, with open arms, sweeping you into them and whispering how strong and brave you are.

You can feel Aemond’s eye burning into you, into Cregan.

“My Prince.” Cregan says, nodding his head towards Aemond, before he brushes the tears from your face and kisses you gently.

There is a strangled sound from inside Aemond’s solar, but Cregan’s lips on yours drowns out any sense of guilt, and you smile when he pulls away.

“Are you ready, Lady Stark?” Cregan asks, offering you his arm.

You take it and lean into him. “I am ready, Lord Stark, let us go see my father, and then home, to Winterfell.”

“Y/N—” Aemond’s voice, a broken, frantic thing, follows you, but Cregan merely pushes the door shut, and leads you away, towards your new, happier future.

TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara

[idyllcy]

Concept: Jaime having a lot of left over adrenaline from a fight so he fucks the reader up against the nearest wall

post-fight. - jaime reyes x reader (nsfw warning!)

it happens more often than Jaime admits, but less often than you complain to him about it for.

Jaime has you pressed against the back of the wall in some run-down alleyway, only half of his suit deactivated as he's rutting into you desperately, the sweat and blood still on the back of his armor, his sweat running down his sides as you cling onto his biceps for life, exhausted panting and whimpers slipping past your lips as you stare at him disappear into you with a lewd squelch each time.

"I'm sorry." He whimpers into your ear. "You just— looked so good, mi vida, I just—"

You moan as he presses his lips to yours, desperate to muffle the moans coming out of your mouth, yet wanting to keep listening to them. Maybe swallowing them would work.

It doesn't, but Jaime does get the reward of you biting his bottom lip as he feels you spasm around him, your orgasm ripping through your body as you gush around him, and Jaime only speeds up to chase after his own high, pulling from your lips to tell you how pretty you were, whimpering and moaning quietly over you, eyes raking your body to see how dazzling you were when covered in a layer of sheen from the sweat.

and when he feels his own orgasm rip through him, chest pressed to yours as he gasps into your ear, he makes sure to clean you up, tongue pressed to your you, drunk on the taste of you and him mixed together, hums from his chest shooting up your spine and causing your fingers to fly to his hair, whimpering.

and when he finishes, his suit finally comes off completely as he holds you in his arms, mumbling into your ear about how good you were for him, how he was sorry for taking the adrenaline out on you again, pressing you to his chest as he lets you fall limp in his hold and get some well-deserved rest, he presses a kiss to your forehead and takes care of the rest. After all, it's the least he can do for you.

reblogs are appreciated ( •́ω<;)✧

[imfinereallyy]

Dinner Date

For STWG daily drabble and, more importantly, for Goldie @steventhusiast. Happy Birthday, you deserve the world. I know you’re asleep right now, but it’s technically still your bday here. 

“Dingus, this is a really fancy restaurant.” Robin leans back in her chair, but her hand plays with the fork on her napkin. 

Steve sips his wine; some of it tips over the edge onto the tablecloth. “What? Can’t a guy take his best friend out to a fancy dinner?” He tilts his head and takes in his best friend. What was once an awkward teen now had a beautiful, but still awkward, woman in her place. 

“Steve, I love our friend dates, but usually they take place in a greasy diner or dollar pizza.” Robin picks the fork up and starts twirling it into her napkin. Steve watches her get mesmerized by the wrinkles that wrapped around the silverware, even though they both know the napkin should be in her lap by now. 

Steve smiles softly, moves his napkin from his lap to the table, and begins to mimic Robin. “Okay, maybe I wanted it to be a special occasion.”

Robin giggles at Steve's poor fork-twirling form and leans over the table to fix it for him. “All occasions are special when we are together, so that doesn’t really mean much.” Robin’s nose scrunches in concentration as she gently guides Steve’s hand. She has done this plenty of times before, guiding Steve where he needed to be. Like taking him to the bookstore near her college so he wouldn’t have to go into sex with Eddie blind, or when she taught him how to whisk eggs properly. Both are equally important skills he now uses in his everyday life. “But you seemed nervous. You keep sipping your wine, and I know for a fact that you hate dry wine.”

Steve puts down the glass that was halfway to his mouth, “It’s not my fault Moscato tastes like candy!”

Robin snorts, “Seriously, Dingus. It’s just me. What’s up?”

Steve puts down the fork and his glass and looks Robin in the eye. “I wanted to ask you to be my best man.”

Steve expects a lot of reactions out of her: excitement, an eye roll, hell, even straight-up rejection. Maybe a little speech about how weddings for them aren’t even legal. Instead, a look of betrayal crosses her face. “You asked Eddie to marry you, and you didn’t even tell me you were proposing?”

Immediately, Steve clenches his stomach in outrageous laughter, nearly having to bend over the table. Steve tries to take Robin seriously; he really does. But she is supposed to be the smart one out of the two of them. 

Rage takes over Robin completely as she reaches over the table to start slapping Steve’s arm. “Don’t laugh, you asshat! I am actually mad at you!”

“Ow—” Steve laughs. “Ow, Robin!” Another giggle escapes him as he gets her to sit back in her chair. “I’m laughing because, of course, I didn’t propose to Eddie without talking to you first.”

Robin settles a bit at this, “I’m confused.”

Steve reaches for her hand across the table; Robin doesn’t hesitate to wrap her fingers around his. “I’m asking you to be my Best Man first, doofus. Before I even pick out the damn ring. Which I definitely need you to steal one of Eddie’s rings for me so I can get the size; man watches those things like a hawk.” 

Robin squeezes his hand, “Wait, why would you ask me that first? Isn’t that kind of backwards.”

“I do everything kind of backwards, babe. Kinda the Steve Harrington special.” Steve rubs a thumb against the back of soulmate's hand. “Of course, I ask you about being my best man first. There would be no wedding without you, so if you say no, there would be no proposing.”

Steve could see tears beginning to fill Robin’s eyes, “What are you saying?”

“Whoever gets stuck with me gets stuck with you. We’re a package deal, babe.” 

Robin throws herself across the table, knocking the wine everywhere. Steve laughs and clenches her tightly. “Of course, I’ll be your best man! Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t hurt yourself going down the aisle.” She sobs.

Steve’s throat gets thick, “Pretty sure that’s the father's job, Robs. And you’d have to fight Jim for that role.”

“Fine.” Robin sniffs, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But I get stand by your side as you make a complete fool of yourself with your vows.” 

“Deal.”

Robin leans forward, placing her forehead against Steve’s. “You and me against the world, babe.”

Steve hugs her tight, “You and me against the world.”