#y'all i did wrote something for once

[chososdiscordkitten]

pairing: Gojo x afab!reader content: no use of y/n or pronouns, NO PLOT JUST PORN, BREEDING KINK, mentions of PREGNANCY and BABY TRAPPING, unestablished relationship, gojo is such a tease, dirty talk, doggy, teasing, fingering, oral (f receiving) , he eats it from the back, eye contact, cervix kissing (?), multiple orgasms, gaslighting (?), Gojo doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, no after care sowy word count: 3.3k

(a.n) wrote this cause i couldnt stop thinking abt the 'plap plap plap get pregnant get pregnant' meme lol also have y'all noticed I have a thing for cream pies lol? wrote this listening to 'Martillazo- Dani Flow'

MDNI

What you had with Satoru wasn't a ‘relationship’ in his words. It wasn't dating, or a situationship. He just liked you, he liked being around you.

And most of all, he liked fucking you. But recently he had been toying around with the idea of one day telling him this arrangement wasn’t enough anymore.

And knowing Satoru, he wouldn't ask you for anything more serious. Not because he didn't want it too, but he didn't want to seem weak in front of you. Especially in front of you.

And I mean how humiliating would that be? The strongest asking you for a relationship? The mere thought made him cringe.

But he didn't like thinking that way, he didn't like thinking of you finding someone else that can give you a real relationship.

So Satoru tried to think of ways to make you his, and only his. Ways that didn't involve him confessing his feelings. Marking you up with hickeys on your breasts, bite marks on your shoulders.

Eventually finishing inside of you every single time. The sight of your cunt leaking his cum made something deep inside of him flip.

Now the sole purpose of having sex; for him, was to fuck his own seed into you. Over and over again. Secretly hoping that one day you'd present him with a positive stick.

Sad look on your face as though you were expecting him to act negatively. Asking him what you were supposed to do now. Only for him to hug you close and tell you he'd take care of you. Holding your face to his chest as you let out silent tears.

A smile creeping onto his face knowing that if that day ever came, that's how he would make you his forever.

Not once did he ever express these thoughts to you, but the first time he fucked you raw, you asked him if he had anything. Satoru gave you an over excited grin with a quiet mumble, “Nope.” before sliding inside of you.

Eventually you started noticing his incessant need to always finish inside of you. Even if you were sucking him off, he'd tell you to stop right before he'd finish. Not wanting to waste a single drop. But you never stopped to ask why, letting him fill you up anytime he wanted.

You should've known something was wrong when he backed you against a corner the second he saw you, a sinister smile on his lips as he traced his hand down your side.

That very morning Satoru came to the conclusion that he had to fill you up anytime he had the chance to. Hoping that maybe this time it'll happen.

“I missed you~” he hummed, Taking his hand and guiding your thighs to open the slightest bit. Pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips, confusion adorning your face as you kissed him back.

“I just saw you yesterday.” You smiled, pulling away from him. Taking your bottom lip into your teeth as you felt his hand caress your bare thigh.

“I knowww-” he hummed, tracing his hand down in between your thighs till he felt the warmth radiating from you. Taking his fingers and pressing them against your clothed cunt. You huffed out quietly at the pressure, looking into his eyes and feeling warmth brush against your nose.

Letting out a small giggle when he felt how messy your panties were. “I haven't even done anything yet-” he smiled, blue eyes staring holes through yours. “And you're already this wet for me?” he hummed, tracing his fingers beneath the band of your panties. Y

ou looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, letting out a small sigh when he circled his middle and ring finger at your entrance. Seeing you writhe beneath him, “Satoru-” you whined, knowing if you didn’t say something he'd just keep teasing.

“I think you missed me too.” he smiled, sliding his middle finger inside of you slowly, gasping when he felt your cunt pulse around him. 

The back of your hand pressed against your mouth so you wouldn't make too much noise. “Don't be that way-” he hummed, taking your hand from your face and seeing your eyebrows pinch together, slipping his middle finger out slowly, pressing it to his ring finger and slowly sliding himself back inside.

“I did-” You exhaled, the curl his fingers took making you close your eyes. “I missed you.” you gasped, feeling his fingers press against the spot that made you rise to your tiptoes. This made Satoru giggle,

“Oh? But didn’t you just see me yesterday?” he mocked you, the edge of his palm pressing against your clit as you huffed at his words. His long fingers pumping inside of you, too slow for your tastes.

Whining a forced “Please” as you felt his palm tease your throbbing clit. He smiled looking at your expression, knowing you were getting to the pinnacle he wanted you at. Slowly pulling his fingers out of you, smile on his lips as he watched the disappointed look on your face form.

Leaning in and pressing a wet kiss onto your blushed lips. You were hesitant to kiss him back, but you did. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his tongue inside your mouth, swirling against your own tongue as he hummed.

Satoru’s eyes half lidded, watching you submit to him as your hand found their way to the side of his face, the other on his bicep. Gripping onto him as though your life depended on it, this only made Satoru smile against you. Pulling from your lips and trailing his hands up your oversized t-shirt. Making direct contact with the upper part of your hips. Groaning against you as his fingers felt slight goosebumps form at his trailing touches.

Placing a wet kiss onto the corner of your mouth, peppering kisses towards your ear. Licking a long stripe onto the shell of your ear that made you squirm.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking you all day.” he whispered, his breath making you shift against the wall. He took your hand into his, slowly guiding it to feel his strained cock in his pants. Feeling it slightly twitch against your touch, he let out a low groan as your grip on his print tightened.

You smiled with a quiet huff, “Then do it-” you teased. This only egged Satoru on. His hand tight against your hip as he flipped you over quickly, your chest now pressed against the wall. You pushed your ass out against his hips. Your hand grazing the print his cock left in his pants. Leaning to your ear almost groaning when he felt your fingers graze past his caged tip.

Letting out a smiley gasp, “See how you have me?” he purred into your ear, making you move your hips against him. 

You whined feeling his hand roam from your hip onto the plump of your ass. Rubbing the clothed skin lovingly, “So pretty for me.” he smiled, hooking his fingers onto the sides of your panties and sliding them to your knees.

Back arched and your hands now on the wall to brace for what's coming to you, “Put it inside-” you whined, grinding your bare bottom against his clothed cock in hopes he'd hurry up a little.

“Oh? You need me that badly?” he teased, making you turn your head slightly to look at him. You let out a needy ‘Mhm’ as his eyes widened at the sight of your face. “I know- I know.” he cooed, seeing how flushed your face was.

“When have I ever failed you, hmm?” he asked you, already knowing the answer. Taking his hand and undoing his belt, shoving his black briefs down and wincing when the tip of his flushed cock hit the air. Spreading your cheeks slightly, inhaling through clenched teeth as he saw your cunt glimmer.

Taking the two fingers that were inside of you previously and sliding them down your core. Shivering against his teasing touch. Letting out a low whine when you felt the tips of his pale fingers brush against your clit. His mouth slack jawed as he saw how slick you really were. 

The mere sight of you made him fall to his knees. Almost in prayer as he came eye to eye with your pulsating cunt with a small gasp. Taking both of his hands and placing them on your ass. You squirmed, feeling his breath against your cunt, pressing yourself closer to the wall when you felt his tongue lick at your hole.

You moaned his name which only made him push his nose further into your cunt. His tongue slowly lapped against your clit as you squirmed.

Taking one of the hands that was on your ass and trailing it down to the back of your thigh. Taking his thumb and rubbing light circles against your clit, drawing his tongue back to your hole as he worked you.

The feeling made you gasp sharply, Satoru’s eyes started to roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt pulsing around his tongue. Throwing yourself back onto his face slightly.

His tongue wasn't enough, you needed all of him inside. Groaning against your cunt as he felt his cock start to leak, the sounds you were making made his head feel dizzy.

Your eyes screwed shut, frustrated whines leaving your lips as you arched your back even more. You felt yourself start to get back to the feeling he ripped away from you moments earlier.

“Satoru-” you whined, feeling his grip on your ass tighten. “M’close-” you whimpered, cheek against the wall and feeling him smile against you.

His thumb quickening against your clit makes you gasp, muttering a quiet “Right there-” as you felt yourself come undone with a shivering moan. Satoru greedily slurped at the wetness that slipped out of your cunt, you let out a small opened mouth pant at the feeling. 

Placing a small kiss to your cunt before standing again, cock laid against your lower back as he lifted the hem of his jacket throwing it off along with his shirt.

Taking his lip between his teeth, sliding his hands from your ass up your back. Rubbing slowly up your back beneath your shirt as you shifted against him. “Impatient aren't you?” he smiled, taking his hands and guiding you to take your shirt off. Tossing it aside and he saw your exposed back.

“Need you inside ‘Toru-” you whined, feeling his hands trail up your back and land on your shoulders. Placing a wet kiss onto your nape before his hands trailed to your jaw. Leaning over and pulling your head back, seeing your eyes lock with his.

'Tsk tsk tsk’ he smiled “Naughty, naughty.” he cooed when he saw you let out a small whine. Knowing as much as you'd tell him to shut up, you liked hearing his unnecessary comments. Taking one of his hands and grasping it around his cock.

Trailing his hand to rest below your chin, pulling you back further. Smiling before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Lining himself up with you cunt, pursing his lips as he looked at you, lips parted with small pleads falling from your lips.

Pressing the tip of his weeping cock against your entrance, pinching his eyebrows together and inhaling. Letting his jaw fall at the feeling. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile when he saw you close your mouth and see a small grin on your lips.

Sucking in air through pursed lips when he felt your cunt suck him in, “You're so greedy~” he hummed, making your lips part and scanning his features. Sadistic blue eyes staring into yours as he pulled himself out of you slowly.

That stupid smirk not leaving his lips before thrusting into you again, this time only rougher. Making you clench around him, gaining a groan from his lips. His hand letting go of your jaw and holding your hips as he slowly dragged himself out of you. Your hands back onto the wall as you heard him let out low groans behind you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you.

Closing his eyes and throwing his head back, mouth open as he let out loud groans. His hands guiding you back onto him like you were some toy. The sounds he was making made you reach one of your hands back to grasp his. “Fuckkk” he moaned, feeling you squeeze around him. 

The side of your face pressed against the wall harshly, feeling Satoru quicken his pace. Hissing through clenched teeth, almost like you felt him in your throat. Eyes screwed shut as you fucked yourself back onto him. This made Satoru stop his thrusts, his hands easing their grip on your hips.

Looking down with half lidded eyes, seeing you fuck yourself onto his cock. Seeing how your ass stuttered against his hips. “My god-” he huffed, seeing how desperate you looked bouncing off of him.

He leaned over, hunched over your back before whispering in your ear. “Lemme cum inside of you, yeah?” He smiled, huffing against your ear as he thrusted into you. You only nodded your head ‘yes’, hearing him let out a stifled laugh.

“I wanna hear you say it~” he purred, making you clench around his cock.

“Satoru-” you moaned against the wall, making his hips speed up against you. “Please come inside-” you whined, hearing him let out a shaky breath against your ear.

Knees trembling as he straightened his back and thrusted into you quicker. Feeling his weeping tip kiss your cervix, “You're so deep ‘Toru-” You moaned, feeling the grip on your hips tighten, hearing a breathless laugh leave him.

Quickly snapping his hips into you, pushing you further into the wall as you let out a loud whine. Hearing him mumble something but not being able to comprehend what it was. His cock drilling into you as your eyes squeezed shut.

Satoru pulled out once more shaky hips struggling to push back into you. Feeling his tip twitch inside of you. Warm liquid trickling inside of you as he groaned loudly. His pants now around his ankles along with his briefs.

 “Again.” he whispered. Making you furrow your eyebrows at how his cock was still hard inside of you. Starting to thrust inside of you again, his thrusts were more sloppy as you moaned.

“Toru-” you whined, hearing his heavy breathing behind you, hands pulling you back onto him as he started raising your hips slightly. Standing on your tip toes as he took the hand that was on yours and raised it. Pressing it against the wall. Fingers intertwined as he thrusted inside of you, being able to hear just how messy your cunt was getting.

His hand on your ass making red marks form on it from how hard he was gripping onto you. “Wait-” you whined, feeling his chin rest against your shoulder. Thrusting inside of you at a new angle. Not being able to see it but you knew his face had a dopey smile plastered onto it.

“That doesn't sound like a safe word~” he purred, his cock brushing past your sweet spot quickly making you let out a small whine.

“Right there-” you gasped, being able to feel his tip now nudging into the spot that made you moan uncontrollably. Squeezing your cunt around his cock, making him let out a drawn out whine right next to your ear.

Feeling yourself come undone on his cock. It didn't take long for Satoru to come again, lazy hips thrusting into you as his chest heaved. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple as he looked at his hand that engulfed yours, pinned to the wall and seeing how your fingers intertwined with his. He let out a huff, moaning a string of ‘I’m cumming’ into your ear. Slow thrusts as he felt a shiver run down his spine. 

Satoru took a second to catch his breath, taking the hand that was on your ass and placing it to the side of your face. Lifting his chin from your shoulder and looking into your eyes. Seeing his flushed face, lips parted as he leaned in to kiss you. Sloppy tongue in your mouth as you felt his hips start to move again.

Opening your eyes mid kiss in surprise. Seeing him looking at you with half lidded eyes. Swapping spit with him, making it drip from the side of your mouth. He pulled away, straightening his back. Dropping your hand from the wall and landing it on your ass. His lip trembled between his teeth.

Thrusting into you slowly, but making sure to get as deep as he could. Satoru’s incoherent mumbling made your ears hurt trying to understand him.

Feeling his hips press against you everytime he thrusted, but his teasing words were no longer in the air. A few whimpers and whines followed by the quiet whispers he said to himself.

You called him through a whine, not hearing him respond or halt his movements. You looked back to him, calves burning from being on your tiptoes. Seeing how focused his face was, so focused he didn't even notice you looking at him. Your eyes locked on his lips.

Blurry vision attempting to focus on what he was saying through your moans. Trying to make out what he was saying over and over again. ‘Get’ you heard, feeling him thrust into you quicker. His eyes glued to the sight of your cunt sucking him in, a ring of white at the base of his cock.

You squint your eyes trying to focus on what he was saying. Finding it difficult to hear through the steady sound of your ass plapping against his hips.

‘Get pregnant.’

Your eyes widened when you heard his words clearly now. Furrowing your eyebrows when you realized he had been mumbling this whole time.

You turned your head back around, small gasps leaving your lips as he sped up. Now being able to hear the string of the demand from his lips clearly. You closed your eyes, holding back the whines that threatened to leave your throat.

Feeling his hips stutter against you. Satoru screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the overstimulation against the tip of his cock.

A low groan leaving his throat as he came inside of you one last time. Feeling his knees weaken as he panted. You were gasping for air. Feeling how full your cunt suddenly felt. Satoru sighed, feeling his cock finally softening inside of you. Wishing he could stay inside of you to keep all of what he pumped inside of you. 

Your brace on the wall eased, slowly easing yourself down from the tip of your toes. Satoru’s forehead resting at the back of your head as he caught his breath. Closing his eyes and sighing. Leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto your shoulder.

Wincing as he slowly pulled himself out of you. Hoping nothing oozed out of your cunt. You turned yourself slightly, looking up to see his flushed face. Eyebrows furrowed as you contemplated asking him.

“Am I crazy or did I hear you saying ‘get pregnant’?” You questioned, seeing his face drop quickly before smiling again.

“No idea what you're talking about.” He grinned, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Looking into your eyes as though he wasn't lying right now.

“But if you want me to- all you have to do is ask~” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your lips. Your eyebrows stayed furrowed as you mentally questioned if you did hear him say those two words.

-

pt 2 here

every time I think to write something short it always ends up being longer than 1k words. what is wrong with me. also I am a big fan of the whole topic of Gojo into breeding. started this at 5:35 pm- finished at 11:50 pm. nonstop. I need to be put in a cage

[tojirights]

Honestly think you're one of the best writers for Alastor in this fandom! Your stuff is always brilliant and the characterisation is perfect!

Had the idea last night: Alastor and reader going multiple rounds, and reader still wanting more and being full of energy but Alastor being absolutely out of it and completely shattered, so he uses his tentacles instead, because what kind of gentleman keeps his lady wanting?

Just an excuse to request tentacle sex with everyone's favourite "deer".

a/n: im gonna be so real with you, im not really sure if the tentacles are like, real apendages or if they're part of his shadow soooo i wrote them as the latter. hope it makes sense!! thank you love :') y'all are too nice 🩷

if there was one thing you weren’t expecting to still have in hell, it was your damn hormonal cycle. you didn’t necessarily have a period, but by god, you swore you still ovulated. it felt even worse than before, the primal need threatened to burn a hole through you. you always felt like a bother to alastor during this week of the month, begging and pleading for him to fuck you for hours. but, alastor never turned you away.

today though, you were especially needy. alastor had already made you cum a handful of times and had cum twice himself. he was exhausted. yet, there you were at the edge of his bed, eyes still filled with lust. “my goodess…” alastor chuckles, shaking his head. “i’m not sure i have much left in the tank, darling.” he cups your cheek, watching tears well up in your eyes. “i-i’m sorry-” he shushes you before you can continue. “did i say anything about stopping? i’d never dream of leaving my lady hanging when she needs me.”

“but…” you frown, watching alastor’s smile turn to smirk. “i have a few tricks up my sleeve, my dear. lay back.” your eyes widen as there’s a flash of green light, followed by five tentacle-like appendages sprout from alastor’s back. “w-what?” adrenaline surges through you as well as a mix of excitement and nerves. “you’re gonna… use those?” you gulp, watching the tentacles slither towards you. “why of course!” alastor snickers, seeing your apprehension. “don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours." he coos, watching with hungry yet tired eyes.

the shadow apendages wrap around your thighs, cold to the touch but not unpleasant. as they slowly spread your legs, another slides between them. it's almost embarrassing the way your legs shake with anticipation, the cool tip of the tentacles swiping up your slit. "o-oh, that's..." you sigh in relief when you're suddenly being filled. "how's that darling?" alastor hums, watching as you open wider around him. "that's... oh god alastor..." you pant, every slow thrust of his tentacle-like shadow making your head dizzy.

the foreign feeling of being stretched so wide has you already teetering on the edge. without warning, alastor curls the apendage while picking up pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. "gonna-" you mewl, hips arching off the bed with every thrust. "k-keep going please. 'm gonna cum." every whine makes alastor almost wish his cock was back inside of you, knowing just how hard you're clamping down on his shadow.

but the sight of you writhing, gripping the sheets like you're life depended on it was something he's grateful to be seeing from afar. the buildup to your orgasm comes strong, the coil in your stomach snapping from the tension and- "oooh, you really liked that, hm?" alastor's voice is heavy with arousal, pulling you back to reality after cumming. your vision slowly returns, heavy breathing filling your ears. you barely register the soaking mess you've made on the bed. "oh my god. did i..?" your face goes red, embarrasmemt setting in once again. "yes, my sweet. you did, and made quite the mess for us to clean up."

[ovaryacted]

HOMECOMING

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader

SYNOPSIS: After a long day of patrol, Joel comes home later than he said he would be back. You are just happy to welcome him back into your arms.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Suggestive content - 18+. Established relationship. Soft & affectionate Joel Miller. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his late 50s, reader is 25+). Mentions of early pregnancy. Cute stuff. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Hey there, been a while. In case y'all forgot, yes I do still write LMAO. This is a little something that I wrote miraculously on my free time, and it is my first Joel Miller piece. I'm also slowly getting back into writing so pls be nice! I did originally write this with the new Pedro Pascal picture as Joel in mind, but I'm a gamer Joel type of girl at heart so that's what I went with. Hopefully, it is enjoyable for those who choose to read it. Any likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Night fell over Jackson, soothing and quiet as it usually was. You’d think after some time, you’d get used to the stillness that often consoled others in a world full of unsettling clicks and gunfire, but you found yourself troubled with the calmness that followed once the sun went down. The change of the seasons propelled a temperature shift outside; bitter winter exchanged for the rebirth of spring, which hopefully meant the sun would stay in the sky just a little bit longer.

Your face nuzzled into the pillow beneath you, the material not yours to claim, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Digging your nose further into the bedding, you subconsciously chased the faint scent of pinewood and gunpowder, one of the few things that eased your anxiety. It was a smell you got used to recognizing over the past few years, not that you’ve been keeping count.

Despite the warmth the sheets provided you as you rested on the left side of the bed, your body felt cold, missing a familiar set of strong arms and a welcoming chest pressing up against you. He had told you before he left for patrol that he’d be back before sundown, that was the plan anyway. But you knew better than anyone that stepping outside the protective gates of Jackson always left room for the unpredictable.

In the haze of your dreams, you faintly heard the click of the front door opening and closing, the floorboards of the stairs creaking with the ghost of muted footsteps. You stirred in bed, ears trained to pinpoint the noise, yet too stubborn to wake up entirely. A breeze entered the bedroom before you sensed something else sharing the space.

That’s when you felt the phantom touch of plush lips skimming along your hairline. If you weren’t awake then, you certainly were now.

“Joel?” A call of his name equivalent to a whimper at the sudden contact you craved. You caught the slight intake of breath and the exhale that followed.

“It’s me darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Joel spoke quietly, the peaceful baritone of his voice awakening you fully. As you sighed, you met his tired gaze with your own, bruised knuckles raising to brush your cheekbone affectionately.

“Things went okay on the patrol?” You questioned him, pleased that he was here with you in one piece rather than focusing on the fact that he came later than you’d like.

“Yeah, had to check something out with Tommy to be sure before coming back. I’m sorry honey, didn't want to make you stay up for me.”

Even if it was unintended, Joel felt guilty whenever he didn’t stick to his word. He was not much of a virtuous man, lived a large part of the past two-plus decades giving less of a shit about honesty and ethics. But when it came to you, it killed him when he couldn’t follow through on his promises, even if things weren’t within his control. The last thing Joel wanted was to upset you or make you worry, but no matter how many times he reassured you of his return, you still tried your hardest to wait for him to come back home, back to you.

“It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here,” you blinked slowly as his voice filtered through the lagged mess of your head. Leaning your face towards his hand, you kissed the inside of his palm. “Go freshen up and come to bed; I’m cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled with a smile at your forgiveness, parting from you for a second and heading to the bathroom, not planning to make you wait any longer.

You watched his silhouette from where you lay on the bed, fluttering your eyes closed at the sound of running water. When the door opened again, Joel’s broad figure returned wearing a worn-down flannel and some fleece pants he had snagged long ago.

“Scoot,” he jutted his chin to gesture to the right side of the mattress, your side, suggesting to reclaim his on the left. Shifting to the right, you let him slip into the bed feet first, hauling the sheets to cover the both of you. A bulky arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you close to him, your body molding to his like a missing puzzle piece.

“Not too far now,” Joel grinned as you nestled right into his warm chest, seeking his attention and attempting to siphon more of his warmth. It takes you off guard how your nerves instantly settled once you had Joel near you again. In his arms, that was where you belonged—protected, loved, safe.

“I missed you,” you mumbled, eyes shutting to breathe in his typical musk. One of his hands cradled your lower back, thumb running circles into your skin.

“I missed you too, darlin’. Too damn much.” Joel kissed your forehead, drawing lines up and down your back with his fingertips.

His hand moved again from behind you to the front of your body, palming your stomach protectively. A smile crept up on his face as he felt your tummy under the material of the flannel you stole from him, the only thing you preferred for pajamas. The gentle curve of your belly was not yet prominent enough to be overly detectable, but he knew what you carried. Precious cargo. That’s what he called it after you both adjusted to the shock of adding to Jackson’s current population count.

“Still feelin’ sick?” Joel asked you in the room’s darkness, his eyes shifting to watch over your facial features. The moonlight illuminated the edge of your jaw and the roundness of your cheeks, and his chest ached at the thought of witnessing other growing changes over the next couple of months.

“Sometimes. It bothers me, but nothing I can’t handle.” You reassured him the best way you knew how, having to rely on Maria’s advice for all things related to childcare and Ellie being your new overly protective guard and nurse when Joel wasn’t around.

If someone had told you that you’d find yourself alive after the apocalypse in a safe community and pregnant at that, you’d consider them crazy. Yet here you were, carrying a man’s child when you least expected it, a man years older than you with memories of a reality you couldn’t experience or remember. But you didn’t mind; the end of the world didn’t leave much room for strict morals anyway.

Make the most of it. You don’t know when you’ll miss something once it’s gone.

Joel had told you that after the first few patrols you had with him once you adjusted to Jackson, growing comfortable with the stoic and quiet man who grabbed your attention everywhere he went. He shared stories of a time before the world fell apart, discussing things like watching the sunset, listening to music from artists you’ve never heard of, and sweet treats he missed tasting. Things changed after the seventh patrol together, where you saw him smile for the first time after successfully hunting some game for the town.

That night, one thing led to another. It started after some drinks, a hungry and messy kiss on your doorstep that led to clothes on the bedroom floor, and hands pawing at one another. You woke up the next morning with an arm wrapped around your waist and his nose rubbing the back of your neck.

Simply put, you haven’t left since.

“Oh, I know. Can handle a whole lot, strong woman you are.” Joel taunted you a bit, his memory fleeting momentarily and recalling the spitfire you always were with him in particular. He could never seem to tame your spunk and attitude, but he grew to love it like the rest of you.

“Mhmm, real strong, if you ask me.” You held his gaze with a gleam of mischief, bringing your body closer to his wide chest and tilting your chin upwards, silently asking for more than a cuddle.

“You tryin’ to tell me something I don’t already know?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” You were a tease, always have been, jerking Joel’s chain more than he cared to admit. 

“Those hormones are messing with your head, darlin’. Got you acting feisty,” he smirked, shifting nearer to your face.

Curious hands reached up to curl through his thick, graying curls. The contrasting streaks along his temple became more noticeable as time passed, matching the graying beard you’ve come to love and adore. He hesitated to let his hair grow out initially, thinking he’d look too much like his younger brother. Much convincing later, paired with hiding the shears, you got the desired result, and now you were lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of your labor.

The kiss was velvety as it was intimate, your tongue lining his bottom lip before he groaned, granting you entrance into his mouth. You swallowed the rumble he released, drawing a path of your touch from his neck down to his lower abdomen. Antsy fingers itched to skim the waistband of the fleece that concealed him, reaching close to the hardness you felt before he seized your hand away.

“Aht aht, no. As much as I want you there, it’s bedtime.” Joel didn’t necessarily want you to stop. Hell, if it were up to him, he’d let you go to town on him however you wanted. But his energy levels were dwindling, and all he wanted to do after a long day was get some proper rest with you in his arms.

“But-”

“Sweetheart, if you let this old man sleep, I’ll wake you up to a real nice surprise in the mornin’.” It was an effortless proposition, easy to keep you at bay until the next day and enough to curb your insatiable appetite.

“Promise?” You beat your lashes at him, knowing the last thing Joel would do was deliberately not provide for your needs, even if that meant having to keep up with you physically.

“Pinkie swear.” Joel gave you another peck before letting you get comfy against his chest once more, cuddling into him as much as your growing belly would allow without being squished. You started to drift off as sleep called to you, listening to the gentle rhythm of soft beating in your ear.

“Breakfast too, Miller.” You murmured to him, peeping how he laughed in the dark with his eyes closed. The pleasant and lively sound made you smile and your heart pound. 

“Oh, I’ll feed you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

The peace in your bedroom matched the serenity that fell over Jackson. Now that you had Joel wrapped around you, you didn’t mind how quiet it was. So long as you have him, you can handle anything that comes your way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[dixons-sunshine]

Sleepy!reader falling asleep all the time on Daryl’s shoulder,Chest,Arm anywhere in car ride or meeting with group and everyone teasing him and her about it

Sleepyhead | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Life in a world ravaged by the undead was hard. Constantly wondering where you'd find your supplies, whether your loved ones were safe and whether you'd die that day was exhausting. That exhaustion caught up with you, but thankfully, Daryl was more than willing to be your temporary pillow, even at the expense of getting teased about it.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, post season three, pre season four.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sleep deprivation.

Word count: 768.

A/n: This is really short, but I really didn't have it in me today to write anything long, so I wrote this little fic instead. I feel like this isn't exactly like what was requested, but I hope you like this nonetheless!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Aw, the two of you are so adorable.”

“Glenn, get your camera. We need to get a picture of this.”

“Who knew you could be so soft, Daryl?”

The sound of laughter pulled you out of the black abyss of sleep you were nearly lost in. As everyone continued talking to the archer who's chest you found yourself rested against, you could clearly hear the teasing tones in everyone's voices, and it nearly made you smile—however, that would blow your cover and show everyone that you had woken up again. You wanted to see how Daryl handled the situation.

Barely even fifteen minutes prior, you had been sat against the wall of the lower level of the cellblock as everyone participated in a game of truth or dare. However, not too long into the game, you had yawned and rested your head back against the wall. You were extremely tired, the nights of sleeplessness finally knocking on your door in the form of exhaustion. As you had closed your eyes, you could distinctly feel the arms of someone wrapping around your shoulders, and your cheek had found itself rested upon a firm yet soft surface—that surface you now knew to be Daryl's chest—and a blanket had been draped around you.

“If y'all dun' shut the fuck up righ' now, I'll throw this goddamn pot at yer heads,” Daryl grumbled, subconsciously tightening his arms around you and readjusting the blanket that he had draped around the both of you to fight off the chill the night exhibited. “She ain't been gettin' any sleep lately. S'the first time she's slept in days. If y'all wanna make fun'a me, do it tomorrow when ya dun' run the risk'a wakin' her up.”

“Aw, Daryl,” Michonne awed teasingly, sharing a small laugh with Carl, who watched the exchange in amusement. “You're so sweet. Who would've thought that you'd actually be a big teddy bear instead of this brooding, scary guy you pretend to be?”

“She did,” Rick laughed, motioning over to you. “Look at her. She managed to make Daryl hold her in front of all of us. I thought that would be impossible.”

“Piss off, Grimes,” Daryl replied, ducking his head to hide the blush that spread over his face. Somehow, without even having to shrug you off first, Daryl got up and held you bridal style, regarding the amused faces of his friends once more before turning around. “M'takin her to bed. Nigh', assholes.”

Laughter followed him as he climbed the stairs to your shared cell. You nuzzled your face into his chest and tried to hide your smile, vehemently amused by the situation Daryl had just escaped. You knew that the two of you wouldn't hear the end of what had happened downstairs, but you had no problem with a little teasing over something as tender as Daryl holding you.

Soon, Daryl layed you down on the bed and climbed in behind you, adjusting the covers around the both of you. The archer grumbled something to himself before pressing himself against your back, wrapping his arms around you.

Finding it the perfect moment to add some teasing of your own, you rested your hand over his that rested around you. “They're right, you know. You are really sweet.”

A few beats of silence passed until Daryl spoke up. “Ya were awake the whole time?”

“No, not the whole time,” you corrected. “I woke up because everyone was laughing too loud. I'm glad I did, though. I'd hate to miss any opportunity to see you get so flustered.”

“Yer the worst,” Daryl mumbled, nuzzling his face into your shoulder blade.

“Yeah, I am,” you giggled. “You love me, though.”

A long moment of silence passed. You thought that Daryl had fallen asleep already, but soon he tightened his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I do love ya, sleepyhead.”

[atrwriting]

future problems (pt. 2) -- coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

me, after posting a one-shot: “ok i won't do a part two”

me, a few days later: *posts a part two*

howdy y'all ;) back with everyone's favorite toxic white man of the month

this part is based on this anonymous request -- love you anon :) xox

find part one here

summary: reader finds out she's pregnant and has to tell the scariest man in panem -- her husband, president snow

as always, warnings: smut!, pregnancy sex, coriolanus snow is a fucking warning in himself, he’s a dick here, fem!reader, p in v sex, mommy and daddy kink just trust me ok)

barely edited we die like men

anyways... here is future problems (pt. 2):

......

he was told by a servant a month before you told him.

he couldn't believe it.

you had not bled last month.

it's not that he was mad... but he wanted to be told by you. he wanted you to be the first one to tell him. it was important to him — trust and loyalty, especially from you. he had allowed you to get close to him, physically and emotionally, and he deserved that same respect.

he couldn't believe you had kept it from him.

you. of all people. you.

how fucking could you?

it had been a total of six weeks since he had been told by the servant.

it wracked his brain like it was the fever that debilitated him for weeks. it gnawed at him, it scratched at him, and it fucking demanded every ounce of energy from him that he possessed. that sort of pain, betrayal — it insisted on being felt and dealt with immediately, no matter what needed to be taken care of first. corio coriolanus couldn't believe he had honestly trusted you, or even thought you were worthy of some amount of trust... and he couldn't believe he, for even a second, allowed either of you to live in that facade.

never again, he reasoned. never again.

on the day after the six week marker, there was a knock on his office door.

his lips fell into a grimace before he forced it to remain even — calm. no emotion shown. not anymore.

“come in,” he spoke.

his eyes fell to the papers on his desk, where he continued to write and edit his memorandum. his eyes traced the words he wrote, but he was barely focused on what he was writing. the only thing he could hear was the sound of your footsteps entering his office.

“corio?” you asked quietly, smiling, as you stepped through his door.

inside, he flinched at his nickname. coriolanus, he wanted to correct.

he did not raise his head. “…yes?”

he could not see you — but he knew that you noticed his flat demeanor.

it affected your own.

he couldn’t see that — but he knew. he fucking knew.

it wasn’t the first time he had been cold to you, but enough time had past where he reasoned that this would be the solidifying moment of your opinion of him. he knew that you knew he was upset about something. what else could have changed his demeanor?

“i-i wanted to… tell you something,” you replied, voice wavering.

he could tell you were working hard to ignore the obvious signs that something had shifted between the two of you. he knew, he knew, and he knew — but he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. why should he, when you didn’t?

“yes..?” he replied once more, this time sighing.

his eyes met yours.

your resolve immediately fell. though slight, he could see that whatever confidence you had possessed had faded from your face. it was gone… and coriolanus didn’t have the resolve to replenish it. neither did you have the strength to fake it.

he saw you begin to pick at your fingernails — another nervous habit of yours he had noticed.

however, this was a new one. once the pair of you shared a kiss — you were rarely seen pulling at the skin of your lips and your usage of lip moisturizer had increased. he appreciated it, at the time — but now? now it was a reminder of what once was. with new bad habits came the alert of the passage of time — and the alert of bonds breaking.

he couldn’t deal. he just couldn’t.

“what is it?” coriolanus demanded, eyes blinking.

your lips parted in confusion, and your brows scrunched right with them. there was hurt in your eyes, and splattered across your cheeks in a pink hue. your cheeks were usually flushed with graciousness or from alcohol — but this was embarrassment. hurt. rejection.

he didn’t care anymore, especially not when he admitted to himself that a part of him loved seeing your face and confidence fall. if he was going to fall, you were going straight down with him.

down, down, down.

“i’m with child,” you responded, appearing to struggle to catch your breath.

there it was. the admission.

he clenched his jaw. his eyes focused on your face — and how the tears began to collect in your eyes. the rejection he was sending towards you was even being felt by him — and he almost felt bad. to see a woman he so blindly trusted, who thought she could outsmart him — play the part of a hurt and broken hearted woman so well.

he did not smile. he did not laugh. he did not even get up. he simply stared at her — silently.

“i take it you are not happy at this announcement,” she responded, voice barely wavering. “i-i would’ve thought…”

coriolanus watched as you placed a gentle hand over your stomach — almost in a protective manner.

“how long have you known?” he asked.

“i took the pregnancy test today,” you responded.

coriolanus’ jaw tightened. he was not expecting that, especially not after the news he was given. “…but you’ve known for some time. you must have — given how you chose today to take the test, and don’t seem as surprised as you thought i would be.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “…no, coriolanus. i didn’t. i had hopes, yes, but… i took the test as soon as i thought reasonable. you’re the first person i’ve told.”

confusion and hurt. that was all you felt. it encased your body like it was trying its best to cast you from the room — placing a heavy boundary between you and your husband. husband… if you could even call him that. your lips began to twist in a grimace as emotions began to well up inside you.

“tell me why i have displeased you,” you spoke, voice threatening to break. you took a step towards his desk and kept one hand firmly on your belly. your eyes, red and wet, bore into his and refused to leave him. “i thought you would be overjoyed. i-i thought…”

“you claim i was the first person you told,” he spat, holding your glare. “but i was not the first person to assume.”

you scrunched your eyebrows at him… but then you realized. it hit you like a ton of bricks. you bit the inside of your cheek, drawing blood, before stating, “your spies.”

coriolanus narrowed his eyes. it was not an issue that she knew… but he didn’t understand how she could know, nor for how long. spies were useful when their identity and presence was not apparent, and therefore he considered his current spies failures — to be dealt with later. at the moment… he had other matters.

“you might want to elaborate on that statement if you’re going to act like it’s something profound,” he spat, standing and snapping his journal closed.

coriolanus stood behind his desk and pushed in his chair. you watched him as he struggled to keep everything together, neat and tidy.

your face was red and hot, and you weren’t sure if it was due to the pregnancy or the betrayal. how could he? how could he?! there you stood, trying to remain collected — but it proved useless. through your tears, you spat, “a woman is supposed to wait before telling everyone she’s pregnant — god forbid she loses the baby before it’s viable. i waited the standard amount of time most women are practically born knowing to wait. if your spy is going to make my cycle their business, they should at least understand basic fucking female biology, coriolanus, or your spies and their intel are fucking useless!”

you didn’t wait to hear his response. you left the room.

he stared at the oak door out of entitlement — it should open once more, and reveal his wife.

the mother of his child…

he had never considered… things of that nature. tests. waiting periods. hormones.

incompetence. that of his spies — nor his own.

he didn’t understand any of it.

however, he did understand one thing…

he had to deal with the useless spy.

…and that would happen before he approached you.

that approach occurred approximately an hour and a half later. he would have found you sooner, but the spy had… taken more time than anticipated. afterwards — there he stood, at your door, with a tray of food in his hands for the both of you.

his knuckles wrapped on the door.

there were no footsteps.

they wrapped again.

still, no footsteps.

once more.

…and, still, nothing.

he couldn’t believe this.

he went to knock a fourth time, but before he could — the door swung open.

to reveal you in the doorway.

your eyes were blown wide with anger, but the rest of your face did not show emotion. you glared at the man before you, which unsettled your husband,

he picked you because you were unproblematic — but had gotten lucky with the fact that your company was so pleasant. you were not loud, annoying, mean, bold, disrespectful, disobedient, or anything of the sort — but he did not expect this.

he did not expect you… to hold a grudge against him, much less stand up for yourself.

he stood there silently — dumbstruck.

“i would slam this door in your face if you weren’t the president,” you spat lowly. “please do not make me forget formalities.”

“i brought you dinner,” he spoke, ignoring you. “please… join me.”

you raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks, when i tried to convince myself you were just busy. you can handle another night of dining alone.”

you went to shut the door, but he stopped it with his foot. your eyes lowered to where his toe was in the doorway, and traveled up to where his eyes were. as per usual, his facial expressions were flat, save for determined. he always had a goal in mind… and refused to change it until he succeeded.

you sighed. you had had enough.

“i’m not doing this tonight,” you bit. “i show you every ounce of respect that i know you expect of me. i have been patient, kind, gentle — but i can’t meet you halfway right now. not after that. leave. please.”

there coriolanus went. searching your eyes once more, like he had done long ago. his jaw clenched once, twice, three times before it finally settled. he did not remove his foot before he spoke once more.

“why didn’t you tell me immediately?” he imposed.

there was a hint of pleading in his voice. your breath began to quicken with anxiety. out of exhaustion and frustration, completely forgetting your station, you rolled your eyes at your husband before responding.

“what if i was wrong, coriolanus?” you spat, your eyes were narrowed. “why would i tell the most powerful and scary man that runs panem — that i am pregnant with his child, if i am not one hundred percent sure? to get your hopes up for nothing, if, god forbid, i lose it?”

he didn’t respond.

you threw your hands up in exasperation. a silent cry left your lips in the form of a broken inhale. your hormones were running rabid — coursing through your veins and filling you with frustration.

you locked your teary eyes with him once more. trying to keep your voice quiet, you hissed, “your spies aren’t exactly discreet. i’ve known about them since my first day here. your spies — they’ve never reported i’ve done anything wrong because i have never done anything wrong. it’s not like i can hide anything here, either — they’re everywhere. nothing is a secret — even a private moment between husband and wife, like a wife finally being able to tell her husband that she’s sure she’s pregnant with his child. i have given you everything you’ve ever requested of a wife, yet there you sat — throwing silent insults in my face.”

there went the boundary.

up and sturdy.

layer after layer of brick and cement. your trust and love for him crumbled with each new layer, until you couldn’t see the man you once adore beyond the wall. the man before you frustrated you so much that you forgot what it was like to look upon his face and feel nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing him smile. you wanted to slam the door in his face, placing two boundaries up — a real one, and an emotional one.

one that would prevent you from ever being so stupid again — from ever letting him close to you, for ever thinking this could work.

stupid, you thought. stupid, stupid, stupid.

but coriolanus corio would have none of that.

he was a man of formalities and manners, but your husband actually pushed his way through.

you stumbled backwards in surprise. your husband had guards for doing his dirty work — not the shoulder of his new and crisp suit.

he shoved the tray of food on a nearby table, ratting the walls and the contents on each surface. you placed a protective hand over your stomach and watched him — waiting for his next move.

“i said get out, coriolanus!” you spat. your gaze was fiery red, and now there were angry tears in your eyes. corio could see the hormones flowing from every opening in your skin they could find — even smell them. “i refuse to speak to you!”

“the father of your child?” he spoke evenly, walking towards you. “your husband?”

you took a step back for every step he took forward. “you were more concerned with the secret kept than the actual chance of life!”

“i thought you were keeping the chance of being happy about a child from me,” he spoke, bitterness instinctually falling from his perfect lips. “you can’t forget — we barely know each other —“

“and who’s fault is that?!”

he stopped. his jaw tightened. he stared down at you and wondered where all of this fury had come from.

him. it came from him. the realization struck him similar to how other pieces of information had been striking him later. in the chest or face, whichever hurt more — and forcing his breath to catch in his lungs. never to reach his throat, let alone his lips.

he couldn’t keep going on like this — watching and waiting. watching others for their mistakes, and waiting for the correct moment to… correct them. at the very least… he couldn’t with you — not with you.

“i committed a wrong against you,” he spat before he could think about it.

you scrunched your eyebrows in disbelief. apologies were rare in the capital, and admissions of guilt were almost as scarce. you stared at him, still consumed with rage — but now confusion began to creep upon you. and where there is confusion… there is always curiosity.

you didn’t respond. you clenched your jaw at his words, but that was the only response he received.

“i did,” he reaffirmed, stepping closer to you. you drew back a step — not far, but still a step. he continued, “when i had heard what my spy had relayed to me — i should have asked you.”

you had three options. ignore him, yell at him, or hear him out. did he deserve the first two? yes. did you have every right to do either of the two, or both? yes, of course. however… were they worth it in the long run?

that was the question that now ate at you.

you had every right to put up the same emotional barrier you had worked so hard to tear down with coriolanus. his? who knows why he insisted on making his hurt everyone else’s problem. yours? he was an elite asshole, but… you were married to him. he was the president of panem. he was the most ruthless man in all of panem.

and you loved him.

you really, really did.

that was why his distrust for you hurt so bad.

it wasn’t about seeking approval anymore — because you thought you had it, or at least had come to close to it. once given that, you felt safe enough, well… to feel safe. to feel safety, trust, respect, reliability… and love. love.

the fucking bastard made you love him.

with reluctance, you took a step forward. “you should have, coriolanus.”

his jaw tightened as he also took a step forward. “corio — please, my love.”

you scoffed out of reflex and threw your stare to the side. you began to rub at your stomach, hoping to quell your own anxiety. there were a million insults waiting to leap from your tongue and latch onto his face, chest, throat — anything to hurt him or get him to fuck off. however, you swallowed them.

“i would do anything for you,” you stammered, trying to keep emotion out of your voice. “i have proved that time and time again.”

he took a step closer. “i know.”

“i know better than to keep something substantial from you,” you replied. “god forbid it was a fluke…”

another step closer. “i know.”

“i have done everything i can to prove that i am loyal to you, and only you,” you spoke, your voice wavering. “in the future, i ask that you approach me first — yell at me, fuck, i couldn’t care less — just as long as you don’t ignore me. anything, corio — just don’t push me away.

he laughed then, only a foot away from you now. the tears in your eyelids hadn’t hit your cheeks yet, but they threatened to. he reached forward and cupped your face in both of his hands. he leaned down due to your height difference and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“i know,” he repeated. “and i promise — i will try my best to not push you away.”

“okay,” you nodded, sniffling.

“never heard such coarse words from my perfect wife,” corio attempted to break the tension.

you chuckled then, wiping away any moisture from your eyes. “there were more — trust me.”

“i would have deserved them.”

your eyes flickered up to his them, searching his irises for answers like he did to you. you weren’t sure how he did it — but he could find every lie or fact inside someone’s eyes. that trait had not found its way to you.

but maybe it would to your child.

“i want to hear you say it again,” you whispered, now meeting his eyes. “i want to hear you say that you promise you will try your best to never push me away again.”

“i promise,” he spoke, nodding.

you refused to stare into his eyes at his admission. if he wasn’t a good liar, you didn’t want to know — not in that moment.

"am i allowed to kiss the mother of my child now?" he asked with a smirk.

you glared at him. "you would've —"

"shhh," he cooed, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

one of his hands slid to the back of your head and cradled the bottom of your skull. he wrapped his free arm around your back, pulling you into him. the kiss, you couldn't explain it — it — it...

it was like he swallowed you.

there was no place for you to move, but then again — why would you want to? you body was perfectly molded to fit his, in every way he wanted you to bend to him. his warmth, his scent, his taste — it all coaxed your senses into such a feeling of satisfaction that you weren't sure where it started or ended. it held your consciousness in warmth and safety — something rare in the capital. the only thing that mattered to you was that you were in your husband's arms and the kiss did not stop.

"so pleased with you," he mumbled against your mouth. "a child..."

warmth bubbled within the lower half of your body. praise, from a man like corio... any woman's weakness.

you hummed into the kiss, rubbing your hands up and down his chest. "going to be so proud of their father, the president."

the groan that emitted from his chest was deep and guttural — so masculine. it made every hair on the back of your neck stand at attention, waiting for a direction from the man before you. you began to finger his top button, hoping... hinting...

"sweetheart," he spoke, pulling away. "as much as i want to, i am not sure whether —"

"i think i'm fine," you gushed, only realizing after how desperate you might have sounded. "we might as well — especially before i become too big to breathe."

he stiffened as he held you. you immediately grew worried.

"what's wrong?" you softly asked, rubbing his chest.

he shook his head. "nothing —" he stopped for a moment, appearing to contemplate something. "it's just — i was imagining —"

you looked up at him curiously, hoping he would elaborate. his eyes immediately flew to your lips — perfect and plump, a match for his. you smirked.

you had him. “what were you imagining, husband?”

his jaw clenched again as his eyes widened. “my pretty wife has become so much more bold since i met her.”

you smiled up at him, hoping that he found it amusing more than disreepctful. one of his hands found your cheek as his thumb caressed the skin. your eyes were big as they gazed up at your husband, keening into his silent praise.

“i disagree with you, wife,” he spoke. “too big to bed —“ he scoffed before leaning down to your ear, your words rolling with disgust off his tongue. his lips brushed against the skin of your lobe before he spoke, “i’ll have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when the mother of my children will swell with me inside of her.”

your eyes, still wide, were frozen on corio’s. mischief danced in his irises, like a snake coiling around its prey. air left his nostrils in a small, sudden gush — amusement. the look that played on his face depicted the power imbalance — but, then again, how stupid could you be to ever think you would have control over your husband for a substantial amount of time?

he grasped your chin in his fingers before your lips parted. you were at his mercy — to be bent to his will. his head bent towards you before he spoke.

“you think you’ll repulse me — when my seed takes inside you, and it shows?” he asked. his eyes searched yours — but what yours reveal that he didn’t already know? he had you. he had you, and there was nothing you could do about it. “my naive, little wife… i don’t expect i’ll allow you to leave the bedroom much when that time comes.”

christ, you thought. your breath began to quicken as his words settled upon you. in a soft voice, you replied, “you leave me speechless, husband.”

he wickedly smiled then. “get on the bed, sweetheart. making up for lost time is in order, wouldn’t you agree?”

you couldn’t help yourself. you should’ve listened to him — but how could you, when he smelled so good, spoke so nicely, and was so close? you rolled onto your toes just enough to be able to press a kiss to your husband’s lips, and wrap your arms around his neck.

the angle was annoying for corio, who thought pulling you into his arms would be better use of his strength — especially if you weren’t going to listen. his large hands held your ass, supporting your weight as you leaned into his touch. your breasts, arched into his chest, were the only barrier that kept you two apart. there was nothing like a kiss from corio — heat, lips, teeth, spit. all of it melted into one.

“you missed me… didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you spoke, breathlessly. “so much, corio.”

“i was so mean —“ he replied, in between kisses. “wasn’t i? neglecting my perfect wife. a good husband would have to make up for that.”

you hummed in agreement, almost breaking into a whine. “kiss me, corio. missed you so much…“

it was like he swallowed you. body, lips, breath, emotions — all of it. once yours, but now his. all his. your body temperature increased with every fold of his lips against yours. heat pricked at the tips of your cheeks, the back of your neck, and your lower back. your fingertips, tingling, made quick work of his buttons to strip him of his clothing.

he couldn’t deal with how slow and gentle your fingers were. he loved you and how gentle you were — but when his cock was straining against his pants? the head of his cock, so red it was almost purple, leaking at the sight of his redeemed, perfect, pregnant wife? begging for him?

you were fucked. so fucked.

he should've been disgusted at the thought of fucking his wife while the babe sat protected inside your womb. however, nothing could stop corio from rejoicing at the fact that you had never done him wrong when you had actually presented him with a gift, also showing the utmost protection for it.

you fell back against the bed, your back awkwardly landing on the edge. you couldn't stand or lay back perfectly balanced, therefore relying on your husband to hold you upright and your grip of his clothes.

"my perfect wife —" he moaned into your neck, mouthing at your clammy skin. he had shoved his hand into your panties, finding you already soaked. "glowing as a mother —"

it was like you were both succumbing to the heat and haze of all-consuming lust. your hot breaths added to the humidity in the air, making your embrace with corio feel like a sauna. he couldn't rip your lace stockings off fast enough as you struggled to hold your balance.

your husband loomed over you as one large hand cupped the back of your head. his long, talented fingers on his other hand drew rough circles on your sensitive bud and you couldn't contain your cries. it had been so long. so, so long. the feeling of loneliness and lust had dissipated and was replaced by satiation. you need corio's hot, and husky breath groaning against your ear and all of your muscles holding you up and in place, forced to take everything he could give you. tears began to well up in your eyes at the thought of not only having your corio back, but for the lonely need for intimacy to also leave you.

he laughed darkly. "you're so close already, aren't you?"

you whined, struggling to regain your composure as you fought through embarrassment. "it's just been — so long —"

"how would you feel if i took it away, little dove?" he asked, eyes taunting. "how helpless would you feel? — how much of a mess would you make?"

"don't take it away from me, corio, please —" frustration was eating at you as you held onto him. he was so far away, then so close, and he was threatening to pull away as if it was a game. your feelings, your safety, you — all a game to him.

the hand on the back of your head left you to grasp at your chin as tears rolled down your face. your teeth were firmly planted in your bottom lip as you struggled against his touch. the rope in your womb was being wrapped so tightly that you felt the strands would snap at any moment, but you knew he would pull away. his eyes, dark and boring into yours, spoke for him — you were right. it was a game, and he was loving it.

"tell me it was worth it — for this," he rasped, eyes still locked on you. "tell me all of the pain i caused you was worth it — for this."

you were writhing against his hold at this point, grinding your hips down onto his hand as you whined against his lips. you were pulling at the fabric adorning his shoulders, hoping to rip it from him — hoping to make him feel as strung out as you felt.

"it was all worth it," you croaked. "all worth it for how good this feels."

"i'll never leave you again," he promised, his movements now becoming more rough on your core. "tell me you love it. tell me you love me."

"i love you, corio — !" you cried, pressing the sides of your noses together so your lips were barely touching. "i love it so much — please, don't stop —"

"that's it, doll —" he groaned. "cry for me. do it — cry."

something snapped inside of you.

your eyes closed, and your vision went black.

your throat went hoarse from the sob that left your mouth.

your lips were ragged with how your teeth ripped into them.

but you? oh, god — you felt so full.

corio's palm rubbed against your clit as his fingers entered you, pressing into that deep spot only he could find. you rode his hand like satisfaction was the only thing that mattered to you. greed and gluttony — want and need. none of it mattered.

"mommy feels so good now, doesn't she?" corio whispered into your ear. "just needed what only daddy could give her. — s'all right — just keep cumming, darling."

"fuck, corio —" you whined, buzzing with overstimulation.

he clicked his tongue at you. "such a naughty mouth on you. i'll teach you."

and he meant it.

he immediately withdrew from you — letting you fall onto the floor with both hands on the sheets, facing the bed. you almost scrambled to get back up, until you heard corio's pants drop from behind you. he kicked open your knees, and found himself with your perfect round ass pressing into his cock. he pressed the front of you into the bed, and snaked a arm around your throat.

you felt the tip of his cock prod at your wet and swollen lips before he slipped his length inside of you. you tried to lean forward into his thrust, but corio didn't like that. with a hand wrapped around your throat, he pulled you backwards against him.

the angle made your shiver. the tip of his cock began to hit the wall right behind your clit, making your head go dizzy. his finger found the corner of your lips, dipping inside your mouth. he pulled at the corner, forcing you to look up at him.

"so helpless — so perfect —" he groaned, rutting into you. his head held you perfectly in place for his total control. "can't believe i let myself miss out on the chance to breed my perfect wife. so perfect, aren't you?"

you didn't know what to say. your head was swimming. you were barely down from your first orgasm and now corio was forcing another onn you. hormones, emotions, and sensations were running wild inside your body and you weren't sure how to make sense of the fever. coupled with his own frenzy, you were a mess. a rubber band, for him to snap and play with whenever he liked.

"i asked you a question," he snapped. "you're perfect, aren't you?"

you hesitated, working through insecurity as lust overtook your mind. mumbling, due to the finger in your mouth, you spoke, "perfect."

corio stared down at you in awe. your hair was a mess, as was the rest of you. your face was flushed, your lips were swollen, but your eyes... oh, your eyes... corio was a sick bastard. the look of any sight of wetness in your eyes during sex made his cock so hard he could explode. crying with need was a feeling corio would never let himself feel, no matter how much he wanted to let it overtake him. he wouldn't let himself feel it, but he couldn't hide the fact that he loved the vulnerability you showed when you wanted him. needed him. craved him. his thrusts weren't rough because he hated you, but because he knew that need all too well.

"keep crying for me," he rasped, letting his tongue fall past your ragged lips. "so pretty when you're a mess."

there was nothing like it — being held so tightly you couldn't move and being forced to accept the pleasure and satisfaction only corio could give you. draining you of every negative emotion you had ever felt to replace all of it with animalistic give and take. his own throaty groans were being swallowed by you, as his hips snapped relentlessly against yours.

"make me a mommy, corio," you whispered. "wan' it so badly."

his grip tightened around you as he shook with pleasure. with three thrusts and a heavy groan, he let all of his spend leak inside of you and paint your walls. you felt his rough voice against your ear, mouth obscenities as satisfaction overtook him. you hadn't came again, but you didn't care — not when the air still felt so warm and soft.

that was until you felt a hand find your clit with his softening cock still inside you.

you knew how sensitive he was, and you should've care — but you didn't. all you could think about was giving into how good his fingers felt against you, still feeling so full. the thought of him also being so sensitive while you rode his cock pricked at your senses, relishing in the fact that you were giving him a taste of his own medicine as you came around his cock.

"greedy fucking wife — !" he seethed, anger spewing from his lips as he struggled to fuck you back with his oversensitive cock. you knew it was so red that it was purple and swollen, hating you but loving every bit of you at the same time. you should've cared, but you didn't. not when you knew it felt so good for the both of you, his whines in your ear telling you everything. with one final groan against you, he spoke, "you're never leaving this fucking bedroom — i'll tie you to the bed if i have to, do you fucking understand?!"

all you could do was stare up at him with awe and tears in your eyes.

his mouth parted at the sight. with his cock still inside you, you still riding his softening cock as you rode out your orgasm, nothing was prettier. nothing fulfilled your corio more. with one last kiss, he spoke, "just as evil as me, aren't you?"

you giggled. "i love you, too."

---

if you're wondering if i went batshit insane i did HAHA hope you enjoyed

L xox

[hells-wasabii]

Hi could you pretty please do velvette x reader who is Carmilla youngest daughter and how her family reacts (plus zestial pls I ship him and Carmilla so I feel like he's a step dad)❤️

A/N: I blacked out and wrote this.... but yeeees LISTEN!! I love Velvette so much, its not even funny and i had a lot of fun with this prompt! I didn't realize how much i wrote for it until it was too late, and by that point, i really couldn't stop. but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! ps i honestly ship them too

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Velvette

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Velvette x reader who's Carmilla's youngest daughter, General with a bit of Angst and Fluff sprinkled in)

For Velvette, she actually entered into the relationship not really knowing who your parents were. You never brought it up and she never really asked. It didn't really matter to her, since, ya know, you're the one she's dating, not your mum and dad, or step-dad from what you've mentioned.

Honestly, she should've seen the similarities. They were there for sure, but let's face it, there are so many demons in hell that it was probably just a coincidence, right?

Carmilla also knew you were seeing someone as well, though she really figured that you would bring this special demon around when you were ready.

Oh, they were both wrong. So very wrong.

They found out simultaneously, of course, as cliche as it was. You were on an evening out with Velvette with no clear destination in mind, just simply enjoying the evening and each other's company when the next thing you knew you were face to face with your mother.

It... didn't go too well.

What had once been a peaceful evening nearly dissolved into a turf war all in an instant. If you hadn't been able to separate the two with a promise to talk to both separately later there was no doubt that everything in a three-block radius would be collateral.

Zestial and your sisters would find out soon thereafter, Carmilla of course telling them when they see her come home looking quite distraught.

As stated before, to Velvette, it really didn't matter. though it did sweeten the deal. It would give her plenty more opportunities for her to provoke the arms dealer, something that she already took a great deal of pleasure in.

Zestial would be skeptical of the relationship at the start but eventually comes to accept it fully. His patience won out this time. He's seen more than enough relationships like this go up in flames and he'd never want that for you. He considered you a daughter after all.

As for your sisters, both of them were simply happy that you were happy. They were more worried about how y'alls mom would react. And you can't tell me that they didn't already know, either.

Carmilla on the other hand... To her, family is everything. I mean, she killed an angel for you and your sisters. She'd do anything for her kids, and that includes keeping someone like that upstart from breaking your heart. She wholeheartedly believed that Velvette was only dating you to get one over on her. It really comes as no surprise when she goes all the way to Vee Tower to confront the youngest overlord herself.

"You need to stay away from my daughter."

The fashionista bit out a curse as a needle pricked her finger. Velvette doesn't usually startle easily, but shit, between her being completely focused on finishing and the fact that her workshop had previously been silent save for any sounds that she had been making herself, she thought that even the most stone-cold bitch would've jumped.

What good was the security for if those nitwits couldn't keep unauthorized demons out of her workshop? The influencer swore that if any blood got on the material for this dress she'd personally kill the guards and whoever-

Oh.

Of all the people she expected to see, Carmilla Carmine, the uptight weapons dealer, and apparent mum of her girlfriend, was not one of them. Or actually, scratch that. She was completely expecting this to happen sooner or later.

"Well, it sucks to suck then, wrinkles, I'm not going nowhere." The fashionista bit back, a smirk settling on her lips that quickly fell when the older woman tried to push her point.

"I know what you're trying to do and it-"

"Obviously you don't." All mischief gone from her tone, Velvette set her work to the side, careful not to crumple the fabric. She rose to her feet and began to cross the room to Carmilla, who in turn stood taller, determined not to let this miscreant make a mockery of her, her family, and most importantly her youngest daughter. "I hate to break it to you, but the only way I'll break it off is if SHE wants to."

Velvette paused, her eyes boring into Carmilla's with a conviction and passion that the arms dealer hadn't felt from the influencer before. When the younger woman spoke again, her voice was softer than before, laced with a sincerity that would leave the mother speechless.

"I love her."

Its this singular interaction that leads to a truce between the two (technically five if you include Zestial and the Vee's) Overlords. They would come to some sort of mutual understanding that if both of them were to be in your life, they'd have to play nice. At least in front of you. At Overlord meetings, well, that's a whole different story.

[endlessthxxghts]

Lay Off The Flannels

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: 1.3k

Summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified - obviously a legal one though, hello??). No physical description of reader (pic above is used for aesthetic only!). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (F receiving). Using a flannel to clean up🫣... Awkward interactions with an oblivious father. Fluffy/light-hearted ending :). I think that's it! Let me know if otherwise!

Author's Note: Hey y'all! Soo my personal definition of a drabble is when something is written and posted on a whim, and that's exactly what I'm doing here.. This was only proof-read once by me, so if you see any typos and confusing wording... NO YA DIDN'T. Anyway, I have a bunch of WIPs needing to get done, but the stress was getting to me, so I took a break from those and wrote this fun little scenario to calm my mind and give me a good little laugh. I hope you guys enjoy!💚

MASTERLIST

“We shouldn’t be-”

“I know,” he says. 

“It’s too risky.”

“I know,” he says. 

You pull his lips back onto yours, breathing in each other’s breaths, consuming each other eagerly as if the world was going to end if you didn’t. 

His lips drag down to your jaw, to the sweet spots on your neck that make you mewl such addicting sounds he’ll never tire of, tasting the product of the hard work you did today with your father. His best friend.

His best friend, who- 

“He should be back any minute now,” you say breathily as Joel drops down to the ground, his knees cracking from the sudden change. 

Joel is desperate. Frantic, even. The speed he unbuttons and unzips your jeans and yanks them—underwear included—off of you has your hands flying to grasp at the edge of the workbench you’re sitting on. “Don’t care,” he says, inhaling in a breath, inhaling your arousal. “Need to fuckin’ taste you.” 

Your father’s car crapped out on him a few days ago, and being the untrustful man he was, he bought the parts that needed replacing to do it himself. He had you working on his car with him, teaching you what to do if you were ever stuck in a similar situation—”It ain’t worth the bill, takin’ it to them mechanics. It’ll cost ya an arm and a leg just for them to diagnose your car’s issue even if you tell ‘em ya know what’s wrong, never mind actually fixin’ it,” he said to you this morning. 

As soon as your father left, Joel was making his way to you, large strides cutting the time in half. His arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the seat you were situated on and lifted you to the bench against the wall behind you. His lips were on yours immediately, open-mouthed and needy. His hand slammed onto the black button beside your head, the garage door sliding down thereafter.

Joel grabbed onto your thighs, settling them onto his broad shoulders, stabling you and opening you up to him all in one. Wasting no time, his entire face dives into you, tongue immediately going to your sobbing entrance, hooked nose pushing directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out loud, “Joel, oh my god,” your head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back. 

The moans you’re feeding Joel has him groaning into you, his hands tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs, the dull ache of it an indicator that you’ll have bruises forming within the hour. 

His tongue—god, you love his tongue—always reaches places you never thought was possible, offering you a glimpse into Heaven each time he tastes you. The squelch of your pussy and his groans equivalent to that of an angel’s choir. You never want him to stop. Especially because his mouth is the closest to Heaven either of you will ever get. 

Your hole begins to flutter around his tongue, your slick pouring out of you at this point. You’re close. Joel knows it. His tongue leaves your hole and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers, sliding in with ease because of your level of arousal. His tongue meets your clit, licking and circling and absolutely worshiping it as if it’s the most unique of pearls to ever exist. 

The combination of his fingers and his tongue—plus his whimpers—are what do it for you. After a few more circles from his tongue, you’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your liquids running down his wrist and soaking the rim of his sleeve. He gives one last suck to your clit before he lifts off of it, tilting his head up to watch you come undone, his fingers never pausing as he works you through your climax. 

“Baby,” you’re whining, reaching that point of oversensitivity with his fingers, but your hips betray you as they grind into his hand. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, gauging the contradictions of your body’s needs and wants. He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, greedily sucking them into his mouth, not letting a drop of your liquid gold go to waste. 

He stands at full height again, his hands on your thighs to scoot you back from the edge, giving you more stability, so he can let go of you and take his flannel off so he can wipe you down with it. 

He sets his flannel beside you, reaching for your bottoms on the ground. He puts them back on you, gentle as ever, and guides you off the bench—albeit, on some wobbly legs. Once you’re breathing returns to semi-normal, you’re grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in for a heady kiss. Your tongue breaches his mouth, and he lets you in selfishly, sucking on your tongue for anything more you can give him. You taste yourself on him, tangy with a hint of something that lights your neurons on fire, turning you on more even though he just pulled one of the most draining of orgasms out of you. 

Joel pulls away from you, and like clock work, the garage door is whirring open. Your father. He’s walking up the driveway with a Harbor Freight bag. 

“Got what you needed?” you immediately ask, trying to control the topic of conversation. 

“Yeah. Why’d you close the garage?” 

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going back to normal. “The heat was getting a little much. Was gonna open it up when you got back,” you say. 

He nods his head, then looks to Joel. “Hey, bud,” he says as he sets his bag down, walking up to give his best friend a handshake. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, “Not that ya need a reason, of course,” he adds quickly, a light chuckle leaves his mouth. 

“Just thought I’d swing by. Thought your girl here was workin’ on your car all by herself, was gonna make sure the damage was minimal,” he teases, looking at you with a wink. “But now you’re here,” Joel smiles. “I gotta take a leak anyhow, I’ll see y’all later, yeah?” Joel says as he makes his way to the end of your garage. 

Your father offers a quick yeah, his eyes zoning in on the flannel atop his workbench. Before you can stop him, your father grabs it. “Oh, Joel, don’t forget ya flannel,” he says waving it in the air as he lightly jogs to him before he gets too far. Joel’s face immediately flushes, as pale as if he’s seen a ghost, as he realizes what your father is holding. His eyes dart to you, your expression just as traumatized. 

“Oh, y-yeah,” Joel says as he quickly takes it in his grasp, “T-thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” he says as he begins walking back to you, stopping midway to turn back to Joel. “And Joel?” your dad yells out.

Joel turns around, reluctant. 

“Maybe lay off on the flannels during the summer, yeah?? That shit was soaked in sweat!” Your father says as his laugh grows to an uncontrollable level. 

Joel’s jaw drops to the floor as your face turns to absolute terror. 

“Dad!” you exclaim, absolutely stunned at his comment. “I’m done helping you for the day,” you say as you shake your head, gathering your things and heading inside.

Your dad’s laugh turns into a howl at your reaction, not realizing (thankfully) what’s got you so uncomfortable. 

As soon as you make it to your room, the entirety of the situation finally hits you, and you’re gasping for air at how hard you’re laughing. 

As you lay on your bed to try to calm yourself down, your phone rings. It’s Joel. Your laughter immediately starts back up again, and you answer, skipping all forms of introduction.

“Better lay off the flannels, Miller,” you say, barely able to keep it together by the end of your comment. 

“Shut up,” he says, stoic as ever.

A giggle erupts out of you, causing the biggest of butterflies to flutter all throughout his belly. “Can I come over later?” 

“I was expectin’ you to, darlin’.” 

End note: I'm sure there are a few fics out there with a premise similar to this, of reader doin some ✨things✨ with dbf!joel in reader’s dad’s garage 🫣 — I think it's pretty common given that Joel is a pretty laborious kinda guy, so if you've read anything similar, please share them in the comments or message me them! I'd love to read them and also give credit where credit is due. This fic fandom we've created is about spreading creativity, and that's exactly what I would like to do here. :)

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

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

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

You came — you called. | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

credits for the header - ghost's pic by the very talented @ave661 ✦ Word count: 2.2k ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: After being abused by your current date, in need of comfort, you call your ex-boyfriend and recurring fling, Simon, to talk. ✦ TW and general warnings: SFW, some kisses here and there but no smut, angst, you guys are in a complicated situationship, fluff, sensitive content (domestic violence) ✦ AO3 | Masterlist edit: I wrote a part 2 in case you're interested <3

A/N: I really need to finish my already started requests, really do but inspiration ONLY gets to me when I'm randomly existing and then a random prompt comes in mind and arghhh gotta write 😭 but I promise - if anyone reading this sent me a request, know I've started it already and I WILL finish. also, thinking really a lot about making a part 2 for this piece and making it smutty. pls let me know if anyone's interested! anyways, not proof read, hope y'all enjoy, x

━━━━━━━━━ ⟡ ━━━━━━━━━

It’s the same place as the last time you saw him. Ironic, maybe. You still smoke the same cigarettes he offered to you once in a promise it would help you calm down from your anxiety; it did. It did a little too much. You still wear that same necklace you refused to get rid off even after you dumped him, after you promised you’d never see him again, never talk to him again. God, hope he doesn’t get mad at that.

Truth is you’ve been failing at that for quite some time. You’ve been seeing him way more than it’s necessary, but contrary to how things used to be before, now every moment with him is a single time that ceases to exist once you get home. He texts; you ignore. He doesn’t text anymore till the next time he misses you. You ignore it till the next time you miss him. This time isn’t much different, only you have a bit more of a reason to be here, unsure if he’ll show up, smoking this damned red Marlboro and feeling like shit. Like absolute shit.

You exhale the smoke, your hair tied back in a ponytail through the cap gap. Hiding yourself.

His big broad figure fills the door in, and he comes inside. To your big surprise, he decided lastly to come; Simon looks at you with a bitter look on his face, his dirty blonde hair trimmed, his beard done, wearing one of his thousand black tight t-shirts and a pair of jeans. He looks the same as ever.

“You came.” You say, surprised as he pulls the chair back and takes the seat in front of yours. 

“You called.” He replies simply, his body relaxing spaciously in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah, I did.” You let out some more smoke before discarding your cigarette on the ashtray. “But I thought you were still mad at me.” 

He looks at you in silence for a couple seconds, and scoffs.

“And that never stopped you from calling, did it?” He snorts impatiently. “Did something actually happen or are you just lonely and needing someone to help you fall asleep?” You feel derision in his attitude and his voice is dripping with venom and bitterness.

You close your eyes. Can’t blame him, can you? You had your own good reasons to break up with him, although stupidly, without thinking twice - without thinking that you’d end up missing him. Trying to find him in all the wrong places, wrong guys. 

“Well go on, Simon, what else do you still have to tell me?” You mimic him, crossing your arms and your face a little twisted in irritation facing him. “I was single, I still am. I had the right to be with someone else.” 

“I never blamed you for that. I never fucking blamed you.” Simon wipes his mouth with his hand, his ever icy expression breaking into frustration the second you open your mouth again.

“You are blaming me. You-”

“I fucking am not. I’m angry at the poor fucking choice you did. Getting rid of me for that fucker? You’re making a joke out of yourself, even for someone like me that’s fucking downgrading.” He snaps, regretting it the second later and squeezing his eyes for a moment. 

You remain silent. He’s right. He’s absolutely right. 

You stare into the distance of the window by your side, silent - embarrassed, regretful. Your hands together over your lap and your silence put together make him raise his head at you once again, in a sigh.

“I shouldn’t be here. Our conversations won’t ever end in anything good but me taking you to bed, if that’s what you want then I’ll gladly do it without all the trouble.” He states. You tremulously raise your eyebrows and your lips curl in a small hurt smile. 

Ouch.

You know he said it to hurt you. You know he’s angry, he’s hitting all the right buttons to get under your skin, he can’t help it. He can’t help but to be a bastard sometimes, he never learnt different.

Your eye stare down your own hands, you feel your lips tremble and the lump in your throat gets bigger each second. It's hard to hold back the tears, but for your dignity, you try. There's no less brutal way to admit something like that, so you vomit the words all at once.

“He hit me, Simon.”

His eyes open, the pupils slowly dilate like those of a shark that has just tasted blood for the first time.

Simon has blood on his hands. From too many people, more than you could count. And even if that's his job, never in all those hard years with him - you swore - had you ever seen him so pissed off.

The veins in his temples stood out and he swallowed bitterly, his mind empty; If he wasn't an extremely restrained man, then he would have gotten up and taken action right now. A thoughtless attitude that he might later regret - maybe.

“Tell me his address.” He snaps, his blood boiling enough for you to almost feel the heat increasing in his flesh. 

“Simon, no.��� You immediately cut him off, shaking your head, almost crying at this point. "That's not what I called you for, I don't want you to hurt anyone. I broke up with him, I don't have anything to do with that son of a bitch anymore, I just-"

He interrupts you with a gesture and claps his hands to his face. He brushes his own skin roughly, as a self-reminder that if he gives in to his own anger, he'll let you down.

When he makes room for his eyes through his hands again and sees your reddened

face, tears streaming down your cheeks - he dies inside. 

He promised he’d always be there for you. He promised he’d never let you down, he’d always protect you, he’d kill for you. He said it plenty of times and you were completely aware that it was true. 

He couldn’t possibly let you down.

“No, please, I can’t- I just can’t when you cry.” He mutters, getting up from his seat and offering his hand. “You come with me. Please?”

━ ⟡ ━

The hot steaming water falls over your head, sweeping your tears as you hug your legs. Simon's fingertips brush calmly your back, he contours the bruises on your lower half like he's grieving. The silence fills in the bathroom if not for the sound of water dripping on your head. He pours some water on your back to soothe your pain - even if you're not feeling any at this point. 

"Why did you not call me before?" He asks, with painful confusion in his raspy voice. His hands are shaking and you know it's pure anger and his own incapability of holding himself back when it comes to feeling anger. You sigh, tired. 

"I don't know. I felt like I'd be unfair to you." You try to explain, your hands caressing your shins while the water runs through your skin. "And because I didn't want to get you in this state." 

His eyes narrow as he stares at you, and you shrug in response. It's clear to him why you don't like to get him stressed - he could never hurt you, but he was a danger to others.

 He waves his hands to shake off the water and stands up, grabbing and opening a clean towel for you.

You stand up, your eyes don't dare leaving his. He silently admires you, although his mind can't think much more than how guilty he feels for letting this happen to you - even though there was nothing he could do about it. You dry your feets on the mat and turn your back so he can wrap you in the towel, and he does so. 

Simon calmly brushes the towel against your shoulders, drying a bit of the water that drips from your whole body and once he’s done wrapping you in the towel, he places his hands on your back and leads you to his room.

His smell is everywhere around and what used to be intoxicating and lustful for you, is now soothing and quiet. You sit on the edge of his bed, silence seeming to be now a whole conversation between the two of you.

Your hand reaches for his and places it on your cheek. You look up at him with kitty eyes, your thumb circles the skin on the back of his hand till it finds the scar you were looking for – one of his oldest ones, according to himself. You close your eyes and snuggle into his hand, giving it a light, calming kiss.

He caresses your cheek and moves your hair from your face.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” He says in a whisper. You nod, and he comes back moments later with a clean shirt of his. You tug it in your neck and quickly put it on letting the fabric run free on your body, loose. 

He starts removing rubbish from his bedside table – an ashtray, an empty can of energy drink, a gun. As you notice he seems to be trying to empty the room for you, you speak out.

"Wait, where are you going?" 

"I'll be in the living room if you need me for anything." He says simply. Before he can leave the room, you stop him by wrapping your hand on his arm. The sudden motion makes him turn around to face you, his dark eyes gazing at yours and seeming already aware of what comes next – a protest. 

"Simon." You use a warning tone, and he closes his eyes. 

"You don't want to have me around now, kitten. I'm far from calm…" He argues, calmly looking down at you now. The proximity burns you, he's too close. 

"I'm not scared." You mewl, your hands on his tough chest, he doesn't move a muscle. Your hands start trailing up to his neck, and you get on your tiptoes to wrap your arms better around him; Simon closes his eyes, drunk by the overwhelming feeling of having you so close to him. He misses you. 

One of his hands holds your wrist before you manage to curl up on his neck, and the other one gently holds on your waist. He bends down enough so he can reach your tiny self. He gives you what you want - his lips slowly catch yours in a slow, calm kiss; the warmth of his lips against yours is medicine to you – soothes all of your pain, eases all of your anxiety. He squeezes on your waist and pulls back once he starts feeling heaty and his breath starts to become uncontrolled, needy. He breaths against your lips, his eyes barely closed and his breath catching on his throat like panting. 

You stare at his lips before going back to his eyes. 

"Stop." He snarls, raising his head a bit, avoiding your face and the closeness you impose on him now. It feels wrong. You need space.

You close your eyes, you understand. It feels wrong. 

After all of this time of failed attempts to let go, to sound nonchalant and be away from each other – after all the fails and the sex, devoid of feeling type of sex, rough, delicious but raw sex, he wants to fuck you straight. He doesn't want to be angry, he wants to take you and make love to you. 

You understand. Feels wrong.

"Will you be fine here? You need to rest and I need to take a walk, clear my head." He mutters, avoiding your eyes for the sake of restraining himself. You nod. 

"I'll be alright. You'll come back, right?" You ask, looking at him - looking for his eyes. He stands back from you and nods. 

"Of course." He assures you, before caressing your hair slowly and giving you a calm kiss on the forehead. "Rest. Do not stay awake waiting for me, hear me?" He snarls, grabbing his keys and a hoodie of his, tucking it in and giving you space. 

You sit in his bed and nods, watching him leave by the room door and close it behind himself. Now alone, you close your eyes exhausted by the lack of sleep you've been having for these past few days; it doesn't take you long to fall asleep, surrounded by comfortable pillows that smell like his perfume – woody and whiskey. 

Walking in the streets, with his hands digging in his hoodie's pocket and tough stomps, Simon's face lit up by the light emanating from the street lamps. His body swings slightly to the weight of his steps, and he breathes heavily. 

After several minutes – more than he probably told you he'd take, he stops in front of a very familiar residence. You should know it wouldn't be any trouble for him to find your abuser's house. 

He took a familiar piece of cloth out of his pocket, it had been time since he last wore it. Now seemed like a good moment. A balaclava, full face mask – handmade, with a skull painted on. Simon hugs you and kisses your scars; Ghost wants revenge. 

[matrixbearer2024]

Idea for your "get off my screen" series! So what if the reader is like visiting someone/housesitting for someone and they have a radio that reader is listening to because she loves it, and they (of course) bring their phone and laptop to stay talking to vox, and when they connect him to the TV in the living room and the first thing he sees is the radio and he's like "get that thing the fuck away from you" and the readers like "um, no? I love it. I was thinking about getting one for my room" and he's like "absolutely not"

Get That Shit Off My Screen!

A/N: Oh this is fucking golden, I absolutely need to write this to displace the absolute angsty unit of an interlude I wrote hahahaha- I'll be finishing the requested interludes before I continue with the story. I ended up posting the continuation so y'all could already get down to brainstorming and scheming on lore ideas XD

A/N: Vox is kind of a pissy little rat here and we just annoy him a bunch more too lololol Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy the story and as always- Happy Reading!

You have seriously got to stop accepting favors from friends.

Because that was how you found yourself walking down the sidewalk on the way to go housesitting.

Just a week ago you'd had to impromptu take care of a little puppy.

And consequently placate a certain jealous TV demon-

And now you were asked to carry another favor as well.

Well, more like that friend practically begged you to accept.

You slightly readjusted the backpack you wore, it wasn't as light as hoped when you left your home.

Which, makes sense all things considered.

After all, it had your devices in there along with the necessities.

If you had to end up bored today you were going to rope in a certain annoying overlord just to avoid it.

Fumbling with the keys a bit, you opened the door to the house and entered before locking it behind you.

A habit you'd grown up with after your parents constantly reminded you to do so.

The home was... pretty big, especially compared to the place you were currently living in.

Tossing your bag onto the living room couch, you explored the rest of the home for a bit before returning.

"Gonna be housesitting today, mind if I connect you to the TV?"

When he simply replied with a thumbs up emoji, you figured he wasn't doing anything and just connected your laptop to the living room television again.

He didn't appear right away though, so you decided to look around the home once more.

It was filled with a lot of old stuff, reminiscent of a time gone by.

Which, kind of makes sense since it was the house of your friend's grandma that you were watching over for the day.

Ooooh- what's this thing?

"Hey doll sorry I'm late, got a bit delayed from a meeting and- GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT!"

You jumped at suddenly hearing Vox's words from the TV, when did he even get here?!

You had half a mind to yell at him for scaring you but you were far too curious about this old boxy object you found.

"Whaaa??? Why? What even is this?"

You asked while messing with the knobs, you doubted it even worked when it randomly started to play a song.

Oh.

OH.

So that's why he was so pissed.

And so you decided to troll with your digital companion as he often did to you.

"Woaaah, I've never seen one of these old radios before-"

"I'm surprised that one still works, it's an obsolete piece of fucking junk!"

Vox didn't really have time to scan the new surroundings when he'd connected to your devices and consequently the TV.

It didn't help either that the first thing he noticed was that you hunched over messing with something.

Only for him to find out moments later that it was a fucking radio.

The same old shit he'd been busy trying to wipe off the face of hell ever since his rival's return.

And the fact you were starting to get interested in it made his blood boil.

You held back a snicker seeing Vox just angrily glare at the old relic as it continued to play tunes.

You were aware of his entire vendetta against Alastor-

Or well, with as much as he'd tell you when he ranted.

But the fact something so simple as just a reminder set him off?

"Well I think it's niche, maybe I should get one of these for my room-"

"NO- zzZzzZsT THE FU- zZzST -CK YO- ZzZZsT -U AREN'T!"

You couldn't hold the laughs back this time, doubling over when Vox started buffering and yelling about how stupid and old the radio was.

He didn't even seem to notice that you were just pulling his leg.

Something this old wouldn't fit into your home, besides-

You had a new Bluetooth speaker with loads better audio quality.

This old thing was just a nice reminder of times long ago.

Times you didn't even live in.

"Finnneeeee, fine fine you pissbaby. I won't get one. Still think it's pretty funky though."

You said as you plopped down on the couch, noticing Vox's face was still glitching and fizzing on the TV screen.

He wasn't even looking at you and instead was glaring off to the side.

Was he that upset about the radio?

Really??

"Dude, you know as much as I do how ancient that stuff is. If I did end up getting one it would be because someone dumped it on me. I like looking at the past but not collecting relics."

Vox still didn't react and you raised an eyebrow.

Silent treatment huh?

Okay, you could play his game.

"Anyway, I was looking up stuff from around the decade you told me you died."

He finally looked back to you with a raised eyebrow.

Bingo.

"And I ended up finding this serial murder case that's still unsolved to this day."

Vox only furrowed his eyebrows, he wasn't in hell for murder.

As far as he was concerned, it was probably because he was a lying and cheating businessman.

As you continued to talk more about the details of the case, it started to paint a more familiar picture.

And as entertaining as it was to watch you discuss with him something interesting you found-

Vox was not fond of you talking about Alastor so avidly.

Geez, if only you'd look that cute talking about him like that.

What-

What?

That was probably the envy talking.

"Doll, I know you were probably trying to cheer me up but I'm kind of certain that's one of Alastor's cases."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

"The old fuck's a cannibal. I knew for sure it was him when you mentioned the bodies were found cut up like a butchered pig."

At least Vox was talking to you again, even if he still looked more than peeved it was about his rival.

He actually looked more grumpy and pouty in your opinion-

But that was probably because you weren't seeing right.

"Well, why did you end up in hell then? I would've thought you'd be in for something just as horrible to be as powerful as you say you are."

Vox just sighed, he wasn't actually sure what got him dammed for eternity.

But he did a lot of bad things over the course of his life, so it was probably the accumulation of it all that had sent him into the inferno.

"What makes you ask dollface? Curious much?"

You just shrugged, shifting to lie down on the couch and just look up at the antique chandelier hanging above on the ceiling.

"Dunno, I just want to know more about you. I mean, I know enough- but I want to know more."

Vox could feel his screen heating up slightly in his chair.

Why did you have to be so damn cute-

The fact you wanted to know more about him, it made him feel... odd-

Well, a good odd.

He didn't really know what to do with himself.

"I'm not actually sure. I've been a businessman my whole life, probably the worst of the worst when it comes to principles but I haven't directly ever killed anyone if that's what you're guessing."

"Huh, makes me wonder if I'll end up in hell for the stunts I've pulled on other students too."

"The hacking? Or the blackmailing? Because I doubt either of those would actually send you down here."

"Oh come onnnn, I swear at this point I'll actually kill someone so I can guarantee I'd meet you."

You raised an eyebrow at the screen turning pink again.

Pfft, did he seriously get embarrassed by that?

A smile worked onto your face when Vox softly excused himself and disconnected from the TV.

Ha, cute.

[wayward-dreamer]

Wake Up Call

Square/s filled: somnophilia @spnkinkevents |

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,060

Summary: Y/N starts Dean's birthday in a special way.

Warnings: Swearing, smut: dirty talk, somnophilia, brief handjob, oral sex (m receiving), fluff

A/N: Wrote this as quickly as possible for our man's birthday, so it's unbeta'd but I hope y'all like it. Happy reading! :)

Y/N woke up before Dean did, and she was thankful for that, especially on this special day.

It was a good thing the boys had found the bunker, because he tended to take things easier when they were there and had no cases lined up. She had spoken to Sam a few days ago and made sure that they had nowhere to be, because her boyfriend deserved to be spoiled on his birthday. She wasn’t sure how many times Dean had celebrated the day before she came along, but now that she had been around for a few years, she always tried to do something for him.

She took advantage of her eyes opening before him to take in his peaceful features as he slumbered. His face was relaxed, his thick eyelashes resting against the soft skin above his cheekbones, his pouty lips parted slightly as he snored softly. His short hair was sticking up in different directions, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she took in his chiseled jawline, the defined muscles of his bare arms as he had pushed the covers down the length of his body during the night. The man was like a human heater and it was great whenever she felt cold to be able to snuggle up to him. Not that she needed a reason to do that.

He looked incredible all the time of course, but he was the most irresistible like this.

She shifted closer to him, carefully so that she didn’t wake him, smirking slightly as an idea for his first present of the day came to her, before all the others she had in store for him. She rested her hand flat on his warm chest and let it drift down, moving under the sheets and over his boxers, causing her to smile mischievously as she felt his morning wood. She caressed him through the thin fabric, feeling it twitch under her touch as he began to stir, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

She leaned in, her lips pressed to his ear as she lowered her voice. “Sshhh, it’s okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

A small hum from him let her know that he drifted back, allowing her to pull his boxers down before she brought her hand to her mouth, dropping some saliva into her palm. She curled it around his length, her hand slowly pumping up and down along his shaft. She stifled her own moan as she heard a low groan escape him, but his eyes remained closed, his chest rising and falling. She smiled, placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek, before she shifted down the mattress. She pulled the covers down further, her hand continuing to stroke him at a slow pace. She felt him getting harder in her grasp, and she pressed her thighs together to keep her own excitement at bay a little longer.

She glanced up at him briefly, seeing his eyes still closed, before she leaned down and licked a long stripe along the vein of his cock, her other hand cupping his balls. Dropping more of her saliva along his shaft, she took the tip in her mouth, licking the precum off before she sucked softly. She kept her gaze on him as he shifted in his sleep, his eyebrows furrowing once more, but that didn’t stop her. She circled her tongue around the head before she sank down, taking him deep into her mouth. He hit the back of her throat, a small gag leaving her but she let her throat relax, bobbing her head back and forth. No matter how many times she did this, she was still in awe of his impressive length and girth, but she would never give up the feeling of that delicious stretch she only felt because of him.

Y/N kept looking at Dean, smiling around his cock as she watched his head toss to the side, a rough “fuck” escaping him. She wondered if he thought he was dreaming this, but she didn’t dwell as she continued her ministrations, her tongue circling the tip every time she drew back before she took him deep in her throat. She rolled his balls in her hand, no doubt adding to the arousal coursing through him. His eyelids fluttered, but didn’t flick open, allowing her to keep pleasuring him with her skilled mouth. She pulled back briefly, pumping her hand around him once more, smirking wickedly as green orbs finally met hers.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his hooded eyes gazing down at her. “What’re you-”

She cut him off by sinking her mouth over his hard length again, picking up the pace as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper every time she moved down. He couldn’t keep his lids open, letting them close as his hand moved into her hair, giving in to the incredible feeling she was giving him. His neck strained, the veins pressing against his skin as he felt how close he was, his head tilting up as he panted harshly. It wasn’t long before his cock throbbed and pulsed between her lips, his balls drawing tight in her hand as he got closer to his release. With one last lick over the head of his shaft, she kept her mouth around it as ropes of his seed rolled along her tongue and down her throat, hearing the strangled growl that left him.

Y/N drew back and swallowed, smiling softly as their eyes locked on each other. She crawled along the bed, laying down next to him as she snuggled closer. She giggled at the way he shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face, huffing out a small chuckle.

“Damn it, sweetheart,” he husked, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. “That was some wake up call.”

“Well, I had to start the day off right,” she stated, beaming.

Dean cupped her face in his hand and leaned in, his lips pressing to hers lightly before the kiss grew more passionate, unbothered at the trace of himself on her tongue. She pulled away, her mouth hovering against his as she beamed, seeing the grin on his face and the way his eyes lit up. She couldn’t wait for everything else she had in store for him.

“Happy Birthday, Dean.”

[myosotisa]

i'm starvin, darlin - e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader

ǁ summary: Since coming back from the Upside Down, Eddie has slowly been changing. Each week seems to bring something different and he finds himself doing things he never thought he would.

ǁ tags: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no y/n. nickname used (sweetheart). mentions of season 4 final episode and what occurred. canon divergent (every one lived). it's not smut, but smut adjacent. it's sexy

ǁ word count: 2k

ǁ notes: i sat down and wrote an entire one shot in one sitting again. and i am also not going to edit this one. and i do not feel bad for lowercase hozier title, so don't even try me like that. if y'all really like it, i can add a part 2 with smut, but this is it for now

-

There are still a lot of things Eddie is having to come to terms with since the night his heart stopped.

That night in the Upside Down, laying in Dustin’s arms, he had died. Without a doubt. Dustin had felt his pulse and there was nothing there. And though he didn’t know CPR, had no idea what he was doing, Dustin had laid him down on the ground and started to beat against his chest. Like maybe if he hit hard enough and in the right place, his friend would come back to life.

Somehow it worked. No one bothered to ask why.

But they all knew something was wrong two days later. Eddie, barely breathing and with a weak heartbeat, had been dragged back to the surface and hidden away in the RV they had stolen. Someone watched him round the clock as they debated what to do. If they should try to get him to a hospital, how they’d be able to explain it. But then something miraculous began to happen:

Eddie started healing. All on his own. Way faster than any person should have been able to.

His skin stitched itself back together faster than should be possible, leaving less scar tissue than it should have behind. His chest began to rise and fall in more steady breaths, his heart beat getting stronger, bones resetting themselves with slow and quiet creaks as he laid in that RV bed and slept. He’d been asleep since they brought him back.

The day he woke up, his body had almost entirely healed itself. From the brink of death, having even stepped over to the other side, and now he was almost back to before it ever happened. It had only been a week.

Everyone rejoiced, refusing to question anything weird that may have happened in the Upside Down and just thinking they finally won for once. Max had casts on both her arms but was otherwise unharmed, Steve had recovered from his own injuries at the rate of a normal human and now sported a scar around his throat that he sometimes felt self conscious about. Dustin was on crutches with his broken leg for another month at least. Eddie was alive and whole and back to himself. They’d made it, everyone had made it.

He began to notice more and more things that were different as the days went on.

The first thing he caught on to was that he had the capability to be strong. Way stronger than someone who had recently been bed ridden should be. It was like in the comic books with the Hulk – if he wasn’t paying attention or if he got too emotional, he could easily break anything. A walkman destroyed, a ceramic bowl reduced to shards, a metal pipe bent beyond fixing, the wooden handle of a hammer shattered in his grip. The boys were all present for the hammer incident and sighted it as one of the coolest things they had ever seen. They swarmed him, asking him how he did it, what else he could do, how strong he really was.

Only the other teens, Steve, Nancy, Robin, you, started to look a little bit closer.

When the next few changes became apparent, it was clear something unnatural had happened to Eddie that night in the Upside Down. He could feel other people's feelings. They brushed against his consciousness like ghosts whenever he looked at someone. Happiness like warm rays of sunshine, fear like a shuddering gust of wind, anger like hot coals pressed to his skin. It wasn’t a conscious effort – in fact, there were a lot of times he wished he could turn it off. Whenever he looked too hard at someone, it’s like his brain adjusted to a different frequency and their emotions reached out to him, no matter what they were. And he didn’t struggle to make sense of the sensations like he thought he might, his brain completed the dots easily at first, but then he began to recognize them consciously. It was certainly useful sometimes, especially when it came to you, but it still felt a bit invasive. When he’d explained it to a few people, he assured he tried to ignore it whenever he could, but sometimes he couldn’t help but react. The icey spike of terror he felt when you woke up next to him from a nightmare. The velvet comfort that enveloped you and him when he held you after.

The first time he spoke into someone’s mind it was an accident. Steve had whipped toward him, breath catching in his chest, eyes wide and mouth open in a gasp. Eddie felt it like ice down his spine. “Did you… You did that?” He’d asked breathlessly. It had been so shocking, Eddie wasn’t even sure what’d he said, or projected, or whatever it was.

“I - I don’t know.”

Steve stepped closer, suddenly looking determined. “Try to do it again.”

It was a slithering feeling when he dipped back into Steve’s mind. Like sliding his way in between cracks to a place he didn’t belong, seeping into the forefront of his thoughts to plant one of his own. It made him feel dirty, uncomfortable, and wrong. But it worked. Steve explained it as having a thought like his own but it came out in Eddie’s voice instead. An intrusive thought but not an uncomfortable one.

As with all of the other discoveries, a meeting was called. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Will, El, Robin, Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and you. Steve did most of the talking while Eddie sat and looked at his hands. These meetings, while he acknowledged were important for everyone to keep track of his progression into… something, it still made him feel a bit like a zoo animal in a cage. A magician with a magic trick. All the boys immediately begged him to do it to them, they wanted to see what it felt like, wanted to see how easy it was for him to do it. 

Nancy and Jonathan had shooed them, catching on to how overwhelmed Eddie was, their excitement and curiosity battering against him like a whipping wind of too much. Once it was just the older people in the room, you crossed over to where he was, kneeled down in front of him, reached out to hold his hand.

Pity felt like someone was pissing in his pants.

“Are you okay?”

How could he say no? How could he admit that he was scared, confused, and feeling more and more like a monster with the passing days? “It’s just a lot. To deal with.”

Your smile was pained as you pushed yourself up onto your calves and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His came around your waist on instinct, the breath feeling like a wheeze in his lungs as he held tight. Face pressed into your hair with his eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled deep in relief.

That was when the next thing changed.

It was a desire. A need. One he couldn’t place a name to. Like he was desperately missing something, desperately craving something and he didn’t know it was. It crawled under his skin like ants and sent him scratching for a feeling that couldn’t be satiated. No matter what he tried: eating, drinking, masturbating, exercising. The feeling wouldn’t go away. It got stronger day after day, his mind focusing more and more on the void it left behind until it was all he could think about.

Steve threw a little get together at his house once a month or so. Just time for everyone to get together, eat some food, listen to music, play board games, maybe watch a movie. This was the first get together since his hunger began.

He was sitting on the couch on his own, decompressing. While normally he was right in the middle of everything, today it was a lot to handle when he was hyperfocused on the crawling beneath his skin. He had his legs spread wide, hands resting on them, leaning deep into the cushions of the couch in Steve’s basement. While he had initially tried to close his eyes, hang his head back, maybe stare at the ceiling – he couldn’t stop his attention from drifting back to you.

You and Eddie had been friends for a long time. Understandably, you’d gotten much closer after the events in March. The two of you had helped each other through hard nights of nightmares, panic attacks in parking lots, flashbacks in public. You’d been a great comfort to him since he came back. But today your laugh sounded like music. The smell of your perfume hit him even across the room. Each emotion crashed over him in waves, pushing and receding like the tide as he tried to get off your frequency, unentangle himself from you before he did something he didn’t mean to do.

I’m starving.

Your back stiffened, the grip on your plastic cup getting just a bit tighter. A moment of fear quickly shifted to mellowed surprise, curiosity. He’d never spoken into your mind before, hadn’t meant to do so now. But you still shifted, your eyes slowly coasting across the room until you caught sight of him on the couch.

A shock of electricity shot down his spine as you made eye contact, his hands tightening over his thighs in reaction. Unsure exactly what to do, he settled for projecting again. Slithered his way into your ears and settled a respectful distance from the area he’d never been brave enough to venture. Sorry, he offered with a wince, didn’t mean to.

What he didn’t expect was the utter flood of feeling that hit him next. Like a drip of warm honey settling into the space between his hips, pooling there in a subtle swirl as the warmth from it started to diffuse outward. You realized you’d been staring and your eyes flit away, but the feeling didn’t cease. In fact, it only got stronger. Your lower lip caught on your teeth as you shifted between your feet. Things that would be completely normal to see, wouldn’t have anyone looking twice, but Eddie could. Your desire. The want that poured from you like water when your eyes first met his.

Was this the first time? Had something changed between you and him? Or had he just never caught on before?

The ants beneath his skin began to vibrate as he narrowed in on the feeling, on you. Like the part of him that had slithered into your thoughts was now bearing down, digging in for purchase, wanting to stay awhile and feed on this new feeling, what you were offering. It didn’t even occur to him what he was doing, how invasive it might be, how wrong he normally would have felt. All he knew is that it felt like licking at the thing he’d been craving for so long and he was helpless to chase after it.

Sweetheart. It came easy as breathing now, teeth sunk into your consciousness from where you stood across the room. You whirled on him again, another flood of warmth hitting him deep as you leaned your hip against the counter you were standing next to and focused on him. What’s got you so worked up?

He couldn’t even consider how bold he was suddenly being, the fear that he might ruin this friendship well out of his grasp. Especially when your embarrassment spiked along with the want, the pool of warmth now suddenly coming to life to have a heartbeat of its own. Your eyes widened, shifting on your feet again as you broke eye contact. It only took a few moments before you couldn’t help but look back at him again. The buzzing settled further, now like a purr beneath his skin. It was bearable as long as you kept your eyes on him.

You wanna do something about it?

-

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thanks for reading, please reblog and leave a comment if you liked it!

[2n1ghts]

❝let me take care of you, baby.❞ ❥︎ collegebf!eren x reader

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

synopsis: it was nearing finals, and you avoided your boyfriend— eren—like the plague. and boy, was he was worried for you. your normally cheerful demeanor dwindled to something snarky, something avoidant. all you did nowadays was study till your brain rotted, and it made you a bitter person. he was waiting for the day you'd collapse, and the moment you did, it was worse than he expected. good thing he was there to take care of you. to pamper you because you were his baby.

*contains suggestive content!! advise against reading if you're under 17. minors will be blocked, so please dni if you're one!

key: e/c -> eye color

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

hey y'all!! 💌

again, not sure how the whole tumblr thing works. i'm experimenting and trying out writing for fun, so please be kind. i was pretty out of it when i wrote this, so ignore any typos or inconsistencies. also, bear with our y/n. she's crafted this way for a reason.

it's my first time writing a short fic/drabble, and i did this as more of an experiment. i welcome feedback but please be kind with your words. i am just learning and finding out what works for me.

anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies!

best,

~ nene

The past few weeks had been a living hell.

Not because of the finals nearing round the corner, or because of the two hours of sleep you were getting per night; not because of the crude professors who made it their life mission to assign a million projects when the quarter was about to end; not because of your parents who did not give two shits about your mental health.

It was the distance you were maintaining with Eren that made it the hardest.

He was worried for you. You could tell by the way his eyebrows would furrow when you would decline yet another plea to relax, or the way his eyes conceringly flitted to your scrunched posture whenever you'd cuss at yourself, or the way he would gently, tenderly... remove your hands that tended to roughly rake through your hair when anxious.

Your breaking point was nearing, and he was holding himself back from embracing you right then and there. He was not one to interfere, but he wanted to take care of you, to ease the burden off your shoulders and reassure you that your studying would amount to great achievements. But he didn't know how to reach you. You were so caught up in your bubble of self-sabotage and pressure that you shut the rest of the world out, including him.

But he didn't want to be "the rest of the world." He would wallow in your bubble too, only if you'd let him in.

"Fucking deratives will be the end of me," he heard you seethe from your position on his gaming chair. The both of you were currently cooped up in his room, with him scrolling through TikTok and occasionally glancing at you while you revised and revised till your eyes were sore.

Eren's roommate flew out, which left the place to himself. He lured you here stating it would be better to study at his place with "no distractions" compared to your apartment with Hitch, who was quite the gossip and hinderance.

As you highlighted yet another section, you felt his eyes raking down your figure.

You were engulfed in his oversized grey hoodie, wearing nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and matching underwear underneath. Your hair was messily thrown up in a bun, a few strands tickling your forehead here and there, to which you frustratedly blew from your periphery. Lilac crescents embedded themselves into your under-eyes, followed with bags entailing sleep deprivation. One bare leg was propped up as you rested your chin on your knee and swung the other absentmindedly.

If you didn't stop studying now, you'd collapse from exhaustion. Three hours had passed by nonstop. You hadn't even drank water.

"Y/n," he called out gently.

You ignored him, but he knew you heard him because of that cute forehead scrunch you just did.

"Y/n," he called, this time a bit louder. Once again, that damn scrunch, but no verbal acknowledgement.

"Y/n!" he tried for the third time. You furrowed your eyebrows, scowling. Your slender finger pressed into your plump lips, a gesture made to silence him.

Leaving his position on the bed, he strided over to you. He got onto his knees and gently took ahold of your meandering hands. The callus of his fingers felt textured against your knuckles.

"Why are you ignoring me, babe?"

"I'm not ignoring you," you replied, trying to refocus your attention on your migraine-inducing Calculus textbook. He tried not to flinch at you shutting him out for the nth time this week.

It hurt him whenever you tried drowning him out like he was a petty distraction.

Because he wasn't to be discarded. He was your boyfriend, and he promised to always be there for you, so why wouldn't you just confide in him?

"I called for you three times, Y/n," he stated calmly. Letting go of one of your hands, he gently drew circles on your knee with the pad of his thumb, hoping it'd soothe your nerves. Goosebumps littered your skin at the gesture.

"Can't you see I'm studying, Ren? I can't talk right now." Overstimulated and tired, you weren't in the mood to converse. In fact, you weren't in the mood to do anything. All you wanted to do was collapse onto your sheets and fall into a hundred-year slumber, but unfortunately, finals exist to give you enough of a reality check.

"You are working so hard, so take a break, please," he pleaded yet again.

He'd beg if it meant you'd prioritize your health. He cared more about you than his ego. That's why he always rebounded with a gentle demeanor, even if you were rude and snarky. He knew your brash attitude wasn't your fault. You just didn't function well under stress.

The unfiltered truth was, you weren't used to the princess treatment Eren offered. As a child, you had gotten used to your parents' nagging. Sleepless nights became routine if it meant you'd score straight A's. It had been like this all throughout high school.

Until you met Eren.

He prioritized you first, always, and taught you to do the same. It was sort of... a culture shock to you, a difficult adjustment. You needed time getting accustomed to this novel way of thinking, and luckily Eren was understanding.

Couldn't say your self-sabotage wasn't eating away at him, though.

"And you need to take a break from badgering me. I'm perfectly fine," you snarked. Your eyes broke contact with his, gaze landing once again on the textbook to your left.

Angling your chair, you turned your body away from him, trying to focus on the task at hand. You couldn't bear to look at him because you knew he was right. If you gave in, you would stop studying. If you stopped studying, you'd catastrophically fail, which could not happen.

With a frustrated sigh, Eren swiftly snagged your textbook and threw it behind him. It collided with the mattress with a large 'thud.' You gasped as he grabbed the edge of your chair, turning it towards him.

"You're not getting that textbook until you eat and drink something," he asserted, a layer of seriousness washing over his green eyes.

"What the hell, Eren? Give it back!" You shrieked.

"You heard the conditions."

"Eren, this is serious. I don't have time to play games right now. Please... give it back."

"Who said I'm playing games, Y/n? The only reason I'm doing this is because you're being negligent towards yourself."

"Okay, well that's my problem. Who are you to interfere?" You countered.

"Hey, I'm not trying to be your mom or anything. As your boyfriend, I care about you. It's just a glass of water and a snack, Y/n. Do it for yourself. You deserve a break."

You started panicking. An uneasy feeling sprawled up your stomach as your hands got clammy. "No! You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me, babe. I'm right here."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the chair, trying not to cringe at the weird noise emitted from the leather upon loss of contact with your skin. You reached forward to grab your textbook off the mattress, but Eren was faster. He took ahold of your wrist and lowered it.

You grunted in frustration. "I—I need to study, Ren. Badly. My career and future depend on it. These are hard subjects. I need hours and hours of studying to ace these exams. You don't get it."

He doesn't reply, continuing to look at you sternly and not budging. Your nerves were skyrocketing. What was his deal? This wasn't the time to be testing your patience. Plus, if he really cared, he'd understand your desperation.

"Okay, whatever sick fun you're trying to derive out of this isn't cool," you deadpanned.

You tried pulling your wrist out of his grip, but he required little to no effort to keep you at bay, simply planting his feet further into the ground when you tried shoving him. Your e/c-eyed stare pierced him like daggers, but his resolve was impenetrable.

God, what a stubborn fuck.

You continued wriggling and squirming to no avail. Your bottom lip began trembling. Liquid pooled at your lashline, threatening to moisten your cheeks with its salty trail.

You broke.

Sniffling, you shoved him repeatedly in the chest. "I hate you. I hate this. I fucking hate college and hate my parents and hate finals and hate this fucked up system that does nothing but capitalize on our stress and hate motherfucking Calculus and professor Ackerman and—"

Moist lips enclosed your own, trapping them tantalizingly. The kiss was brief and sweet. He used it as a way to tranquilize you, gently trapping both of your wrists with his one hand.

"Shh, just let me take care of you, baby," he rasped as he tenderly interlocked his arms under your legs, lifting and placing you on the bed. The mattress felt soft against your spine.

If pamper had a textbook definition, Eren's face would definitely appear in the margin.

[moumouton4]

PLEASE DI THE FREINDS WITH BENEFITS WOTH ADRIAN/CAHT NOIR🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 IM SO INTERESTED. maybe Adrian and reader like have a thing going on secretly and get give each other longing glances, like a have lidded gaze or something. Please my Curiosity is getting the best of me

Friends With Benefits || Adrien Agreste x reader

A/n : This is something I've been thinkg about since I started writing fics ! I hope y'all will like it 😍 It's gender neutral but I had a female in mind when I wrote

Warnings : no mention of gender for reader, friends with benetifs, slight exhibitionism, shower sex, wall sex, piano sex ?, rough sex, soft sex, mention of erection, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 910

There is definitely something going on between the two of you. Though no one seems to have noticed for now. There is only Marinette who is suspecting you, but she suspecting everyone so you know she isn’t a threat

He introduced you as a childhood friend but in reality you’ve only known each other for less than a year

You met one day as he was on his way back home as he was still in his Chat Noir outfit. He still had some time when he spotted you, so he decided to try his chance and talk to you

To his surprise you were as interested as he was. And even if at first he was a bit wary about letting you discover his true identity, after some time and because of how horny you were you just couldn't resist but jump each other’s bones

Since that day you’ve been friends with benefits. He’d come to you after a long day as a hero in Paris to release that pent up energy or after whatever the hell he did either it was for school or for his work

He is addicted to you, and you to him. You see each other at least once a week, it’s usually three or four times a week. Either at yours or at his home

Depending on how tired you both are you’re either going to fuck like you’ve never before or cockwarm him. It really depends. Sometimes he is more into making some cocky and teasing jokes, resulting in some giggly sex. But it’s also most of the time so intense it leaves you both breathless

One of his favorite thing is having you nice and slow in his bed, but sometimes fucking you against the tiled wall of his shower is everything he needs to finish his day smoothly

He also takes you on his piano

You’re always careful not to leave any bite or purplish mark on his skin in places that aren’t covered with clothes

He is shameless about leaving some on you though. You’re his and even if people don’t have this detail, they will at least know you’re taken

Poor baby is bad at relationship but he still want you for himself

You guys had had sex in a lot of unusual places. Either on the top of historical monuments like the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe but also on the roofs of buildings in the warm summer evenings. He’d set a blanket there and you’d cuddle some time before getting started

The tension between you two when you’re in the same room is unbearable, but since everyone think you’re friends, no one catch it

His eyes are always on you, piercing and following your every move as if he was in his cat costume. There is no part of you that is left unexplored. If your cleavage is in display his eyes are going to drown in between the tender flesh and if your pants leaves no doubt about the curves of your ass and thighs his eyes will be stuck on them too

If your sitting side by side his hand will surely caress your leg under the table

But most of the time - and since then you joined the class - the only thing he can do during those moments is to send you long and ardent gazes. You’re the only thing he is interested and attuned to at the moment

His eyes squint slightly as he gives you another longing glance. He feels so horny right now and the tent in his pants gives it all away. He has 45 more minutes to calm down before the end of the class

At the end of the class you go to your locker. Classes just ended and you just want to go home and lie down while chilling. The room is currently empty but behind you feel a hot breath grazing your neck. Then an arm circles your waist and draw you nearer

The smell of his cologne makes it clear for you that it’s Adrien. You lean against him and his strong arms hold you tighter

“‘missed you a lot in there” his fingers played teasingly with the help of your shirt “What about tonight 21:00 at yours ?” ( 21:00 = 9 pm )

“I’ll be waiting for you then” you whispered, so that if anyone was around they couldn't hear you

“I’ll be looking forward to this princess” he murmured before planting a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth

When you turned around he saw the smirk on your face “What is it about ?”

You pointed at the tent in his blue jeans

“Shoot !” he muttered “J-just get back home safely o-okay. I’ll take care of this” he looked around to be sure no one was in sight

“You sure ? I could lend a hand”

He blushed, shaking his head, he just knew that if you guys were to start something there you wouldn’t be finished at least an hour after the school closes “Yep I’ll be quick. See you later beautiful” he gave you a quick kiss before carefully making his way out and unnoticed of the locker room

At the end of the day ( pun unitented ) he got to your home 30 minutes earlier than intended

But it was all all the thrill of being his friend with benefits after all, a surprise was always hidden behind another

[leighsartworks216]

In The Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Lowkey wrote this for @niermortem bc the Astarion hyperfixation goes hard

I've never written for Astarion before and I'm still not 100% comfortable with his speech patterns and stuff but I had to write this or I would not be able to sleep tonight. Tbh y'all are lucky he even spoke at all. I was going to have Tav shush him lmao

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

Word Count: 1,110

Masterlist

AO3

He’s so beautiful, just like this. The moon reaches through the window and caresses his hair, turning already-bright white into pure starlight. His pale skin glows. And when the sun rises and casts beams of yellow-orange over him, it’s almost as if blood flows through him once more.

You cannot sleep. Despite how tired your body was, your mind couldn’t sit still. It pondered over the day’s events - if you made the right choices, what you could have done better, your companions - endlessly spiraling out of sleep’s embrace. And you would still have been going over these questions and concerns, if Astarion did not look so damn pretty.

He fell asleep a while ago. With a gentle kiss to your cheek and a whisper of thanks, he’d tucked one arm under his head and draped the other across your waist, and drifted off. A hint of a smile still lingered there. Creases by his mouth and eyes proving a simple joy that followed him into his dreams.

It felt wrong to watch him like this. Like studying how his curls fell across his forehead and the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids was in some way betraying his trust. The thought alone - of ruining this beautiful foundation of trust and patience and understanding - should have been enough to have you close your eyes or turn away. And yet, something inside you yearned for more. An ache in your chest that urged you to touch him, to be closer to him.

And the urge was stronger than your perceived guilt.

Slowly, you raised a hand to his face. At first, all you did was brush the curl from his forehead. The stubborn thing only bounced right back.

Your eyes trailed from his hair to his eyebrows. So often did a crease find its way between them, pinched in frustration or confusion. Your hand followed. With the barest brush of your thumb, you smoothed out the imaginary crease. Astarion breathed in deeply - causing you to hold your own - before sighing softly. His face relaxed even more, shoulders easing into the pillows that cushioned him.

You focused next on his eyes. Deep, bloody red irises hidden behind thin lids that held so much worry and uncertainty and joy and hope. Hope. It had taken so long for the vampire to actually be optimistic about the future. He had no idea what would happen next - between Cazador and the tadpoles, there was little to be optimistic about. When you helped him, despite his original plans to manipulate and use you, he realized things did not always have such awful outcomes. Even your first encounter, with his blade to your throat, had somehow brought you here, together and warm and safe.

Despite being an elf, he had such deep bags beneath his eyes. Even the crows feet and laugh lines that appeared with his smile were unusual. He’d told you sparingly about his life under Cazador. The things he fed on, the poem carved into his back, and the horrible things he did. Undoubtedly, the lines came from that time. Barely eating enough to survive, luring people in with his charms for an uncaring master, being tortured in the dark. Yet, you couldn’t imagine Astarion without them. He was so pretty when he smiled.

You move on to his nose and his cheeks. His features are all well defined, sharp. It makes him seem dangerous, even at a first glance. Like a snake, hiding fangs behind shimmering scales.

Beckoned by the analogy, your eyes flicker to his lips. They’re so soft, despite the way he chews his bottom lip. Where before his kisses were rough, demanding, now they’re slow, careful. He no longer kisses you like he has to woo you over and get you to play his game. He kisses you like he’s savoring the last drop of wine. Even his bites are gentler, pricking your neck as carefully as he can unless you ask him nicely to be rougher.

“Too distracted to sleep, are we?”

His voice makes you jolt. You weren’t expecting his lips to move so suddenly. Nor did you realize before how your hand cupped his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. You can feel his smile as he chuckles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he coos. “But don’t you think it’s a bit late to be admiring my features?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, urging your heart to still from the scare. Damn you for thinking so much about his mouth. Astarion is nice enough to wait and listen as you relax once more, though you continue to trace over his skin and brush the curls in front of his ears back.

“I couldn’t sleep. And you look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

He slips his arm from underneath his head as he turns into your hand, holding your wrist in place as he kisses your palm. “I appreciate it, my love. But it’s been a long and exhausting day, and we both need our beauty rest.”

Red eyes watch, half-lidded, as you smile - he loves it just as much as you love his. Before, he couldn’t care less. Now, oh the things he would do to see you happy every waking moment of the rest of your lives.

The blankets shift against each other as you move to be closer. You tuck yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his neck. You are so warm. He lets out a soft breath as he curls around you, protective and safe all at once. Slender fingers tangle carefully into the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your head tucked away under his chin.

For so long, he charmed and manipulated people. They touched and got close to him, in ways he quickly detached himself from. For so long. It was still difficult to fathom how he sought it out with you. How he did not go through the motions of physical intimacy, how he actually wanted to be physically intimate in more ways than just sexually. How long he’d been deprived of something genuine like this. He wanted to savor every gods-forsaken minute of it.

Your warm breath fanned across his neck as you spoke. Had he been able to, it would have sent a chill down his spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers curl into your waist, grounding himself into your body as your skin gives under his fingertips. In return, you squeeze him in your hold, solidifying even more that this is real. You are real.

“I love you, too, darling.”

[cobragardens]

CORRECTED & UPDATED! Clothes + Equivocation = Romance:

The Husbands in 1793

EDIT: I made a significant error when I wrote this. As @goodjomans kindly points out in the comments to Part 2 of this essay (massive shoutout for this, goodjomans! also I love your name!), Aziraphale is the one who dresses the executioner in clothing like Aziraphale's original ensemble, not Crowley. This changes my conclusions about the meaning we can take from this scene!

On the one hand, mea culpa, y'all. I shall get on with eating my crow. On the other hand, I had to go through this frame-by-frame to catch which of the ineffable spouses puts Jean-Claude in his new togs, and the answer only lasts three frames. Here it is:

After Aziraphale changes his clothes, but before Crowley snaps his fingers and unfreezes time, there's a shot of the executioner over Crowley's shoulder, and he is now wearing a light coat with gold embroidery on the shoulders like Aziraphale's. Aziraphale arranges the executioner's death, not Crowley. So I feel like an idiot for missing it, but not a total idiot.

Let's discuss how this information changes what we can read from this scene! I'm going to leave my original text in place and edit with bold green. I can still stand by most of this essay, but this detail changes how I read the meaning of the husbands' communication at the end of this scene.

So we're all clear on the fact that the universe of Good Omens is an inescapable nightmare dystopia in which either of the husbands' merciless authoritarian regimes could be watching or listening to them at any time, yes? And that if either are caught 'fraternizing' with the other that means discorporation, torture, memory wipe, and/or death for either or both of them, yes?

Which means Crowley and Aziraphale can never speak or do anything openly to each other about their friendship or attraction or love. Everything they say and do has to have an innocuous meaning they can point to in case anybody ever sees or hears something Team Azcrow can't explain away. Walls (and ducks) have ears, and the price of slipping up--as we see in 1827--is heavy.

When a character says or does something that has two distinct meanings because they need to disguise what they really mean from one party but make their meaning plain to another, lit-nerds (and lit nerds🍃) call this equivocation. Equivocation is a kind of coded communication meant to pass hostile ears and eyes in plain sight but reach its intended recipient with its true meaning. The 1793 scene is jammed with it.

A lot of that coded messaging revolves around the clothes Crowley and Aziraphale choose in this scene, so--THESIS PARAGRAPH, BITCHES--we're going going to talk about how their clothes read to the people of this time period and location, what their clothes tell us about their characters, how their clothes help them equivocate, and what they're really saying with that equivocation. And Spoiler A-fucking-lert, it is ROMANTIC AF PRETTY GD ROMANTIC. Let's get nerdy!

We start with Aziraphale's beautiful champagne-gold and powder-pink ensemble.

This outfit would tell people of this time period 3 things about Aziraphale:

That he's insanely wealthy--These clothes would be silk, hand-embroidered with thread made with actual gold. Each individual garment could cost years' or even decades' worth of working-class wages and take a team of skilled artisans dozens to hundreds of hours to make.

That he's a fop--i.e., a man who loves fine clothes and dressing up and looking fancy. By the 1790s in England, once-fashionable foppishness was giving way to the Neoclassical 'Corinthian' style, and was considered effete. (Fun note: During this time period, effete did not automatically indicate gay, and pink was considered a masculine color, so while Az. is queering it up to the audience here, his clothes would not have read as gay or overtly effeminate to the other characters around him.)

Even though he's insanely wealthy, Aziraphale wears clothes that are decades out of fashion.

According to the Victoria & Albert Museum, "As the [18th] century progressed, the male silhouette slowly changed.[...] Coat skirts gradually became less full and the front was cut in a curved line towards the back. Waistcoats became shorter. The upper leg began to show more and more[...]. Shoes became low-heeled with pointed toes and were fastened with a detachable buckle and straps or ribbon[.]

Source

That description is not what Aziraphale's wearing. Judging by his heel height and the length of his waistcoat, Aziraphale is wearing a style that's at least a decade older than this:

And this is from 1765. The great crepes caper happens in 1793, almost 30 years later.

My inference: Just as he has in the modern period, Aziraphale has settled into a style he really likes and refused to let go of it long after it's gone out of fashion.

We'll come back to this set of Aziraphale's clothes in a bit, but we need to talk about Crowley's first, because Crowley's clothes in this scene help render a line he says later about this outfit very flirtatious and darkly romantic.

First, some background: What was considered acceptable attire for wealthy people in France changed pretty much overnight during the French Revolution after the storming of the Bastille in 1789 and the fall of the French monarchy. Instead of advertising wealth, clothes now had to advertise political allegiance, and they had to do so loud and clear. And if you didn't want to be murdered by the French First Republic, that political allegiance had fucking better be to the Revolution.

People started wearing a looooooot of super patriotic shit. And I mean it was like little kids on the 4th of July; clothes were red, white, and blue in any hue and garish combination and print. The cockade, a fabric rosette in the colors of the French flag, was required by law to be worn by men, and despite that was just as popular among women. To show solidarity with the laboring classes, the fabrics the wealthy wore went from embroidered silk in light Rococo colors (what Aziraphale is wearing) to sober neutrals without decoration in wool, cotton, and linen.

Now, the script note for Crowley's clothing in this scene is this:

But clearly there were some changes made between script and filming, because Crowley does not appear standing behind Aziraphale; he appears lounging.

And he's not dressed as a French peasant.

Here's how French peasants dressed in 1790:

Peasants at this time wore styles that distinguished them from the styles of the upper classes not just in materials, colors, or patterns, but in shapes. Full trousers and cropped boxy jackets in French flag colors were the marks of the laboring-class Revolutionary, and both styles were huge changes from hundreds of years of French fashion up to that point.

And that's not what Crowley shows up wearing. Crowley is wearing the knee breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and frock coat of a wealthy man, and in fact his clothes reference a very specific type of wealthy man.

In the 1790s, if you were an aristocrat who wasn't happy about the Revolution and you were so sure of your privilege that you would risk your life showing it, you wore black in mourning for the monarchy and in protest of the violence of its deposition. If you were an aristocrat who wanted to protest and you didn't want to be immediately murdered by the French First Republic, you wore a style called half-mourning, which was black with a colored coat.

Here's a picture from a 1790 fashion magazine of an aristocrat in half-mourning:

"The text accompanying the plate describes his ensemble as 'half-mourning,' referring to the aristocrats who lamented 'the diminished powers of the monarchy and [signaled] their willingness to die for the royal cause'" [emph. added]. [Source]

Notice: the shoes, stockings, breeches, waistcoat, and cravat are all black. You with me?

Because here's Crowley in 1793:

I've turned up the brightness and exposure in this image so he's more clearly visible against the stone, but I haven't warmed it up. He's wearing a coat that's a dark blackish red. Everything else, even his cravat, even his shirt, is black. (The black shirt is anachronistic, a lovely little nod to Crowley's refusal to wear angelic white.)

This is 179fuckin'3, y'all. Marie Antoinette is executed in 1793. It's 3 full years after that fashion plate up there in his bright red jacket, and that lil dude was already risking his neck way back in 1790. As we can see from the fact that the government are apparently now grabbing random wealthy-looking Englishmen off the street to murder without trial, the time for a man demon to be sauntering around Paris dressed in all black or even nearly all black is well past.

Crowley's also wearing a whole assload of huge silver buttons, which would have been flashy and tacky and frankly pretty weird in 1793 but very definitely an eccentric Rich Person Thing to do, bc regular buttons at this time were horn or wood and covered with the garment's fabric. The only man in France who could get away with this fancy aristo shit anymore was Robespierre himself, and only "devotion to the cause[...] excused Robespierre’s showy dress since he was perceived as a bridge between the politically empowered bourgeois deputies and the ardently antimonarchical unenfranchised classes." [Source]

So when Crowley teases Aziraphale--

--both of them are perfectly well aware that Crowley's outfit would get him just as killed as Aziraphale's.

And that's why Aziraphale's expression is annoyed when he has abandon his "standards" and change his clothes. Because Aziraphale's the one who needs the favor, Crowley makes him take one for the team and wear the goofy hat.

The clothes Az. changes into here still tell people that he's rich, but they also say he's a hardcore Revolutionary. The red jacket in a current cutaway style, the cockade and sash, and the bonnet phrygien (the red garden-gnome cap) all announce this guy is a huge supporter of the Revolution. His clothes are all still aristocratic in shape and materials (and he keeps his now-unfashionably frilly lace cravat), but he's no longer flaunting obscene wealth in a city filled with angry starving people, and the gnome cap says he's in solidarity with the working classes even if he isn't one of them.

Once he restarts time, Crowley is not leaving that prison cell safely without either changing his clothes or taking Aziraphale with him, because Crowley looks like a rich asshole protesting the fall of the monarchy--which is frankly exactly the kind of thing he'd show up wearing to the Bastille during the Reign of Terror (just like he wears athleisure in Heaven). But Aziraphale's new appearance covers for them both: if the rich-looking guy with no cockade and wearing all black under his almost-black coat is in with this other guy who's obviously a Revolution fanatic, then the rich guy's probably okay, right? He just forgot his sash at home or something. Bees.

Something else happens when Az. changes, too. Look at Aziraphale's new dress from a different angle:

Half-mourning is a white shirt, but a black cravat, so this isn't half-mourning. He's wearing three different badges of the Revolution to make up for the fact that Crowley looks like a Satanic libertine (which tbf he is), but Aziraphale's new ensemble is black and dark red.

Y'all. Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

Now, this is a more fashionable and higher quality version of what the executioner is wearing, so Aziraphale has very plausible deniability here; if anyone ever pulled him up on it, he could say he just copied our man Jean-Claude.

But let me show you what English fashion looks like right now:

This is a French painting of a wealthy Frenchman, but he's wearing the English 'Corinthian' style. It was painted in 1795, so this would have been the very cutting edge of fashion in England in 1793, and the fabrics and colors look right at home in Revolutionary Paris. (He's wearing the cockade on his hat, btw.)

Look at all that angelic white! The buttery almond of the buckskin breeches, the golden kidskin gloves, the rich tan of the riding boots! The blue of the greatcoat! All colors we know Aziraphale prefers!

And yet this is what Aziraphale chooses:

We know from the entire rest of the show how very particular about his clothes Aziraphale is. And yet 150 years before he (accidentally) admits in words that he's Crowley's friend, Aziraphale wears Crowley's colors to take him to lunch to say thank you for a rescue.

When we decide whether a character's speech or action is equivocation, one of the things we check is whether equivocation (and deception generally) is something that character does elsewhere in the text, which, with Aziraphale, hahahahaha, DUH. He's already using equivocation in this scene.

The lunch date itself is equivocation on Aziraphale's part. Aziraphale tries to thank Crowley for the rescue, but Crowley says,

So Aziraphale says,

No more words like "thanks" or "rescue" used, but a couple hours of good food and drink and conversation, Aziraphale hopes, will express the gratitude toward Crowley it's not safe to speak aloud. With this, Crowley and Aziraphale explicitly establish that they are equivocating for each other's safety and using coded communication--immediately before Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

So yes, Aziraphale may well copy the executioner's clothes. But consider: When a character who can't speak or act openly says or does something that has two or more possible meanings, this can be read as equivocation.

We don't get a face reaction from Crowley about Aziraphale's new 'fit, so we can't be sure how he feels about this. But this whole scene is, even on its surface, about 1) the meaning clothes transmit to a viewer ("Oh good Lord," says Aziraphale when he sees what Crowley's wearing) and 2) how to show gratitude and appreciation when you can't speak of them openly. And we know Crowley notices clothing and clothing colors, because look at what he wears, like, ever. So it's very reasonable to presume he notices Aziraphale wearing his colors, and it fits well with both the rest of Crowley's actions in this scene and with his being very hurt and angry when Aziraphale later characterizes their interactions as "fraternizing."

Right, so we've covered what's going on with the husbands' clothes, and we've looked at two examples of equivocation on Aziraphale's part, viz., lunch and his change of colors. (Here's an example of equivocation on Crowley's part as well.) Now let's look at that super interesting thing Crowley says about Aziraphale's first outfit.

Here's the line:

Crowley follows up here on earlier lines in which he teases Aziraphale for coming to Reign-of-Terror Paris for crepes: "Dressed like that?" meaning Aziraphale was guaranteed to get arrested dressed like an aristocrat. The top layer of equivocation is always an innocuous meaning: the plausible deniability meant for the hostile/unsafe listeners. That's Meaning 1.

But "Dressed like that, s/he's asking for trouble" means two other things, too. It's a veeerrrrry familiar phrase, isn't it? We've all heard that arrangement of words in that order before. It's used when people think someone (usually but not always a woman) is dressed to invite sexual attention.

How do we know we're supposed to take this modern meaning from this phrase? This is how:

We have learned in literally the previous sentence to this one that rain has not been invented yet. The only two humans in existence have just left the Garden. Balloons definitely do not exist yet, humans couldn't tell you what lead is, and yet this is a phrase Crowley uses and Aziraphale understands. This tells us, the audience, in the very first line of the very first scene with these characters, that their speech is anachronistic and modern, and that we are to understand their phrasing in its contemporary sense.

So. When Crowley says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" in 1793, we should read that in the context of the scene and in the senses the phrase carries to us today.

And since Crowley is using a phrase that means the executioner is dressed to invite sexual attention, and the executioner is wearing clothes identical to Aziraphale's, then Crowley is necessarily telling Aziraphale that when Aziraphale was wearing those clothes--those frilly, effete, unfashionable-for-decades clothes that nobody else likes and the French now murder people for wearing--that was, in Crowley's view...provocatively sexy. Meaning 2.

"Dressed like that, s/he was asking for trouble" is also what people say to justify violence, especially sexual violence against women and queerphobic attacks against men perceived as gay or just 'insufficiently' 'masculine'. In fact justifying assault is likely the most common way this phrase is used today by a wide margin. Meaning 3.

Crowley's joke isn't even really a joke in this sense; it's a vicious barb. And, because it must, it sounds like it's at Aziraphale's expense: You wore the wrong clothes, you weren't careful enough to guard yourself against the men who want to do you harm, so you deserved the trouble you got. Meaning 1.

Except remember: Crowley is also dressed for trouble. And Aziraphale is aware of this. Crowley's 'fit would be almost as offensive to the Revolutionary French of 1793 as Aziraphale's Rococo pastels, and probably just as likely to get him arrested and murdered by the state if he weren't making letting Aziraphale keep him safe by wearing the cockade and the silly hat. Crowley's not saying anything about Aziraphale here that he's not also saying about himself; and as we know from Aziraphale's initial "Oh good Lord" when he turns around and sees Crowley's black and red half-mourning (with extra black and gobs of silver), Aziraphale knows it.

Then why the rapey joke, Crowley?

This is fucking why:

Crowley rocks up at the Bastille just in time to witness some grubby fucker assault his friend. Assault the person Crowley will greet 15 seconds after this as angel.

Crowley's first act after freeing Aziraphale is to send this dude to his death. Nope! Aziraphale is the one who arranges to have the executioner killed in the clothes he would have killed Aziraphale for wearing. He takes Jean-Claude's ability to speak (but not to make sounds, interestingly! Jean-Claude can still whimper, Jean-Claude can still cry!) so the executioner can't tell anyone about the 'mixup.' It's unclear which of them blocks the executioner's power of speech. The vicious joke about assault in Meaning 3 isn't at Aziraphale's expense at all. It's not You wore the wrong clothes, so you deserved the trouble you got. It's If this guy thinks you deserve trouble for wearing the wrong clothes, he can eat his own rules.

And that's the other piece of evidence that, along with Crowley's ensemble, shows us the audience and Aziraphale which meanings Crowley intends with his equivocation. Meaning 1 is cancelled out by Crowley's clothes. That leaves Meanings 2 and 3.

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what their clothes help them say without words.

Concluded in Part 2!