#memorialize my idiocy

[doctapuella]

a cat probably named Baby

[paskariu]

Best car in the world. You cannot change my mind

[suspiciouslybluemilktea]

The fact that he still dreamt of the fire and brimstone was his greatest kept secret. Behind his closed eyelids he still saw it, lightening striking and ash fluttering to the ground like unnatural snowfall, marking destruction and filling his lungs with something disgusting. His anger had soared to new heights that night as his bitterness left him empty, choking on a feeling of what he could only describe to be abandonment and betrayal. He did not know which was more haunting, the screams of those he grew up with, or the look on his uncle’s face as he raised his weapon to him.

The night Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Academy burned to the ground was the very last Ben Solo was alive, and what remained of it all now was an ugly wound across his very soul. Like something created by a saber, it became cauterized by the heat, a gaping hole which refused to heal as vital organs were scorched in its path. A bacta tank could do nothing to save him from his past.

Under his new name and allegiance, he channeled this very reoccurring nightmare into a powerful weapon against those who had wronged him. Drowning within the pain rather than attempting to swim was how Kylo Ren operated, and he could see no ability to heal as he allowed himself to be pulled under. Under the First Order, he would learn to reopen this gash over and over again, twisting the knife deeper into himself whenever he got the chance. Where Ben Solo once felt hope and aspiration, Kylo Ren felt a melancholy sense of intense loathing. In a way mostly unclear to him, his anger was a method of mourning, manifesting further as he watched the newest Rebel fighter receive what love and autonomy he was denied. They gave to Rey endlessly.

Kylo Ren knew he was the product of familial failure, and that voice inside of his head telling him to look towards the facts isolated him greatly from others in his youth. The galactic heroes of the century he called his guardians, the legends turned bedtime stories for new generations born, all left him to rot in their own ways. He knew he was a monster created by their faults, and they were all to blame for his very fall from “grace”, or that set path they assigned to him. Growing up, if he had told another soul that their dearest Han, Luke and Leia were far from perfect poster figures, he’d only have been named a liar. A spoiled brat complaining about what gifts the universe had bestowed upon them, his heritage a huge leverage in both training, politics and more. Listening to that small familiar whisper in his ear, the seeds of truth finally flourished under the green light of his uncle’s lightsaber hovering directly above him.

To start, if thinking of them all again, he hated the man he called father, Han Solo. In his selfishness, that bastard craved his old life of crime and could not stay grounded. He found smuggling alongside that Wookiee to be more entertaining than his family, and at the end of the day still had very little in common with his mother besides the fact that they had a kid together. Han Solo would have rather been footloose and fancy free, head in the stars above than to have played the role of husband and father. Growing up, Ben felt it all, his mind nagging him that this disconnection was in fact his reality. He hated his true name now, Solo not even being a real surname. His father never really wanted more than a fling with some pretty princess…and yet this new girl was already so snug under his wing like a kid of his own maybe. Perhaps it’s because he chases the rush of new people excited to know him as an old hero of theirs.

Then there was his mother, one of the most important political figure heads of the century. Not only was she famed for being spectacularly beautiful, but strong willed and strong minded in her fight against the empire. She was the number one thing that swayed his usage of the dark side, and he was aware of what he’d have to do in order to fix that. Sever the ties…and to think no more of her soft hands against his cheeks as she sang him to sleep as a child. She already started their separation all those years ago shipping him off to become a Jedi, without being granted the same choice she had to follow something else instead…love in order to have him. His loud inner dialogue thundered at the thought of her, sorting her out to be indeed a hypocrite. While he practiced so very far from his mother, alone and missing her, Rey received training directly from her.

And as for his uncle Luke? He made up his mind about Ben all too quickly, deciding to kill his nephew placed into his care. He had casted the scales of judgment upon him without holding a call to court, and Kylo Ren hated him most of all, for judging his pull to the dark when Luke lived with the same. In fact, Luke spared Rey when experiencing hers.

And yet…even with this map sprawled out before him, he cannot find it within himself to hate the girl they dote on. All of the rage he directs through his power cannot be channeled at her, and it’s yet another thing that makes him weaker. Kylo Ren supposes he takes pity on Rey, being a small desert planet orphan longing to hold the stars that kept her company in her lonesomeness. In time, her heroes will fail her same as they did him. He will be there when it happens, waiting.

[eye-of-yelough]

I FINALLY FOUND IT . the PERFECT HAWKEBELA SONG

THIS BED IS ON FIRE WITH PASSION AND LOVE THE NEIGHBOURS COMPLAIN ABOUT THE NOISES ABOVE BUT SHE ONLY CUMS WHEN SHES ON TOP‼️‼️‼️ ♥️

[amplexadversary]

Unpopular fucking opinion time but it needs to be said:

Allowing mobile players into Warframe is a terrible idea and if DE insists on fucking over people with bad internet even more, they need to implement several layers of platform-based prejudice alongside it.

At the bare minimum, I want a feature that locks anyone on mobile out of being matched onto a squad I’m in.

I’m already hard up enough on actually getting to play the multiplayer-mandatory aspects of the game (like the zariman missions that want you doing three things at once on a time crunch) because everyone is in the process of leaving by the time I fucking load in.

I get that most of your playerbase isn’t constantly getting fucked in the ass by their IP, because no one actually seems to want to play endless style missions (like I do because they’re how I actually get to play the game), but still, making things worse for people who actually want to *play* your game is a gauche move.

[beemovieerotica]

thinking about people who have accidentally reversed in teslas and been injured / died because of it -- beyond the idiocy of making everything a touch screen, there's this

swipe up to drive.....swipe down to reverse.....

like...ok! i would also reverse to my death in a lake if i had to try to reprogram my muscle memory since age 15 that pushing my hand up = putting the car in reverse and pulling back down = driving !!

[mactavishsgfandwife]

Last Night’s Mistake - Simon "Ghost" Riley

the morning after not proofread nothing nsfw, angsty, with a little comfort at the end female reader

A slight headache is all that remains from last night - confused, tired, achy, you slowly wake up. One by one, little sensations come to your attention. Your head hurts, your body feels warm, your hips still feel a little bit sore from where the uncomfortable skirt that you wore last night dug in. And you’re in bed, in a room, shady and quiet… with an empty space on the other side of the bed.

"Shit…" you groan, your voice a little sore from the night before. This isn’t your bed.

The floor is cool under your feet as you shakily stand up - a soreness growing in your legs. In the bedroom mirror, you inspect yourself. Though the girl staring back at you is the same girl you were last night, her hair is messed up and her face is a little flushed, her makeup having almost entirely worn off except for a hint of sparkle on her eyelids. Not to mention, she’s in nothing but her panties.

Whoever’s room this is, their wardrobe is pretty bare, the only civilian clothes being a few different t-shirts and vests, two dark-coloured hoodies, a pair of sweatpants, a pair of jeans, and some smart clothes for formal occasions. Not the cutest selection, but it would do, so you grabbed the black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and pulled it on.

Sat on his bed, you fixed your hair in the mirror as you tried to remember who he was. Little memories came back from the night before, unclear, like a half-forgotten dream. Drinks. A silver ring on his finger - not a wedding ring, you noted. You were in the car, with his rough hand on your thigh, playing with the hem of that god-awful skirt. Doors clicking, sheets ruffling, short blonde hair… oh my God, you’d fucked Simon Riley.

"Shit," you curse your idiocy, for the second time this morning.

You’ve wanted Simon, you’ve always wanted Simon, but he’s kind of a dick and not the kind of person you’d seriously want to be with. Plus, he’s a little bit older than you and not the kind of man who has girlfriends. He barely even has friends.

Finding a spare toothbrush in his bathroom, you brush your teeth, and clean yourself up with some water and his men’s face cream for lack of a moisturiser, not being able to completely remove the sparkle and shadow of eyeliner from around your eyes. But you know you can’t distract yourself for too long from facing last night’s mistake. Simon.

He’s sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, in a pair of those plaid pyjama bottoms and a black tshirt that you’re pretty sure is exactly the same as three others you just saw in his wardrobe. He doesn’t make any effort to acknowledge you, focused on some work on his laptop. Maybe the same pit of regret over last night is sitting inside his stomach, maybe he doesn’t want to acknowledge you for fear that things won’t work out - after all, a regrettable one night stand is much more bearable than a rejection. But maybe he just doesn’t care, and you figure that’s more likely.

"Morning," you speak softly, a little taken aback by his lack of interest. It just feels so empty, and part of you is just begging him to show some emotion and put an end to this weird, uncomfortable limbo.

Of course, he doesn’t do that. He looks up at you nonchalantly, and nods, as if to say "morning. see you."

Something about that reaction hurts - even if he sees this as something mutually regrettable, the way that he dismisses your existence feels the the ultimate rejection. It’s not the sex, you figure, the sex was great. At least, that’s what the shaky aching of your legs and the marking on your neck is telling you. Maybe it was just you. And in those few seconds that you stare at each other blankly, not knowing what to add to fill the silence, all the exhaustion from last night and the discomfort of this morning hits you at once and all you want to do is cry.

"I should go," your voice falters a little, ashamed, as you head back into his bedroom to fetch the stuff you’d thrown on the floor beside his bed just last night. For a moment, before closing the door behind you, you wait for any sign of a reaction from the man on the sofa. Nothing. You close the door just as your breath starts to get shaky.

For some unclear reason, you can’t seem to get going right away. So you sit on his bed, in his shirt, staring down at the terrible skirt and the shirt you’d worn with it, thrown over your favourite bag and the same shoes you wear every time you go out because you only own two pairs of shoes. You’re so ridiculous, all teary over Simon - you knew this would happen, you knew a man like that would only use you and then make you cry. You curse him, the alcohol, the terrible skirt… but mostly, yourself. He was just a crush, something stupid and unobtainable, something no girl in her right mind would actually go near. Yet here you were.

Shivering from his weirdly cold house, you slowly pull off his tshirt, the fabric brushing against your bare back as it comes off.

"You can keep the shirt, love," a gruff voice says, "looks better on you than it does in me." A chuckle comes from behind you as you jump at the sudden intrusion, and there he is, in all his… whatever he is. Simon. He’s behind you, on the bed, with an large hand reaching out to play with the end of your hair.

"Oh…" he sighs as one of your little teardrops falls on his wrist, "you alright?"

Little teardrops keep falling, and your best efforts to keep it together are starting to fall through. It feels silly, but all the exhaustion and the rejection is too much for you, despite your best efforts to deny it.

"M’fine…" you mumble, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"You’re not fine, you’re crying," he chuckles softly, with a hint of empathy behind the gruff tone of his voice. Something about that, about him, hurts your heart as you let out a shaky sob.

Instinctively, his strong arm wraps around your waist and pulls you in to his chest. His hands are surprisingly warm, and they cup your puffy cheeks with tender care, a rough thumb wiping away your pretty tears.

"M’sorry, darling…" he holds your face close to his, and gently leans in for a kiss. You don’t have any energy in you to resist, but you don’t really want to. Si doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore. He feels like comfort.

hope you enjoyed! that was a long one for me :3

[celaenaeiln]

I literally can't take it anymore. I need to get this out of my system. This is a hate-rant about why almost every single thing Tom Taylor has written is wrong.

First and foremost is the bimbofication of Dick Grayson. Tom Taylor loves to write him like this idiot who doesn't think at all. Being cheerful does not mean being dumb.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

"You seem unusually contemplative"? All Dick does is contemplate!

Nightwing (1996) Issue #3

His mind is always running!

Nightwing (2011) Issue #13

Nightwing (2016) Issue #38

I just picked a random issue from all of these comics and in every single one of these, Dick's planning, thinking, and strategising constantly.

Tom Taylor literally treats him like he's stupid or something.

Also the degradation of his abilities

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

A vigilante for 20 years. Who has faced assassins, hitmen, psychos, surprise attacks, metas, and you're telling me he didn't know that a untrained kid snuck up and stole from him?

He forgot who he was, he didn't forget where he lived! Even when he was Ric Grayson, Dick had procedural memory. His battle instincts stayed with him.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #52

"Then...I didn't even know what I was doing. I took him down--took him apart in seconds."

This man is a vigilante machine when he was amnesic. Why the heck would Dick ever let his guard down?

His robin reference

Nightwing (2016) Issue #92

Even Bruce in Batman: Hush has said it-Dick was the best. His skills were the best of anyone he's witnessed which is one of the reasons why Bruce let him be Robin in the first place.

This scene is so wrong that there's a robin scene that came out before this in direct opposition of this Tom Taylor Shitshow.

Robin & Batman Issue #1

This was actually pre-robin. Bruce had him do a solo-trial run to see his skill before he made him Robin and this was the result. Compare that to Tom Taylor's scene and the result is humiliating. For Taylor.

Tom Taylor's version of trying to show that Dick loves the people comes off as him hating crime-fighting. RIP the whole Robin firing drama and Nightwing birth i guess.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #79

"We could have avoided all of this if we'd just stayed in and eaten kibble."

Nightwing (1996) Issue #3

Dick would rather die than stop crime-fighting. After Blockbuster's first attempt, his life was hanging on by a thread and he still continued crime fighting.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #91

After Blockbuster blew up his apartment, this is the single-minded determination Dick had to continue crime-fighting. This is him at one of the worst lows of his life but he refused to give up but now? He has everything and Dick wants to ignore the murder of a child to stay inside and eat kibble which - what the heck? I know he's seen as a happy character but him finding dog-food desirable is too far!

Also the idiocy of which Tom Taylor had Barbara calling the cops in Bludhaven for a stolen wallet. Newsflash! This isn't her first rodeo here.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #81

vs

Nightwing (2016) Issue #24

Nightwing (2011) Issue #23

Given how Dick's easily defeated enhanced metas and "very good" fighters, him falling down the stairs is a little to absolutely impossible to believe.

Another thing I love about Dick that Tom Taylor deciminates is his grace. Dick is the most graceful person in DC. His balance easily matches Selina's enhanced cat powers.

But yet. You have.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #83

Nightwing (2011) Issue #23

yeah. okay.

Taylor's motorbike scenes of Dick make me so mad. The boy is a pro at crazy. It's one of his best traits because he does the wildest stunts and he pulls it off.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #93

Nightwing (1996) Issue #86

He lands on his feet. He grabbed a villain mid-air, crashed into a window, and was perfectly fine. Actually no, he's not fine because he's worried about his bike's paint job.

Nightwing (2011) Issue #24

He just sailed over a whole crowd of people and started kicking butt like what he just did wasn't extraordinary - which for him is just another tuesday.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #95

yeah, tell 'er Dick.

He doesn't need someone to hold his bike.

One of the worst things in Taylor's run is how Blockbuster went down. It suddenly reminded me of Selina's stupid ideology which is why I think I got so ticked off.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #96

Blockbusters' thugs loyalty to him isn't a make it or break it deal. He's one of strongest criminal organisations and the knowledge that he owns one of the worst prisons that he could easily put his underlings into would've instilled fear into his thugs, not freedom. Furthermore Blockbuster takes good care of his people that don't piss him off. He teamed up with Nightwing in the scarecrow era in Nightwing (2016) because someone was messing with his people. He's extremely intelligent and superstrong, and he's not just going to be brought down by the knowledge that he owns a prison. It's Bludhaven. If he didn't, then there would be something suspicious given that he runs the city. It's the way Taylor dumbs down Bludhaven's villains that gets to me. Imagine him writing Batman (2016). It's like saying, "yeah the Joker was just a little misguided but he found the right way again after a stern talking to by Batman."

Nightwing is a big name.

When Dick first came to Bludhaven, one of the police officers was like we don't want your crazy here or something. Also Bludhaven loves Nightwing. They want him.

So why is everyone pretending like they don't know who he is?

Nightwing (2016) Issue #90

The police, the citizens, the villains-all of them. Dick fought Brutale and beat the crap out of him way back in 1996 comic. He's a Bludhaven regular. Just because Dick forgot who he was doesn't mean anyone else forgot him. Amnesia doesn't work that way.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #54

A whole team of Nightwings were formed during Dick's amnesic period because of how badly he was needed and missed. It's almost like the Tom Taylor run is set in an alternate universe.

I ran out of image space but what the absolute fiddlesticks is up with Dick being scared to jump. It better be a manipulation tactic but at this point I think Tom Taylor doesn't even know that Dick is manipulative.

[ellecdc]

im sorry for my devastating request of angst 😩 but you did them so beautifully and raw that im tearing up now thinking about vixen’s cereal bowl on the sink of their flat 🥲

🧍‍♀️ and because im nothing but a whore for sirius black … idk if ur up for steamy smutty fics (if ur not comfortable pls feel free to ignore!!!) but what about their first time together after the war and everything 👀 while i imagine it’d be fun and exciting, there’d still be some angst and tender moments after everything they’d been through, esp vix 😭 excited to see your take on this if its something you’re comfortable in writing!!

-🩷

Okay...I was like "I've read enough smut, I should be able to write it, right?" 💀 famous last words - I've never written smut before, so I apologize if it's trash. I'll know it's trash if no one ever requests smut again lmfaoooo

CBBH Sirius Black x Vix!Reader - first time after the war

⚠️CW: explicit sexual material, p in v intercourse, fingering, discussion of past non-con/sexual assault, first time having intercourse following non-con/sexual assault

Recommended 18+ // mdni

Sirius was stood up against your back with his arms around you as the two of you looked out into the Street of Grimmauld Place, swaying side-to-side to non-existent music as you watched traffic go by. 

His hands were sat on your hips while his thumbs idly dragged patterns across your skin. His face was positioned in its favourite place – the crook of your neck, as he pressed gentle kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Sirius?” you asked quietly, interrupting the silence of your little townhouse oasis.

Sirius hummed in response, not lifting his lips from your skin.

“Do you want to have sex?”

Sirius paused all movements, standing stock-still. You turned around in his grasp, so that you were facing him but still in the safety in his arms.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” He said dumbly.

“Do you want to have sex?” you repeated plainly.

Huh, so he had heard you correctly.

“With you?” Oh Godric, someone kill him.

Thankfully, you had the grace to chuckle at his idiocy rather than be offended.

“Well, yes, that’s sort of why I was asking.”

The answer was yes – of course. Always. But it was also far more complicated than that.

Neither you nor Sirius had initiated anything more than sweet kisses and embraces since you returned. Sirius was wary of triggering you or pressuring you into something you were no longer interested in or hurting you unknowingly. 

It took you a few months to regain the majority of your memories from the war, and then a few more months working with both magical and muggle mind healers to begin working through your trauma. Lily had even been able to find a squib psychiatrist for you to see, so that you could discuss the full extent of your trauma without the risk of breaking the statute of secrecy.

All this to say – sex was a major milestone you hadn’t yet made in your journey to returning to ‘normal’.

“Well, of course, love. Yes. Why do you ask?” Sirius asked carefully, understanding this conversation was very important.

You sighed and began chewing on your lips as you looked past Sirius, thoughts apparently miles away.

Sirius used his thumb to gently pull your lip from between your teeth as you gathered the words.

“Because I do, I think. Want to. Have sex, that is.”

Sirius cocked his head at you. “You think?” he asked gently.

“No, I-I do. I... it’s hard to explain.”

“That’s alright, baby. Take your time.” He said as he began to resume rocking the two of you back and forth slightly, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back with his thumbs much like he had before you’d asked the question. 

“We... we used to have fun. I used to like it, having sex with you. And I want to, again. I’m a little scared but...it feels important.”

Sirius didn’t want to diminish your feelings, but he couldn’t help the quick shake of his head as he said, “It’s not important, love. It doesn’t have to be. Especially if you’re scared.” Quite frankly, Sirius would happily become celibate and live his life as a monk if it meant he got to keep you here with him.

You shook your head right back at him. “It’s important to me...the experience it was- it was stolen from me. I want it back; I want that sense of control over that experience again. I want it to be mine – ours - again.” 

“That makes sense.” He offered. You seemed to relax at his acknowledgment, glad to be understood.

“I don’t...I don’t think it’ll be easy.” You admitted shyly.

Sirius raised his hand to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear before placing his hand along your jaw; thumb dragging across your cheek bone whilst his fingers tickled the baby hairs behind your ear.

“That’s okay, beautiful. There’s no rush or penalty, okay? Whatever you want.”

He brought his lips to your forehead and left them there, still rocking you both back and forth like a gentle ship at sea.

“Can we try? Please?” You asked shyly into his chest. 

There was no need to beg, really. As ashamed as Sirius would be to admit it, his cock had been stirring beneath his trousers ever since you brought the idea up.

“Whatever you want, my love.” He repeated as he tilted your face up towards him so that your lips could meet.

They were long, slow kisses, that grew in depth with each parting. Soon, Sirius felt the tip of your tongue brush against his bottom lip, and he tried to suppress the grin that begged to overtake his mouth as he allowed you access into his.

It had been so long; so long since Sirius felt anything like this, so long since he’d done anything remotely intimate with another person, so long since he’d experienced the taste of you. What was before simply gentle twitching and half-soft was quickly become a raging boner in his pants as he continued to kiss you while you backed up towards the bed.

But he would not rush this – he would not, could not – get too excited. This was about you, for you. 

The back of your thighs hit the bed and you slowly sat down. Your chest was heaving slightly, and your lips look so pretty and kiss bitten. Your eyes were somewhat glassy, and Sirius could see the beginnings of trepidation making itself known in your eyebrows as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you.

“Still okay, my love?”

You seemed to shake yourself from some kind of reverie as you nodded at him.

“Yeah?” He breathed, running his hands along your thighs before they migrated to your face, pulling you down towards him for more kisses.

“Can I take this off, pretty girl?” he whispered against your lips as he tugged on the hem of your shirt. You nodded your head yes.

You lifted your arms to help him ease your top over your head before you voluntarily moved to remove your trousers too.

“My beautiful girl.” He spoke in reverence at your form. You sucked in a deep breath and blew it back out, as if comforting yourself.

“Still okay?” Sirius asked.

“I’m okay.”

“You’ll tell me what’s okay? When to stop?”

“I will. Promise.” You agreed with a firm nod of your head.

“I’ve got you, my love.” He promised right back as he leaned back up to reach your face again, kissing you as you began to lay back onto the bed, Sirius following you as he stood between your knees.

Sirius started by gently rubbing his hands across your entire body, looking for signs of potential ‘no-zones’. Though his hands remained nothing but gentle, he noticed you tense when his grip moved over your neck.

Noted. 

He relished in the soft shivers and goosebumps that raised along your skin as his hands roved your body. He’d always found you so beautiful; soft skin with beautiful lightning bolts dotting various points of your body. He took an extra moment to press reverent kisses to the scar on your abdomen that ‘killed you’, the one on your thigh from saving James, and finally, the one on your arm that was used to shame, humiliate, and torture you into give the opposing side information that you refused to give.

Every line, every bruise, every mark; a symbol of your perseverance, your strength, and that you were in fact here – still alive – still his. 

Feeling emboldened by a soft moan that graced your lips as his fingers teased the space just below the waist of your panties, he moved his lips back up to yours.

“Can we take these off?” He spoke between kisses.

You lifted your hips in answer, helping him ease them off of you before he discarded them to the side.

He returned his face to yours, dotting kisses to your lips and face before trailing down the column of your throat. He kept his face there - close to yours for easy access as his fingers teased your folds.

Seemingly surprising to you both, your hips jerked forward in anticipation.

“D'you like this?” He asked into the shell of your ear as your legs opened for him and he began collecting your slick with his fingers, rubbing circles around your clit.

“Yeah.” You all but mewled in response.

“Doing so well, love. So good for me.” He praised as he continued kissing your jaw, sliding his middle finger in with little resistance on your end. 

He continued his ministrations, feeling beyond proud as your body continued to relax in his embrace – trusting him fully.

He slowly worked another finger in, crooking his fingers to find the spot you both were desperate for – he knew he was successful when your back arched to his touch.

“Sirius, there.”

“I know baby, I know.” He cooed, adding a third finger and zeroed in on your g-spot.

“I’m ready. I’m ready.” You panted after some time. “Please, Sirius, I want it – I want you.”

Sirius thought he’d come in his pants right there.

“You sure baby? I don’t want t-”

“Yes.” You moaned emphatically, and who was Sirius to argue?

“Okay, love. I’m right here, you’ve got me.” He said as he stood up to undress himself whilst you moved your body up towards the head of the bed.

Once he was fully unclothed, he slowly made his way to you, kneeling between your legs and leaning his arms down above your head, shielding you within his embrace.

“Still okay?” He whispered as he nudged your nose with his own.

You nodded. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

Sirius pressed a searing kiss to your mouth as he brought one hand down to his cock, silently casting a quick lubrication charm – not wanting to chance any friction or pain for your first time (back) with him.

He used the tops of his thighs to push your legs up and open a little wider and pressed his tip to your entrance.

“I’ll go slow, okay baby? We’ll take it slow.” He said as he applied a little bit pressure. He ignored the sensational feeling of your heat encompassing him as he watched your face for any signs of discomfort or discontent. 

He got about a quarter of his way in before he paused and brought his arm back up to your head to join the other. He massaged your temples with his thumbs as he pressed kisses into various parts of your face before slowly inching in further. 

You were letting out little puffs of air as he continued to coo at you.

“Doin’ so well love, so good for me.”

“m’doing good.” You murmured through a sigh.

Sirius hummed in agreement as he brushed some damp baby hairs away from your forehead, moving into you slowly until he was finally fully sheathed. He paused – as much for your comfort as for his own self-control (he’d probably die of embarrassment if he came right now) – and watched your face.

“I’m okay.” You repeated in a whisper, eyes shut tight as you turned your face away from him. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Sirius started to get anxious – not knowing who you were trying to convince; him, or yourself?

“Baby? Baby, love, look at me. Hey,” Sirius whispered gently, rubbing soothingly at your collarbone. “Look at me love, come ‘ere.”

He gently encouraged your face back towards him as you opened up your glassy eyes to meet his gaze.

You both took some steadying breaths as you held each other’s stare.

“It’s me, baby. It’s just me. I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe.” He promised. Your eyes seemed to clear after a few more breaths.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. He kissed each of your eyelids in response.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

“I don’t want to stop.” You said clearly – leaving Sirius no reason to doubt your conviction.

“Okay, I’m gonna move, okay? You tell me what you need, baby, I’ll give it to you.” He promised as he slowly pulled out and pushed back in again.

You both groaned in unison – voices harmonizing in the dark - which made each of you chuckle.

“Oi! Stop wiggling, or this is going to be over before it even started.” He chided which made you laugh even more.

He couldn’t even be mad, seeing you spread out below him, skin glimmering with sweat and a bashful smile on your lips. You were beautiful, ethereal. Sirius was a goner.

He pulled out and moved in again, eliciting another moan from both of you, but you moved on swiftly as he began to pick up a gentle, steady pace.

There was of course an animalistic part of Sirius that was beyond excited at having this back with you; an urge to take you over and over and over again. But somehow, this was perfect, this is exactly what you both needed.

He hated that you felt so broken, he hated that those monsters had hurt you - violated you. But this gentle, sensual reconciliation between your bodies, the open discussion, the gentle kisses that both of you were pressing to the other’s trauma was exactly what you needed.

It felt like more than Sirius entering your body, far deeper than his cock could reach within you. It was slotting puzzle pieces back together that had been ripped away from each other violently.

He’d never let it happen again. 

Sirius’ mouth met yours as your tongues danced with each other. He moved his hands to your arms and pulled them over your head, holding them there as he continued to thrust into you.

You let out a few moans before your mouth pulled away from him, “wait, wait.”

Sirius paused all movements and stayed perfectly still. You tugged on your hands, and he released his grip on your wrists before you pulled your hands down to cover your face – breathing becoming erratic – you were crying. 

“Hey.” He said gently. “I’m sorry love, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry.” You said from behind your hands.

“Don’t be sorry love – tell me what’s wrong. What can I do?”

“I just felt trapped, I didn’t like it.” You said, lowering your hands but keeping them away from Sirius’ reach. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry – it won’t happen again.” He promised as he slowly brought his thumbs to wipe at your tears as they fell into your hair line.

You blew out a steadying breath as you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of Sirius’ gentle hands on your temple as you calmed yourself.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You assured him with a shake of your head.

“Do you think you’d feel more secure if you were on top?” He asked instead.

You seemed to think about it before making eye contact with him again. “Yeah, maybe. That might help.”

Sirius beamed down at you. “Okay baby, I’ll slide out and we’ll reposition, okay?”

He pulled himself out and you moaned almost pathetically at the loss. He moved to the head of the bed and readjusted the pillows so that he was sat up right before patting his thighs.

“I’m all ready for you, love.” He said as he smiled at you.

You crawled over, looking painfully shy all of a sudden, and Sirius couldn’t help but tease you about it.

“Don’t be going shy on me now, lovely. You were making some of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard just moments ago.”

“Sirius!” You whined as you gently swatted his chest.

His smile never faltered as he helped you straddle his lap before easing you back down onto his cock.

“Okay, hang on for a second.” He said as he held your hips in place once you were flush with his, not allowing any movement.

You would have tormented him for this in another life – teasing him for getting too excited, too worked up. But you just smiled down at him lovingly.

Eventually, he looked back up into your eyes and released his hold on your hips, hands supporting you as you began to move up and down on him.

“Atta girl. Fuck, you look so beautiful up there. Gods, how did I ever go without you.” He whispered in awe. His words had your face heating up, and Sirius could see the colour migrate all the way to your chest as you threw your head back. 

He looked down to the place where your bodies connected, watching as he would disappear inside of you over and over and over again. He brought his thumb to your clit and began massaging it, worshipping at the sounds emanating from your mouth.

“Yeah baby? Like that?”

You moaned what he understood as a yes as he brought his other hand to your tit, pinching the nipple there and placing your other nipple in his mouth. Then he sucked hard.

“Oh, fuck!” You keened.

He moaned back as he kept sucking, moving his mouth back and forth to give each of your breast’s equal attention.

“I- oh god. I’m – are you close?” You asked him.

Sirius wasn’t sure how to say that he was close all the way back when you asked him if he wanted to have sex, so he settled for “you have no idea, baby. Why?”

“I’m close.” You cried, moving your hands to his shoulders as you brought your face to his, kissing him passionately. He pulled you forward by the hips so that you were leaning most of your weight on him through your arms, and placed his hands on your ass as he began to thrust himself up into you.

“This okay?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” You moaned.

“You gonna come with me baby? Huh? Come with me, come on beautiful, come with me.” He continued to chant between kisses as your gasps and murmuring turned into one, continuous long moan.

He felt the tell-tale signs of you clenching around him as he picked up his pace, returning pressure to your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck me, beautiful. Oh fuck, come on. Come for me. Come for me.” He begged, working overtime to ward off his own orgasm until you had yours.

He needn’t wait long, however, as his words pushed you over the edge and your careened forward, pushing your face into the crook of his neck as you cried out through your orgasm.

Your walls clenching sealed the deal and had his cock throbbing; coating your cervix with come.  

You both sat gasping, both his cock and your walls twitching with aftershocks every so often as you both came down from your highs. He kissed your shoulders and rubbed your back waiting for you to return to him when he felt a wet spot grow on his shoulder.

“Baby?” He whispered. You sobbed in response.

Fear grappled at him as he felt his heart fall out of his ass. He reared his head back and moved you from his shoulder to find tears staining your face.

“Love! Love, what’s wrong?” He whispered, completely horrified at your distress.

You smiled sadly and let out some laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m not sad.”

Sirius felt his stomach unclench and felt like he could throw up in relief.

“I did it.” You whispered mostly to yourself.

Suddenly, he understood.

This was a milestone. This was not just a small step towards normality – this was a huge accomplishment. This was bigger than accepting help, this was bigger than talking to a therapist, this was bigger than all of it.

This was you taking back control. This was you taking something that terrified you, but persevering because it was important to you that you have it. This was you being nervous but advocating for yourself the entire way through. 

Sirius felt like his soul would combust from the amount of pride he felt for you. Every time he was certain he loved you as much as any person could possibly love someone, you go and do something fucking phenomenal, and he’s left to rearrange his entire being to accommodate the amount of love coursing through his veins.

He'd happily do that for the rest of his life. 

“You did.” He agreed, pushing back pieces of your hair from your face.

“I didn’t...I didn’t think I could.” You admitted.

Sirius shook his head. “I did.”

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

“How?”

Sirius scoffed as if you said something completely ridiculous. “Because, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never not been able to do something you set your mind to.”

You beamed at him. “Stubborn.”

“Tenacious.” He said as he pinched your side. 

“Obstinate.” 

“Mine.”

Your teasing smile turned soft. “Yours.” You agreed which was quickly followed by a yawn.

Sirius gently massaged your sides as he slowly lifted your weight up and his softening cock slipped out of you.

“Let’s go clean up so we can go to bed.” He said as he stamped a kiss to your temple. 

You took turns lathering soap on the other’s body and enjoyed the spray of the warm water as you swayed to more nonexistent music and shared tender kisses. He was being unbelievably soft with you, but he knew if he allowed his joy, excitement, and pride to overcome him; he’d have you bent in half against the shower wall.

You’d come a long way, but he was quite sure you weren’t there yet.

That was fine by him though; you had the rest of your lives to work your way there.

...

James made his way down the hall as he carried a muggle frozen dinner in his hands, re-reading the instructions on the back.

He knocked on your and Sirius’ bedroom door but didn’t wait for a response before he opened it up.

“Hey, do you think we can cook this magically since we don’t have a mic-or-oh-wave? Lily said no, but I thought-” He paused as he saw you and Sirius, both with damp hair under the covers intertwined in each other’s embrace.

He realized then that the room smelt warm and... heady...

“Oh my gods. Did you guys have sex!?” He squealed loud enough to wake the entire house.

“PRONGS!” 

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 4, Final | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A:N: Thank you all soooo much for joining me on this one, it was a blast to write. This chapter kinda made me feral writing it ngl. Cheers to my hype mama @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 And I know I mentioned it in the first part but really it’s Ange as well as @valeskafics​ @oneeyedvisenya​ and @sapphire-writes​ that inspired me to write this from their AMAZING modern fics, so please give them all the love as well.

Series Masterlist | Warnings under the cut!

warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, pussy slapping, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Aemond being mean during sex lowkey love it tho

Lucky for you, the flight wasn’t too long.

 Even though you had Baela on your shoulder snoozing, nothing could tear your mind off the sheer idiocy of the previous week.

 You’d fucking kissed him.

Or he’d kissed you? At this point the whole memory was foggy.

 All you know is that you were mere seconds away from tearing his fucking clothes off in his home gym and letting him have you on any flat surface there was.

 You thought how wrong it was. You were paying this guy!

 And yet there was a lingering feeling in the back of your mind, a heat clawing its way up your neck, like a constant ache almost at the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t bolted. The endless possibilities were…vividly playing on your brain the entire plane journey.

 ‘Fucking perfect’

 Even his voice had made a permanent home in your mind, his hot breath against your ear as he pinned you against the wall, allowing you to feel just how turned on he had been.

 You obeyed Baela’s wishes and only told Maris about the kiss.

 It turned out that Baela’s Dad, Daemon, had really gone all out for this retreat. In a place called Lys (which you’d scarcely heard of) on the other side of the island from where the airport was, it was quiet, with only the odd resident along the streets, but for the most part it was completely remote. You’d have to thank him for the personal taxi later.

 Baela had slept through the plane journey entirely so now she just looked out the windows tiredly.

 “Is your Dad and Rhaenyra already there?” you ask, seemingly breaking her from a tired trance.

 She stretches, “Yeah they’ve been here ages already, the rest of the fam are here as well, we’re the last”

 “Why’s that?” you ask.

 Baela smirks mischievously, “There’s some tension at the moment, flights were staggered for the sake of people’s sanity”

 “Oh right”

 You can still hear his voice, the breathy tone he’d used.

 ‘Fuck…’

 Bad girl. Stop it.

 At least it’d be nice to have the better part of a week abroad, miles and miles away from the man in question who was making every thought sinful. You could finally relax.

 “Is it a big resort?” you asked.

 “Oh it’s not one big place, we’ve all got separate little villas. You and I are with Rhaena and her boyfriend, Cregan. Alicent and her fam are in the one next to us. Dad’s done us the courtesy of being the furthest away so we can’t hear him and Rhaenyra going at it”

 “Ew Baela” you scrunch your nose, “Is Alicent nice?”

 “Nice enough to us. Look out for Aegon though”

 “The manwhore one, right. The one we ran into?”

 “Yeah, I didn’t tell him you were coming for a reason. The slut will be all over you”

 “Yeah no thanks, I might get syphilis” you joke, smoothing your hands over your legs.

 You’d changed on the plane to a pair of black shorts and a tank top, and it was a good job you did. It was hot in Lys. Bloody roasting. And if that wasn’t bad enough. It was humid as well, which meant the forgoing of a bra. But c'est la vie, you supposed, you were on holiday, you looked great, felt great and couldn’t wait to get in the sun and just soak it all up.

 You and Baela spent the last 30 minutes of the journey installing Tinder on your phone to check out the selection of men (and women, just out of curiosity) in Lys. But being a small island, you were picking up on people who lived hours away, in places you’ve never heard of either. 

To your dismay, not many people on Tinder in Lys, shockingly. So you stuffed your phone away as you pulled up to the resort. The resort, or at least the one which you’d share with Rhaena and Cregan, was a single floored villa with what you assumed was two bedrooms on each side. It was nice and quaint.

 “Cute” you comment.

Next to that little villa was another bigger one, two floors, slightly more bedrooms you’d wager. That must be where Alicent would be staying.

“She still came even though Viserys died?” you ask Baela, but she only raises her eyebrows.

 “It’s not like they were in love”

 Fair.

 Between the two villas there was a large shared pool that was separated into two sections and a tiny kiosk in the corner where a bartender was packing away stock. Rounding the taxi, you pull your luggage out with a huff.

 “Bartender is not too shabby” Baela wiggles her eyebrows and you shove her playfully.

 She’s right. He ain’t bad looking at all. Suitably tanned, perhaps even a native to the island, his white shirt only serves to emphasise the way his arms are so toned. It’s a nice distraction for sure, even if nothing ends up happening.

 It’s still early afternoon so plenty of time to get dressed and soak up the sun. But as you’re pulling your suitcase out of the taxi, you’re ogling the bartender so hard that it falls out the boot of the car.

 “Christ” you whisper.

 A woman from the bigger villa rounds the corner with long, curled auburn hair. You assume she must be Alicent, but she looks far too young to have four kids all grown up. She gives Baela a polite wave and turns, “Boys, help them with their bags, would you?”

 “Oh no, we’re fine!” you say back, giving her a wave and kneeling to the floor to pick up all your bags.

 “Thanks Aeg” Baela says as her bag is plucked from her grasp easily. You pull one bag over your shoulder and attempt to pull your suitcase to its side.

 “Struggling?”

 You froze.

 Oh fuck.

 You knew that voice. But you dare not look up.

 You stand with your hand on the handle of your suitable, eyes fixed solely on anywhere but where you know he is stood, smirking.

 An involuntary breath manages to escape when his large hand, the one you remembered pressing against your waist last time, brushed against yours to wrap around the handle of the suitcase. He takes it effortlessly, making you finally look up at him.

 He makes no secret of eyeing every bit of you, savouring the parts he’s never seen before, like the expanse of your legs, having previously always been covered by gym leggings. Smooth and leading to the spot where his eye pauses for a moment. To the tops of your thighs sneaking out of your shorts, he eyes them as well with a dark, determined look. The corner of his lip curled up somewhat once he saw the tank top and your lack of anything underneath.

 He looks disgustingly good, at least since the last time you saw him. Hair once again, in that slutty fucking bun.

 He’s only wearing shorts, perhaps he’d been sunbathing as well, but clearly not had much of a tan yet. His chest, which you’d never seen bare before, was glistening under the sun, toned and well defined with lines running all over. You caught yourself from looking at the dip of his hips, at the lines leading down to where you knew you wouldn’t be able to not look if you did. So you painfully refrained and looked back into his mismatched eyes, at the glowing pride sitting there at your obvious ogling of his form.

 He chuckles quietly and takes your suitcase to take into your room, as if he just needed an excuse to see the inside of it. You stood stock still in your position, watching the muscles of his back move as he walks, as if he just knows you’re watching him.

 Which of course, you are.

 You bite the inside of your cheek, both ragingly horny and annoyed at the same time.

 And when you look over at Baela, she bites her lip, mouthing I didn’t know.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill you” you whispered and she laughed nervously, as if really believing you’d do it.

Once the two Targaryen brothers had evacuated your rooms, you pushed Baela inside your shared room and slammed the door.

“Woah woah chill, what’s the big deal?” she asked, searching your eyes.

“Baela, why the fuck is he here?” you whisper, clearly stressed.

 “The fuck is up with you?”

 “Fuck’s sake, Baela, we kissed!”

She’s quiet for a moment and you expect her to freak out, but she just raises an eyebrow, “Is that it?”

 “Baela!”

 “You didn’t bang?”

 “Fuck’s sake, no! I mean… we might have if I hadn’t run off…but it felt too weird-I was paying him-”

 “You ran off?” Baela snorts.

 “Shut the fuck up”

 “What are you afraid of dick now?”

“Baela, I just-I couldn’t, it felt too weird-it’s not like I didn’t want to but-fuck”

 Baela puts her arms on your shoulders, “Babe, calm down. Listen, he's not your personal trainer anymore, mm’kay? He’s just ‘creepy Aemond’, now get your ass in that bikini so we can see the fruits of your labours alright? Get in that fucking sun”

 “He’s not creepy, Bae” you reply, exasperated by the situation you’ve been put in.

 “Regardless, get out there. Show him what he’s missing” Baela winks, zipping open her bag to get her swimming stuff, “You’re hot, y/n. Show him”

 With an annoyed sigh, you shed your clothes, not caring about whether you’re naked in front of Baela or not. A few years in a house-share with her meant you’d walked in on each other nude more than once.

 “Well?” she grins, you look over, bottom half of the black bikini now on, and your jaw drops.

 “Oh my god” you say, looking over at her. She has a bikini of her own, pale blue in colour and one that compliments her skin tone well. Hers has ties that she’s double knotted, “You look fit”

 “Thank you” she says with a smile, as if she knows it anyway.

 You pull your bikini top on, making sure your boobs are well rested and adjusted inside the top. The bottoms are double knotted at the hips, the top a classic one that ties around your neck and back. Once the girls are where they’re meant to be, you look over yourself in the mirror, and you had to admit, the one month program did a number on you. Thighs and legs, slightly more toned, curves smoothed over, arms had a bit more shape to them, but nothing that screamed ‘ah yeah I work out’. And more than anything, the ass looked amazing. You knew you had an ass anyway, but now…

 “What do you think?” you ask Baela, pulling your hair up messily.

 She looks at you in the mirror, “I give it a day” she says as she smears lotion over her body.

 “Until?”

 “Til Aemond’s had you on every flat surface here”

 “You’re fucking gross, you know that”

 “Bet you 5 gold dragons”

 “You’re on,  bitch”

  Once suitably sun-creamed up, skin glistening with it, you rest your sunglasses on top of your head and take a deep breath, going out to be greeted by the warm, humid air. Luckily, only Aegon seems to be sat outside on a sunbed at the moment, his hat resting over his face. Baela happily passes you a bright orange cocktail, and not quite ready to get into the pool, you sit on the side and dip your legs in, the smell of chlorine making you feel like you were finally on holiday.

 Aegon lifts his hat, squinting, “Hello ladies”

 Baela dips into the pool, “Manwhore”

 “Well that’s not very nice”

 Aegon doesn’t make any further effort to speak, plopping his hat back over his face, one airpod in his ear. Sipping the cool drink you scan the area. The villas are cute and luxurious and from here down the cobbled path you can see the beach that backs onto it all, the glaring white sand calling to you and the rush of the waves against them are somewhat calming.

 The little bar in the corner plays some quiet music, not loud enough to disturb anyone from their sunbathing or other holiday-like activities. Alicent sits on the other side underneath a parasol, she’s wearing a classy one-piece and for a woman with four kids grown up, she doesn’t show it one bit, slender and youthful. She reads a book in her lap, sunglasses rested firmly on her nose, a diet-coke in one hand.

 The only sound at the moment was the quiet music and the rippling of water as Baela swam leisurely in the pool, careful not to get her hair wet.

 It was nice.

 Down the cobbled path, you hear the grunts of what sound like two male voices. Arching an eyebrow and tipping your sunglasses up, there’s two men, suitably broad, making their way up to your villa.

 “Ah, my favourite cousin has arrived!” this guy is shorter, but not short by any means, he has wild curly brown hair and wearing shorts that reach to about his knees. Not a red flag per se but…

 Baela splashes him from her spot in the pool, “See you two are getting along famously”

 The other guy with him you recognise as Cregan Stark, Rhaena’s current boyfriend. You’d seen him around when you were at university, but the years had been kind to him and he’d broadened significantly, with a dark beard and a smattering of chest hair covering his torso. At least he’s opted for more stylish shorts though. You give him a polite wave which he returns, he’d always been a softie, it seems that hadn’t changed. Good for Rhaena.

 Jace flashes a smile your way, “Is this the infamous y/n?” he asks, rounding the pool to come and stand beside you to introduce himself, “I’m Jace”

 It’s at this moment that Aemond comes out of his villa, towel in hand. You try your damndest to not look in his direction as he throws his towel at the sunbed next to Aegon, but when you break and do, he’s not even looking at you. He’s staring daggers into the back of Jace’s head, gaze dark as if he wants to take the poor guy’s head clean off. And he makes a fucking meal out of his, only briefly flitting to you before looking away.

 Oh.

 Oh.

 You bite back a smile.

 “Nice to meet you” you say, shaking his hand politely, looking back to Baela and pulling an awkward look. She’s doing the same thing with her eyebrow raised.

 “I’m the other cousin, my brother’s Luke and Joff are in the villa over” he says excitedly. Gods he’s like…a puppy. Even though he very well could be the same age or older, he’s vibrating with excitement. It’s kind of a turn off.

 “You’re Rhaenyra’s kids right?” you ask, politely pretending to be interested.

 He nods, “Yeah, you probably won’t see her. Her and Daemon are always in the cities being tourists”

 This attempt at conversation is…taking it all from you. He’s cute, but not fuckable cute. And with Aemond in your peripheral pretending to be on his phone, but secretly watching every word that’s exchanged, it’s kind of exciting to see him…jealous perhaps.

 You just nod and agree to whatever he says. Aemond visibly bristles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek when Jace signs off with, “You’re welcome to come to our villa whenever you want”

 A bit…forward if anything. But you thank him politely and Jace eventually retreats down the cobbled path to his villa, which he’s helpfully stated is only about a 2 minute walk.

 Cregan asks, “Where’s Rhaena?”

“At the beach”

Cregan gives a polite smile, going off to the white sandy beach in search of his girlfriend. Baela swims up to you, leaning on the side of the pool as you sip the last of your cocktail.

 “Is he always so adept with women?” you ask with a smirk, Baela snorts, “several times I caught him looking below the chin”

 “Can you blame him” Baela returns, “Nah, he’s harmless really, you coming in?” she asks, swimming on her back to the middle of the pool.

 Sighing, you pull the sunglasses from your head and put them aside, padding over to the ladder.

 Even though you don’t look, you feel the intensity of his gaze. Raking all over your skin, as if the more he stares, the more skin he’ll be able to see. Perhaps he’d wondered what you looked like beneath the black fabric of the bikini, what it might feel like to undo the ties of them and let the fabric peel off your moistened skin, exposing your most intimate areas to the humid air.

 Your skin blossoms at the thought, even with how hot it is. The sun makes it no easier to cool off from these musings, only serving to intensify the electric bolt that radiates between the both of you, becoming stronger the closer you are to him.

 He watches as your legs dip into the pool the further you descend down the ladder, the water moistening your sun-cream lotioned skin, slipping away in waves as the droplets lap against your toned thighs. Aemond thinks he might die on the spot when the water surges against your breasts, instantly making the supple skin there glisten in the sun.

 And if that wasn’t enough, you reach up in a surprisingly tempting gesture and pull the clip from your hair. He’d rarely seen your hair down, but here with the ends dipping into the pool, each strand glimmering a soft halo around your head with the afternoon glow, the reins he has pulled taut inside his head are slipping recklessly.

 Pretending to scroll through his phone, his brother Aegon smirks beneath his hat, shamelessly watching Aemond’s resolve slowly crumble. But you do a good job of barely looking at him for the remainder of the afternoon. The same cannot be said for him.

 He realises he’s fucked when Baela, the ever playful person she is, dunks you below the water and every bit of you is wet, water cascading off every curve as you laugh and wipe your eyes. Even when you pull yourself onto the ladder out of the pool, giving him the perfect view of your ass, pulling the bikini a little bit up your hips as you do so, he manages to somehow hold it together.

 Being late in the afternoon, the sun’s beginning to make its way down, so with a slight shiver you pull a towel around you, raking some fingers through your wet hair to get the chlorine-induced tangles out. You lean over the bar, waiting for the bartender to turn around,

“Baela, what do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having!”

The bartender flashes a smile once he recognises your presence, eyes flitting to your chest pressed between your arms as you lean over the bar before returning to your eyes.

 “What can I get for you” he asks lowly and your head cocks at the accent. It’s kinda hot.

 “Do you have gin and tonic?” you ask politely,

 He braces the bar, the vein in his arm visible from this angle, “We do, but I think for a pretty woman like you I can make something better”

 You raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

 He twirls a glass of something behind his back, clearly showing off his bartending skills, “How about something with ouzo?”

 You shrug with a smile, “Never tried it but sure”

 As he mixes the drink, you peer over your shoulder at Baela and then to Aemond. He’s already watching you. It’s that look again. The one he’d given you last time in his home gym. The one where it feels like he’s looking right inside you, the darkened, determined look. You keep his gaze, thinking he will just look away like he had before. But he doesn’t.

 A muscle in his jaw twitches with annoyance. Or perhaps not even annoyance. Something else.

 Once you’ve polished off several cocktails, Aemond leaves with Aegon to go inside, presumably to change clothes, but not before giving you a look over his shoulder. Anyone else would have thought he was livid. To be honest, for a second you thought he very well could be. For what reason he had to be livid? You had no idea.

 You spent the night slathered in mosquito repellent and sat outside with Baela, Rhaena and Cregan. You’d wanted to be comfortable so decided on a dress with spaghetti straps. It was a comfortably warm evening, with fire-lit torches illuminating the space around the villa. Rhaena had arrived back in the late afternoon, flushed in the face and hair tousled and you and both Baela had noted that Cregan’s shorts were untied. The sun was clearly getting to Rhaena. Her and Cregan was a fairly new thing and she’d been both shocked and giddy when he’d offered to be her plus one for the trip.

 Sometime in the night, a figure that was clearly Aemond and another white haired girl walked towards their villa.

 “Helaena!” Rhaena shouted over with a smile. Both figures stopped and your stomach fluttered with nervousness when Aemond’s eyes landed on you briefly. Then a slight pang of disappointment when he said goodbye to the woman next to him to slip inside the villa.

 The ethereal looking woman comes over excitedly, sitting beside you, “Oh my gosh, when did you guys get here!”

 “Cregan and I came yesterday” Rhaena smiles,

 “Yeah but they were probably in bed all day sleeping, right Rhae?” Baela murmurs into her drink earning a smack from her sister.

 “Well it’s nice to meet you, Cregan” Helaena smiles politely before turning to you, “And you are?”

 “I’m y/n, Helaena was it?” you ask, shaking her soft hand. She was really pretty, like a fairy just floating around. She had dangly earrings with ladybirds on them and was wearing a flowy cream dress.

 “Oh so you’re y/n, I’ve heard so much about you!”

 It catches you off guard slightly, but you nod and then turn to Baela furrowing your eyebrows confusedly. She’s heard so much about you? The hell does that mean?

 The rest of the night is really pleasant and Helaena stays with you all chatting for the remainder of it. She’s really nice it turns out. It’s a wonder she’s even related to her brothers. She tells you all about the family drama, which piques your excitement and that her youngest brother Daeron, didn’t end up coming since he’s studying abroad, so she came instead. And you’re grateful she did, it’s nice to have other new female company.

 In your shared bedroom, you and Baela chat well into the night, about a plethora of things. But one subject you refuse to broach is him. Nope. Can’t talk about him. He’s only a few metres away, if you let your mind wander too much it’ll all be over.

 It’s a restless night’s sleep and your subconscious certainly doesn’t help. All your mind can allow you to remember is the way he touched you, how he had pressed against you, how his lips were slotting against yours almost desperately, his low moan.

 The next morning, after having a continental breakfast, Baela puts on a long maxi dress.

 “Everyone’s going to the city for a shop around, wanna come?” Baela meets your eyes in the mirror.

 “Shopping? Nah, that’s fine I’ll just stay here, want to relax a little bit and get some more sun”

 “You sure? Feel bad leaving you here on your own”

 “Is everyone going with you?” you ask, pulling some shorts over your black bikini.

 “Nearly, except for Dad and Rhaenyra. Sure you don’t mind?” she asks,

“Course not, have a good time”

 Pulling a shawl over your shoulders you see Baela and everyone off before trudging down the cobbled path to the white, sandy beach, plopping yourself on the sand and opening a book you’d borrowed from the shelf near the bar. You let the sun beat down on your shoulders, the soft wind blowing through your hair and listening to the waves in the quiet hair while reading a book just seems so calming.

 You’d already gotten quite a bit of sun yesterday and your legs had glazed with a sun-kissed colour, as well as your arms. So much so, the bikini had left a few lines where the straps were, if only very faintly. It was always easy for you to catch the sun. Pulling off your shorts, you lean back on your elbows to read some more and get some colour on your thighs.

 Early afternoon came by quickly and before you knew it, you could feel the tingle of pinkness on your shoulders, where your bikini was tied at your neck.

 Fuck.

 You’d forgotten to put suncream there, Baela had been the one to reach the difficult spot yesterday.

 Packing up your things, you carry your shorts and shawl in one hand and trudge back to the villa. It’s quiet, everyone must still be in the city. Your hair had somewhat curled up from the sea breeze so you ran your fingers through it once inside, snagging on some tangles.

 Now, where was the aftersun. Baela had it…

 “Not a fan of shopping?”

 Your head swung around at the sudden, familiar voice. And there he was, looking annoyingly hot, leaning against the doorway to your villa, a toned arm supporting his weight. Again, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his shorts hung on his hips, making your eyes dip to those lines that lead…

 No.

 He has a lazy smile on his face, happy to have got you flustered and allowing his eyes once again to look over you in just the black bikini once more.

 “No, not really” is all you can muster, going back to looking for the aftersun with urgency. But really you didn’t want him to see the pink flush on your cheeks. Seeing him like this, no less being alone with him, especially looking as good as he does, was about to drive you to madness.

 He hums and walks forward into the village, hands in his pockets, “Looking for something?”

 “U-uh, just the aftersun” you struggle, clearing your throat and cursing yourself for the shake in your voice at being in his presence once again.

 “Ah” he responds.

 You gasp when one of his arms braces the counter in front of you and he bends down to the mini fridge, opening it to produce a bottle of said aftersun. You could feel his presence at your back, broad and warm, all encompassing. Swallowing thickly, you take a breath. It must be the smell of something on his skin that gives off a subtle scent, but whatever it is makes your stomach flutter and a warm bloom settles in your abdomen.

 You go to reach for the bottle, but he pulls back, and you meet his gaze. His look is soft, but dark and steadfast.

 “Where”

 Jesus fucking christ. My heart is beating so fucking fast right now.

 “Um…back of my neck” it comes out a whisper, and he doesn’t miss the way your breasts move in the bikini as you nervously breathe slightly heavier.

 “Difficult to reach by yourself” he muses, his voice rumbling in his chest as he is standing right behind you. You bite your lip. Is this really fucking happening right now.

 You shiver when his large hand moves your hair from your back to one side of your neck, the feeling of his fingers brushing against the skin there almost makes an involuntary sound come out your mouth. But you repress it, closing your eyes to grab hold of your reins.

 One hand fiddles with the single knot of the tie at your neck, slowly, his breath steady. And he finds the one he needs and pulls slowly, unwinding the bow until the bikini top is loosened. Your hands move to hold the front of your bikini up to cover your breasts as the fabric falls. Your mind is at war with itself, stuck between thinking this is wrong and it should stop, and then the more dominant side thinks, he’s here, doing this, you might as well see where it goes.

 Even though it was only one thin strap, when he sees your almost bare back right before him, you hear him exhale lowly and you only know because you feel his hot breath against it. He deposits some cold aftersun in his hand and slowly reaches out to the slightly pink skin of your nape, to spread it across. Your body prickles with anticipation at his touch, coupled with the chill of the liquid. Nobody says a thing as he massages it into your skin, not quite feathery but he applies pressure, making sure to roll his fingers into the muscles there, so that you really feel him.

 He continues for a moment and then his other hand joins. You’re unsure if there is actually any aftersun left at this point and he is just finding an excuse to touch you, but you don’t stop him. Desire pools in your stomach as his hands drag south, down the expanse of your back, to the sides, nearly touching your own hands where they are covering your breasts. Your eyelashes flutter as you sigh at the feeling, his large palms working the moistened skin. It is this point your eyes open when you feel his very obvious erection, pressing firmly against your buttocks.

 You feel his breath close to your nape, and it all seems to fall apart as he presses his lips there. Once, twice, three times…and then again as he drags his lips up your neck to behind your ear.

 “It’s not fair…you getting to walk around like this…” he whispers next to your ear, his hands trace the contours of your breasts, “...every fucking guy ogling you…”

 One of his hands smoothes down your side, resting at your hip, fiddling with the single knot of your bikini there.

 “...wanting to fuck you…”

 He just lets his hang rest there, neither touching you where you need him the most. Your blood is rushing around your body, humming with desire. Frustrated at not being allowed the pleasure it so desperately needs.

 “...but you won’t let them, will you. You’ll just let them look, like the needy attention slut you are”

 His words are unexpected but they have their effect, and you can practically feel your arousal at what he says. One of his hands sneaks beneath yours, to grab one of your breasts tightly, almost possessively, pinching the nipple between his dexterous fingers. It makes you breathe out a quiet moan, your body slowly giving in.

 “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to fuck that stupid little attitude out of you?” he says, his breath hot on the shell of your ear.

 He moulds your breast in his palm effortlessly, waiting for an answer.

 But you moan louder in both surprise and arousal when he squeezes it harshly, “I asked you a question”

 “Fuck-no, I didn’t…” you somehow manage, cracking your eyes open slightly. You see him only a little in your peripheral, expecting him to be smirking. But he’s not, he is dead serious. Which somehow serves to awaken your desire even more.

 His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bikini and he himself lets out a guttural moan feeling how turned on you already are, the pads of his fingers collect the wetness already there, moving up to circle your slit with your own slick. Your mouth falls open slightly, body trembling with anticipation. God why does it feel so good.

“I would have had you in every way imaginable…if you’d stayed…” he murmurs against you, speeding up the motions of his finger.

“Fuck…Aemond-please”

 He spins you around quickly, the top of your bikini falling in a useless mess to the floor and he quite literally growls at the sight of your tits, as if he’d imagined what they might look like for a long time. His jaw tightens at the sight and he pushes the bottoms down to the floor, sinking to his knees almost instantly so he is staring hungrily at your cunt, wet and dripping for him.

 His hands remain at your hips, his fingers bruising red marks into them.

“Please what”

 Shit.

 Your face flushes red at the sight of him so close to your intimate area, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little embarrassed, but his pupils are so dilated with pure lust, it almost makes you forget.

 Your body jolts when he slaps your pussy hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your clit and clawing up your spine, a desperate sound escapes you. He need not say anything else.

 “Please, I need you” you whine pathetically and he huffs, as if annoyed, using his large hands to part your legs even further, the counter biting into your lower back.

 “That’s what I fucking thought”

 He dives into your pussy with his tongue, swirling the soft, wet muscle around your clit a few times deliciously before venturing down, fucking you with his tongue and lapping up your slick like a man starved. He grips your hips as if you might move away from him, keeping you right where he wants you and all the while your desperate whines and the lewd sound of his mouth are the only thing that fills the otherwise quiet villa.

 You pray nobody returns, because what you’re doing right now deserves to be loud.

 God, how long had it been since a man last treated you this way. Since a man had known what to do with you so confidently, to have you a moaning mewling mess.

 It’s here when you look down, that you realise he’s fucking moaning while eating your pussy, almost sounding as if he’s enjoying this far more than you are. Enjoying your taste, your scent, everything. He briefly looks up at you, drinking in the indulgent look on your pinkened face, before delving deeper, his sharp nose rubbing against your clit with every move he makes with his tongue within you.

 You nearly lose it entirely when he presses two fingers inside, immediately crooking them to rub against that delicious spongy spot that makes your mouth hang open.

 “Ohfuck” you whimper as he doubles his efforts on your clit while pistoning his long, slender fingers within you. It feels like so much and your hand comes down to his wrist, feeling your climax curl in your gut and threatening to explode faster than ever. But he groans and uses his other hand to push it away, blissfully ignoring you and going faster in an effort to make you come apart around him.

 “You gonna come on my fucking tongue” he growls into your pussy, his ministrations never stopping for a second and in fact his lips lock around your clit to suck. A desperate moan spills from your mouth, not even passing your brain.

 “Yes, yes…” you pant, “Fuck-Aemond”

 Your hands brace the counter as your climax is ripped from you by the force of his fingers and mouth. Pure, white hot pleasure wakes every nerve in your body, prickling up your back and into your limbs, making them go numb. You barely register the sound you even make as Aemond continues to fuck you with his fingers through it, lapping up every bit of your essence that comes out, moaning and chanting ‘good fucking girl’.

 It genuinely takes you a moment to recover from it, your chest shining with sweat from the effort. But before you know which way is up, he rises, hands under your thighs to pull you up onto the counter, which is good since your legs were starting to give in from the force of your orgasm.

 “Aem-”

 His lips are on yours before you even have a chance to speak, allowing your legs to part so he might press flush against your weeping cunt. You feel his erection, hard and thick against you and it only makes you want it more. He takes you in with his lips as if it’s the air he breathes, a mess of lips, tongues and the taste of you, sweet like nectar.

 “Fuck, want you so bad” he breathes between kisses, outright moaning when your fingers card into the hair at his nape and grip.

 “Fuck me, I want to feel all of you”

 His eyes peer open down at you, his chest heaving with desire.

 “Please, don’t make me beg”

 At this, he does smirk, pushing his shorts further down his hips and freeing his cock, “I’d like to see you beg, baby”

 Christ.

 He’s much bigger than you’ve had before, definitely bigger than your pathetic ex was anyway (not like it’s hard). You take him into your palm, hot, weighty and heavy and he tilts his head back at the feeling as you give his length a few languid strokes, although there really is no need since he’s been constantly hard the second he saw you come out the taxi the day before. The way his face contorts when you rub your thumb over his weeping tip makes you think he is painfully hard, aching for any kind of release.

 God, if this is what he looks like now, you want to see his face when he is fucking you stupid.

 You guide him to your waiting core, his head barely kissing your entrance.

 “I’ve got an IUD, please-”

 He doesn’t need to hear any more, his hands reach out to grip your waist, pulling you forward as he pushes, letting out a guttural moan as he sinks into you to the hilt. He moves your leg to hook around him, trying to get as close to you as possible.

 “Fuck…” he moans with a shudder as his cock is squeezed by your tightness, “god you’re so fucking tight”

 Everything about this has your blood on fire. His cock fills you so perfectly, his moans, his words, the way his hands are holding you apart for him to use you. One of his hands moves to your nape, grabbing the hair there in his grip tightly, and the tension against your hair makes you moan out as well.

 But he doesn’t move.

 “Aemond…”

 “Beg for it” he orders, his stomach taut with the effort it takes to hold himself back. Frustrated and turned on beyond belief, you try and move your hips for friction. His hand flies from your hip to your jaw, fingers bruising into your cheeks, making you look directly at him and your eyes meet his, wide-eyed and heavily dilated, “Beg for it like the fucking slut I know you are”

 Once again his words ignite that fire that creeps down your spine, and you feel every bit of him. Every vein on his cock, how it twitches within your heat and how it kisses your cervix with how big it is.

 “Please fuck me, just move Aemond-please”

 You don’t have the resolve to deny it now. You want it so bad, more than you’ve wanted anything ever.

 He wets his lips, “That’s it” he coos.

 He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside, watching the way your tits bounce when his hips snap against yours with need. He doesn't start gently, too pent up for that, nor does he build up to it. He fucks you on the counter like he’s not been able to get a moment’s rest from thinking about this for weeks. The hand in your hair tightens impossibly, holding you there while his cock drags against your walls, still sensitive from your previous climax.

 Aemond watches his cock disappear over and over again into you, coated in your slick, revelling in the filthy sounds it makes when he slaps against you. And when he delivers a particularly hard thrust, brushing against that spot inside, your hand flies to your mouth to contain your moans, concerned that if anyone did come back, they’d be able to hear you.

 “None of that” he growls, ripping your hand away from your mouth, his eyes glimmering with mischief, “I wanna hear how good I make you feel”

 It’s impossible to hold back. He sees it all as a challenge now as he takes your hips with both hands, fucking you even faster if it were possible. He adjusts his hips and his stomach muscles, toned and hard ripple with the effort, his strong arms caging you completely in and he looks down at you as if he wants to see exactly the moment it happens.

 You grip his forearm tightly, “Aemond-I’m-”

 “Fuck I can feel you squeezing me…you gonna cum for me, hm? All over my cock” he breathes.

 You nod desperately, “Yesyes…please…cum inside me-”

 His brow arches smugly at this, a smirk etching on his features, “You want me to fill you up, huh”

 “Gods - yes”

 “Hm” he hums, allowing his large hand to encircle your throat, only barely squeezing, “gonna make you work for it”

 It’s when he squeezes your neck that you shut your eyes, face contorted in pleasure and that coil inside snapping forcefully. You can practically feel the rhythm of your heartbeat through your clit as you let go completely, gripping onto him for dear life. You don’t know what he means by ‘work for it’ but you don’t really care right now. The pleasure comes in waves over your body and Aemond pistons in and out through it, a lazy smile on his face watching you as you orgasm.

 You realise in all this that he’s not stopped. His hips continue to press into you faster and faster, now bullying the overly sensitive spots inside that have been decimated by your climax.

 “Aemond?...” you manage with a breathy moan, quickly feeling overstimulated.

 “Told you I’d make you work for it” he muses, moving his thumb to circle your clit.

 You gasp out, back arching against him as he tries to work yet another orgasm out of you, “I-I can’t-”

 “Give it to me” he orders, all while keeping that breakneck pace as he fucks you, sparking white-hot and borderline unbearable pleasure in two ways against your body. He leans forward to lick a fat stripe up the column of your neck all the way up to your ear and the change in position has his cock once again directly drag against that spot inside, one that makes your eyes shut, face contort and stars begin to appear behind them.

 “Give it to me like the good girl you are” he whispers as he bites down on the skin of your neck, marking you for himself.

 With a strangled cry, you give in, thighs trembling against his muscled sides and you feel another gush of arousal coat his cock by the loud sounds it's still making. He fucks you through this one, his strokes becoming sloppy, and you go limp in his arms feeling that he may also not last much longer.

 “Good girl-fuck” he cums with a shattered moan after that, his head buried into your neck as you feel his hot spend paint your walls, giving a few desperate thrusts until his cock twitches from overstimulation, still seated within you. Still coming down from the two close orgasms he’d given you, you take a moment to come back to earth, eyes cracking open after a while.

 Even with him still inside you, you can feel the combination of his spend and your own arousal leaking out of you, coating your thighs. He pulls his head tiredly from your neck to look at you. And he looks amazing, so blissed out, a bit pink in the face, but there’s a new softness there now where there wasn’t before.

 “Gods, you’re so perfect…”

 You kiss him desperately, not wanting this feeling to end as you both come down from your respective highs. And there’s a part inside of you that is self-conscious that perhaps all he wanted was sex, and that he doesn’t like you at all, so you savour this moment, concerned that after all this…there might be nothing.

 “Go on a date with me…” he says suddenly and you look up at him. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks nervous, “please…”

 Combined with the thoughts you were just having, his words are so overwhelming that for the time it takes you to think of an answer, you just laugh breathlessly, which makes him arch a confused brow.

 “Date?” you ask, wondering if you’d heard correctly, “not to the gym I hope”

 “No, not at the gym” he laughs, “I…I’d like to get to know you better” he confesses.

 You huff a laugh, “You’re literally inside me right now”

 He lets out his own laugh, and it’s nice to see him genuinely smile, “not like that”

 His chest is still moving with his breathing, still slightly laboured, and your eyes glance over him for a moment, taking him all in. His hair has somewhat come free of his bun, so you tuck a strange behind his ear in a gesture that makes Aemond’s heart squeeze.

 “I’d love to”

 The smile on his face is unmistakable, and not a hint of smugness to it.

 Once he’s pulled his softening cock from your core and you’ve both cleaned yourself up, it overcomes both of you that you can’t keep your hands off each other, can’t spend a moment without lips locked. Everyone’s definitely going to notice.

 “I don’t want to hide it from anyone, if you don’t” you say in a whisper.

 He squeezes your ass lovingly, giving it a playful swat, “I certainly don’t”

 A few hours later, once the sun has started to hit the tops of all the buildings and the sky turns a hazy red with the sunset, you sit beside him, legs dipped in the pool and a shawl pulled around your shoulders from the slight chill. You let your head rest on his shoulder, utterly content as he kisses the crown of your head, in a shockingly loving gesture despite how he was railing you earlier. One strong arm wrapped around your waist.

 “Fuck” you whisper.

 “What” he asks amused.

 “I owe Baela 5 gold dragons”

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@jacevelaryonswife​ @lovelykhaleesiii​@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid​ @namelesslosers​  @chainsawsangel​ @warmfieldofgrass​ @mynameisbaby9​ @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix​ @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​ @amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss

[grendelsmilf]

"poor simon. poor simon, i guess? poor simon, sort of? it's like some part of him wants to be a sad wong lord. but why would anyone want that? is there some incentive?" – finn in astral plane

this is one of my all time favorite episodes, of anything ever. it struck me so profoundly immediately, and i have watched it so many times since it first aired. but i never gave this line much thought until now. i suppose if i'd been asked to i would've made the connection that finn is (perhaps subconsciously) talking about his own father as much as, if not more so, he is talking about the ice king. it's only seeing simon grapple with the consequences of regaining his sanity (so to speak) that i truly understand what finn is referring to here. because, of course, there is an incentive.

living in utter denial of one's grief and trauma is far preferable to actually confronting it, living with it and facing the consequences of the loss and the horrors you've experienced. simon misses being ice king not because he liked being ice king; it was its own personal torment and in his brief moments of lucidity it was obvious that he couldn't stand it. simon misses being ice king because the madness came with the silver lining of obliviousness. sure, being doomed to a life of lunacy and idiocy is a contemptible fate, especially for someone as thoughtful and erudite as simon, but at least when he was ice king he had the memory of a goldfish. yes, he does subconsciously remember betty enough to want a princess bride, and he feels an inexplicable fondness towards marceline, but mainly his body is a vessel for the crown, and that's still preferable to remembering and knowing and feeling when you have suffered so much that lucidity is a crushing burden. simon can drown his sorrows with alcohol, but inebriation is no match for the oblivion of the crown.

similarly, martin was driven mad with grief, and lived in denial and escapism before being given an out from the universe. he had love, he had a family, and that was ripped away from him in a cruel and tragic manner, so he sunk back into his old habits with even less care and consideration than before. unfortunately for finn, he is his father's son. and his denial of his irreparable grief causes him to relapse into unhealthy behaviors he grew out of in adolescence. at the time, he couldn't understand what the incentive was. why simon wanted to be a sad wong lord, or why martin would take the comet's offer. but i think he does now.

[helsensm]

I cannot hold it in anymore I am absolutely OBSESSED with your art and the way you draw Lao.

I also would like to inquire….. just perhaps… what are your top head-canons for him, and/or your opinions on popular ships for him/which ones you like?

No pressure!! I hope you are having a wonderful day 🧡

me, trying to act normal every time an awesome artist I look up to says something nice about my art

Thank you so much! first of all, please take this Lao with you, he's yours now~

now let me preheat my bad english.....

Most of my Lao headcanons (if they are not related to a particular art I made) were yoinked from another ppl, because DAMN FELLAS your brains are sexy. 😏 So you might have heard some of them already, but here's my top general hcs for him.

NOTE: we are talking about the current timeline mk1 Kung Lao

- Lao is very expressive with his hands and he's THE TOUCH person. Just look at how many times he took Raiden by the shoulder in the first chapter alone?? He'll be pushing, and patting, and shoving, and punching you all over while telling about his breakfast or something.

- Lao is struggling with inferiority complex. Since childhood he was under a tremendous amount of pressure, he has to do things right, to be better, or else he would be mocked or punished. Now he believes that he should be the best, or he would not be taken seriously. He's constantly seeking validation in his peers, causing him to act cocky and over-confident.

- Anger issues, usually when someone questions his skill.

- People call him lazy because he tries to act like everything comes naturally to him. In reality he trains hard and takes things seriously. Like, he's fighting with a RAZOR RIMMED HAT fgs, it's not something you can master in a day! Also he always got energy running through his veins, lucky bastard... *cries in iron deficiency*

- He makes his hats by himself. With his hands. He designs and creates. ALL of them. I will die on that hill.

- He's a slow to trust, but ride or die as a friend.

- He's a trouble maker FOR SURE, but not a bully. He's respectful and polite to most of the people (if they don't provoke him), also drinks his respect-women juice.

- Master of sass and sarcasm. And yes, I think he swears, but in the right circumstances or the right company.

- He's got rizz NOW, but in his teens he had zero game because he could not keep his mouth shut and would scare off the person with the most ridiculous piece of idiocy.

- I read it in one fic and really loved the idea that Liu Kang "told the blossoms" about Kung Lao, and they really liked him 🌸 so now they are following him around and bringing him news and gossips, that's why there's always those goddamn petals aroung him aasghGHHHj 🌸🌸

- He's rolling his eyes at Johnny, but they quickly become besties.

- He actually has a cold relationship with Liu Kang. Don't get me wrong, he trusts him, respects the hell out of him and will run into a wall for a man. But I think Liu will distance himself because of all the memories of HIS Lao and how badly they sting. oTL

- That smile and a bow Lao did after loosing to Raiden? He meant that. Loosing hurted BAD, but the pain was pushed aside by the sence of pride and happiness for his best friend.

oh shit, this is getting out of hand, I'm starting to think about the other timelines and dynamics, we'll be here all week hhhhgh

About the popular ships... Well, I'm a big fan of railao (yeah NO SHIT who would have thought), but I am a multishipper, so I'm just happy to see my fav characters feeling good in someone's hands. 😊

I really like the liulao and laoliutana for several different reasons. 👀 The johnshilao (or is it laojohnshi..? erm) was the one that didn't impress me at first (love the Lao just third-wheeling with a tired expression <:'D), but recently I'm starting to warm up to all the different dynamics these three can have. And that is, in no small part, thanks to you and your kenlao agenda 👀💖 damn you created such a nice cozy universe for them I'm 🥺💕💗💖

Bi-Han/Lao is a bit random, but I love how catto did them, they are such a cute pair of assholes! >:3

ummm, yeah, so I'm going to stop there ahahhH. Thank you again for asking and for all the nice little feels your art provides, I admire you tremendously~

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-fourth

day twenty-four: james potter james forgets his gloves on a walk along the river | established relationship, fluff, first i love you | 1.2k

The city is lovely this time of year. People clinging to the evenings where a heat lamp is enough to convince everyone to sit outside, vendors selling scarves and hot nuts on the bridges. The days are getting shorter, yes, but you bask in the chill and the energy of it all. Autumn is a season of change, of preparation, and you adore it.

The path along the river is bustling, full of young people drinking beer and kids on skateboards and couples like you and James. You’re due to meet your friends for dinner in about an hour but you got here early to stop at a bookshop and just spend time together.

He’s bought you mulled wine and himself spiced cider. The cups are doing wonders for warming your hands, which are cold even through your gloves. James, however, has forgotten his entirely, and the tips of his long piano fingers are starting to look the wrong color.

“Are you sure you don’t want at least one of my gloves?” you ask him. He shakes his head and reaches for you with one hand. You twine your fingers together as if it’ll keep him warm. James is the kind of person who will not admit that he’s cold even as he’s freezing to death.

“I’m not sacrificing your fingers because of my idiocy, love,” he says. “I’ll be alright.”

You pout at him and he laughs.

“None of that, come on now.” He kisses the pout from your lips until you’re laughing.

“James, don’t spill my wine!”

He tugs you into his side. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

You study him as you walk. His hair is windswept by the breeze coming off the river, his glasses clean only because you cleaned them a few minutes ago. He did remember a scarf, one you knitted him last month in preparation for the cold. Maybe you should buy him a pair of gloves for every coat. You really wish he would look out for himself more, not just everyone around him. But you can handle it being your job.

“Do you think Marlene will be cross if we show up tipsy?” you ask.

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes. “Are you already? You’ve had less than one wine.”

“No!” He laughs. “I just think we should get another, since they’re so warming.” James has finished his and tosses it in a bin.

“You don’t need to worry about my body temperature,” he says. “I will be just fine.”

You grumble. You worry! How could you not? He’s your boyfriend.

The smooth sound of a cello drifts towards you as you walk. “Do you think the buskers are out?” you ask James.

“I love that guy with the tuba that spits fire.”

“Please tell me you don’t think you’re hearing a tuba right now, James.” He kisses your temple with a smile.

“No, love, I know what it is. Let’s find it.”

You end up having to walk under a bridge and through a narrow tunnel but you end up by the art museum James took you to on your first date. It’s a weird one, full of experimental art and big, open floors of interactive installations, but you’d been smitten with him immedietly.

“Good memories,” he says, as if he can read your mind.

“The best.” It’s you who presses a kiss to his cheek this time. “There’s the cellist. Shall we watch?”

James allows you to drag him to the edge of the small crowd that has gathered to listen. He stands behind you and, in a move that makes you feel slightly triumphant, wraps his arms around you and sticks his hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re warm,” James says into your ear. You lean back into him, one hand on your wine and the other resting on his arm.

“You’re welcome.”

He sways you to the music. It’s like you’re in your own little world with James, sometimes. He has this ability to make everything else fade away, to make you feel like you’re the most special person in the universe, like he’d do anything for you. And you think he would. Your heart aches with the desire to tell him you love him, you realize, to whisper it in his ear every second. To shout it from the bridge so the whole city can hear. It hits you like a truck.

How did you not realize before?

Standing here with him, his hands in your pockets because he likes to be close to you and he knows you’ll keep him warm, is the best place you could be right now. You are happy. A laugh bubbles its way out of you as the cellist starts to play a love song you heard on the radio this morning.

“What’s with you?” James asks, tone cheeky. “Got the giggles?”

You keep laughing, turning your face so it’s in his neck while his hands are still in your pockets.

“God, I love you,” James says. He pulls his hands from your coat and cups your elbows instead and you stop laughing.

“James —” you say, turning in his hold.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he mutters.

Oh. Ouch. “Did you not mean it?” He hears the hurt in your voice and his eyes snap to you, reading the devastation in your gaze.

He quickly cradles your face and presses his lips to your brow. God, his hands really are cold.

“Of course I did,” he says in a rush. “I love you,” he says again. It sends a thrill down to your toes. “I just…meant to tell you in a more romantic way. Candles and dinner, or something.”

He kisses your lips this time, quick and hard, and flops his forehead onto your shoulder. The cellist keeps his rhythm, oblivious to the enormity of this moment between you.

“James,” you say, feeling a bit giddy. He loves you. “James, come back.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled by your jacket. “I’m embarrassed.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and he rises. His glasses are cooked so you straighten them.

“This is just fine,” you say. “This is perfect, actually.”

“Oh, is it?” he scoffs. “You’re just humoring me.”

“Maybe I am,” you say. You tug off one glove so you can rest your bare palm on his face. He leans into it. “But it’s alright. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

His gaze brightens, his mouth tugs up at the corner. “That so? How do you know, pray tell?”

You scrunch up your nose at him for playing this game, but you love it. You love him. “Because I love you, you silly man.”

He closes his eyes for just one moment as if he’s gathering himself. “I love you,” he says again.

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it a million times.” You throw your arms around his neck and he pulls you tight to him, picking you up and spinning you around just once. People are probably staring but you don’t care.

“See?” you say once he sets you down, a little breathless. “Plenty romantic.”

James presses his forehead to yours. “If you say so, darling.” The cello plays on.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[twst-drabbles]

Leona, Rook and Vil 1

Summary: Rook’s cooing over your childhood photos attracted the attention of Leona and Vil. And then they find the photos that contain Crowley.

(Added a guestbook/comment section function to my neocities. If you want to leave a comment, go on ahead! Also sorry for the slowdown, had to put my old cat down the other day because of cancer in her leg. 19 years man. She had a good run.)

By this point, Rook isn’t even saying any words. He’s just cooing and awing over the pictures of your younger years, when baby fat was aplenty and coordination was just not your thing.

You tried to turn the page on your photo album just so you can finally put it away but Rook pinched the page and refused to let you leaf through it.

“Just a few more minutes, please,” Rook leaned in closer to your photos, adoring smile nearly splitting his face, “let me admire your tiny self just a little longer.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed out, not really getting the appeal but oh well.

“You might want to keep a close eye on him,” Leona appeared in a small gale of sand, leaning on the couch arm closest to you, “he’ll try and make a copy of your photos. Might even show them off to everyone he meets while he’s at it.”

Leona didn’t flinch but his body did pulse with sand for a moment when Rook shot his gaze towards him. He simply thinned his eyes to a glare, tiny golden grains floating in the air behind Rook, ready and waiting to coat his shirt.

“Now now, I wouldn’t do something so intrusive,” Rook shook his head, as though the notion was laughable, “though, if you’re willing to lend such an offer, well, I wouldn’t mind in the least!”

“Nope,” you shot him down.

“Oh that hurts, that you don’t trust me so,” Rook hung his head, but you can tell he wasn’t hurt in the least.

“Rook, is that you harassing our dear Caretaker?” Vil practically descended on the back of your sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he sat between you both, smile almost poisonous in its amusement. “That won’t do. Look at this, you even got this lazy mound of sand to move all the way here.”

“Finally away from your perch, huh?” of course, Leona takes the jab with stride, “And here I thought you got your pigeon feet stuck on the branches. Seems I won’t have to cut them off after all.”

“Stop,” you said, turning the page just to get there focus on the album and not on each other, “I’m not in the mood for banter.”

“Apologies,” Vil dipped his head, the feathers on his neck calming down just a bit.

Leona grumbled out a ‘sorry’ of his own, but it was enough.

“Oh?” Rook tilted his head, tapping a finger against a familiar masked face, “Is that Crowley carrying you on his shoulders?”

You leaned in, then nodded. “Yeah. I made my first kite in that one. He got it stuck in a tree and had him help me get it down.”

“Seems more that you forced him,” Leona leaned a little into your shoulder.

“And look at him, unable to handle your weight,” Vil tapped a claw on the veins straining in Crowley’s neck and the sweat that made him shine, “was he always this out of shape?”

“Pretty sure he’s been out of shape for most of his life,” you sighed out, “however long that is.”

“Oh look at this photo,” Rook gestured to the corner of the page, “he’s carrying you in a backpack this time.”

“Yeah, Crowley actually got me new shoes but it was raining that day,” you pointed out the mud just coating his legs, “he didn’t want them getting dirty.”

“Did he really forget that he can just use magic to keep you elevated?” Vil raised an eyebrow.

“Yup.” You replied.

Leona gave a sigh of amusement “What did you expect out of that birdbrain? Sure, he has his feats but his idiocy is the only thing that rivals him.”

“He’s been with you for quite a long time, hasn’t he?” Rook had a far-off look to his face, as though wading through old memories.

“Yeah he has,” honestly he’s been there since you were in diapers but you don’t have photos of those. Took a few years of convincing for Crowley to finally say yes to being photographed.

“And will probably be there for many more years, knowing him,” Vil turned the page this time, “I’m shocked he hasn’t gotten you into an accident.”

“I’m more surprised you even survived to this day,” Leona tapped at your arm out of boredom, “He can barely take care of himself, let alone a waddling kid with no magic to them.”

“Right?” And you very much agree with him, “And he used to babysit me a lot. Felt more like I was watching over him than him to me.”

A bit of an exaggeration to be fair, but still. Before the photos, before Crowley was this… goofy force of nature, there was a time when Crowley was just like those crows in those old fairytales you were read: silent, lurking and ever watching events unfold.

A creepy man that didn’t interact with anyone. And yet, your family was the fools that decided the house next to his was the perfect one. Well, they weren’t wrong but the atmosphere wasn’t exactly one would call kid friendly.

Well, either way, that’s all in the past and your little kid self somehow wormed their way into his heart. You could chalk it up to loneliness making you stubborn in being friends with him, but either way, that was then and this is now.

So, in a way, yeah you did look after him. What a funny man he is. Maybe you should get Crowley something later. A new hat maybe?

[bigenargy]

Cw! : no physical descriptions of reader mentioned, no pronouns used to refer to reader, slight nsfw (nothing explicit or descriptive), 320 ish words, liitle bit of angst (Tom being Tom tbh) obviously toxic relationship, spoiler: he does love you, post-dark lord Tom but he's still hot so dw, not proofread cause I happen to be a real man 💪🏾

"Where'd you get that ring," Lily asked.

Your hand instinctively flinched at the mention of the ornament.

"Um," you hesitated, "it's a promise ring."

Silence, followed by a knowing "oh" was her reply as she fruitlessly tried to mask the judgment her face was rightfully showing.

"I would take it off," You hastily started; "but it's hexed in place."

She sighed, visibly releived. "Yeah, that makes sense." Still, it's weird knowing it's from him.

"Yeah, I get i-"

I tried to reply, only for her to suddenly grab my hand to inspect the ring.

"Wait!" I cried as I retracted my hand from her grasp, but I was too late.

Tears were forming at the rim of her eyes as she held her own hand, trying to soothe the pain. It looked fine, really. There was no redness nor bruising, yet I knew just how much pain she was in. She touched my ring, after all.

It was during 5th year when he gave it to me and during 6th year when he hexed it so I wouldn't be able to take it off and no one else would be able to touch it.

The memory of it is a bit fuzzy, represed memories and all, but what I do recall is the shouting, tears, and his cruel words.

I recall finally snapping and throwing his damned ring right in his perfect little face.

"I'm done, we're done." I spat furiously.

...

He went silent at my words, as a look of pure astonishment annulled his gorgeous features. The fucker was genuinely surprised that I  intended to break up with him.

I turned to leave, rightfully offended, but, the moment I cracked the door open he came up behind me and slammed it shut. His eyes were dark and and his entire body was tense.

"You think that ridiculous ring will change anything? You're still fucking mine, dizzard."

Admittedly, at the time you found that incredibly hot, The boy just had the sexiest red flags. It wasn't one of your proudest moments, but, the intensity of the situation, his piercing gaze, and the proximity of your bodies all sent your hormones into overdrive. That argument, like many before it was never properly settled or ever talked about again as the two of you opted to fuck instead. (As you very often did).

That night as the two of you laid in bed he presented you with ring again just before shoving it onto your finger and reaching for his wand to hex it in place. You only frowned at him before he pulled you into a deep kiss.

"Merlin, make it stop!" Lily cried, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Right, sorry!" You apologized, "It should stop soon."

"I swear the mans' mad!"

She was right, he is. You initially thought he only hexed the ring in place so imagine your surprise when you tried to take it off again and it tightened so hard around your finger it turned purple and just try to picture your absolute bewilderment when you held a first year's hand and the ring had the poor boy holering in pain.

Riddle was smart but so were you. He excelled in all areas especially potions but you excelled in spellcasting. Really, you could have removed the ring with your magic at any time but you didn't want to. Even after the both of you graduated and went your separate ways, even after you heard the news of how many people he'd killed and his plans of mass genocide, you still loved him and You were sure he felt the same.

Call it delusional or plain idiocy but you knew he still loved you he had to.

[phyrestartr]

The Starved King [Miguel x M!Reader]

(King!Miguel x Knight!Reader)

Note: Just a drabble that I want to throw out into the universe while I consider how to continue it lol I like the idea, I just don't want to dwell on it too much and get stuck in analysis paralysis 🫠 lmk if you'd like to see me continue this!!

Miguel found you. Amidst the plethora of flashy royals, he somehow managed to pick you out of the crowd–that handsome face, a fox-like smile, dragon-fire eyes all rang true in his memories of dying and bleeding on the battlefield until a young knight from a cursed kingdom chose to spare him instead of spear. 

Memories curled around him in the same way your fingers once did, buzzing with something rich and sinful that'd mend his wounds over the coming weeks left in that war-wrecked cottage. Miguel, the enemy king, was so close to death, yet you, injured and exhausted yourself, kept him breathing.

“Why do this?” Miguel asked one night while you busied with the fire, working whatever magics you had to make the flame dance. 

“Why do what?” You wondered, not looking away from the glow. 

“Keep me alive.” Miguel coughed and winced. Still, he forced himself to sit, and earned the sharp snap of your gaze on him. 

“You shouldn't–”

“I'll keep what dignity I have left,” Miguel scoffed. Then, sitting back against the wall, he got a good look at you; it seemed you’d run into some trouble with a knife, so suggested the long streaks of red tearing across your young face. A sword would have taken your head clean off. You wore typical armour of a knight from your kingdom, yet the flash of a muddied brooch caught his attention a moment before you looked away from him and back at the fire. 

“Where are you from?” The tired king asked. 

“Does it matter where I hail from? Right now, we’re two men simply trying to survive, yes?” You jabbed at the fire with a half-burnt stick. “I’m not interested in being a king-killer, so you needn’t worry; in fact, be glad it was I who found you and not one of my beastly brothers. They’d have had your head strapped to their horse in a second.” Your accent was foreign, not one that he could say was even a bit familiar. It struck his nerves as much as it piqued his interest further. 

“Then you come from a damned kingdom.” 

“A rightfully damned one, yes. Small. Unremarkable. Yet still hated, or perhaps just feared.”

“Most wouldn’t say that about their home.” Miguel adjusted his posture and took a moment to take a look at his wounds: bandaged torso, splinted leg, a splinted arm. Fantastic. “Unless you despise your people.”

“Oh please, I don’t despise my people,” you spat, eyes growing fierce and venomous. “They’re just people. Peasants. Workers. The poor, the hungry, the needy–the people are subjected to the idiocy of greedy elders and mislead ways. The queen wants to change things, and yet–” You took a deep breath and rubbed your face. “And yet things cannot change as they are. More time is needed. Until then, we participate in useless battles with your ilk. To, what, prove something? To show our might?”

“Killing a king would turn the tide,” Miguel said. He really shouldn’t have. That one statement might have changed your mind, might have ended his life and shirked the responsibility of a kingdom to his daughter. 

“Do you want me to kill you?”

“No, I–”

“Then shut up. Your blabbering isn’t useful.” 

“I just–if your kingdom is in such a state, then why–”

“I don’t want to.” 

Ah. 

“Kill-shy?” Miguel asked with a slight smirk. “Doesn’t seem very righteous of you.” 

“Excuse me?” Your face, suddenly animated and brimming with heat, turned to him again. You moved closer, half-crawling, half-scooting on the dusty stone floor to his bedside. “Look at you. You should be glad I’m more interested in healing than I am killing, you prick.” You sat up on your knees and leaned into his space. Miguel’s mind swirled in a way it used to when a pretty woman leaned into him during his courting days.

“I still don’t see a point in mercy,” Miguel whispered, his voice caught between his mouth and his heart. 

“Because I’m gifted. An asset. A good pick for an ally.” You tilted your head and gazed up at the older man through your lashes. Your hand, bare, pressed against Miguel’s skin, smoothing over the gauze wrapping around his chest. “Perhaps once I’ve secured my place as king myself, you’ll remember me, and what I can do for you.” 

What I can do for you. Ah. That sent blood rushing south and ideas flooding north. 

Miguel’s hand grasped one of your wrists, and he too leaned in the slightest bit. “And what is it you can do for me, exactly?”

“Everything,” you whispered. “Anything.” 

A wave of warmth pulsed through his chest, radiating from your palm. It came in one wave, but so suddenly like an explosion easing into the steady comfort of his chamber hearth, glowing quietly throughout the night. The stiff warnings in his chest melted and eased, and suddenly, he could move freely again. His arm and leg still ached terribly, but his chest seemed to have been…healed? 

“Magic,” he breathed. 

“Magic,” you whispered.

He closed the gap and kissed you. You whimpered something soft and sweet into his mouth as he took the lead, his one good hand digging into the space connecting your neck to your shoulder, not allowing you to run away. But he learned quickly you’d no desire to leave with how you clambered onto the bed and shed just enough of your clothes to take him.