#and yes i am honest with all these people and believe me if someone wanted monogamy i would fucking JUMP at it

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun 18

Loop #488

Pearl: Having a tail is so weird.

Mumbo: But it's nuts! Swimming in the depths without drowning.

Pearl: Did I say it wasn't? It's just weird mate.

Grian: How does the moon make someone a mermaid?

Scar: Why wouldn't it?

Grian: You- you can't just say "why wouldn't it?" and be done with it.

Scar: Why not?

Grian: Ugghhhh.

Scott: Pearl-

Pearl: No you don't.

Scott: Pearl the condensation! The condensation Pearl.

Pearl: I hate you.

Scott: It's the condensation I'm sure.

Loop #493

Grian: Who did it!? Who stole the ruby?

Scar: Why are you looking at me? I would never! Hear me, never! I am a man of honest buisness.

Scott: Not me either. I was with you the whole time.

Jimmy: Me too! I was with you two

Pearl: Not me mate, why would I go after a ruby.

Mumbo: W-why would I? Why would anyone here? Maybe it was lost?

Tango: Yeah!

Grian: It's not lost, It was stolen...by one of you!

Grian: What were you doing two hours ago!?

Scott: I was with you.

Grian: Doing what!?!

Scott: Talking. With you.

Grian: About what!?

Scott: Just say you weren't listening to me.

Grian: ...

Tango: So?

Grian: What do you need the ruby for!?

Tango: What makes you think I took it?

Grian: Oh It's elementary my dear watson.

Tango: It's Tango actually.

Grian: ... It's a reference.

Tango: Never heard of it.

Grian: It was just- you are messing with me aren't you?

Tango: Me? No, never.

Grian: Just go.

Grian: Mumbo!

Mumbo: AH!?! You can't sneak on people like that mate!

Grian: I'm the detective, I do what I want. Now tell me, did you steal the ruby!?

Mumbo: No!

Grian: Are you sure?

Mumbo: ...yeah?

Grian: Really sure?

Mumbo: Definitely mate.

Grian: Are you sure you weren't the one that didn't not not not steal the ruby?

Mumbo: ... Uh...what?

Pearl: Hey there.

Grian: You saw me!?

Pearl: I'm not blind G. Do you want something mate?

Grian: Give me the ruby!

Pearl: Oh for fuck sake, this is what this whole thing is about? Why do you even care?

Grian: I'm the detective in this loop, It's my job to care suspect.

Pearl: ... Ok then, do that somewhere else.

Grian: Scar.

Scar: Grian!

Grian: Scar.

Scar: Grian?

Grian: Scar.

Scar: ... Grian?

Grian: I know you did it.

Scar: I'm so sorry Grian! I didn't mean to! Please forgive me!

Grian: You just give the ruby back-

Scar: Oh!! You were talking about that? Oh, I didn't steal it.

Grian:... What were you aplogizing for?

Scar: ...

Grian: Scar, what did you do?

Scar: Oh look, a wall! Bye!

Grian: Scar come back here! What did you do!?!?

Jimmy: Why am I getting interviewed last?

Grian: Because you are the last person left.

Jimmy: Is... is your reason for accusing me that everyone else said they didn't do it?

Grian: ...

Jimmy: Oh my gods, it is isn't it.

Grian: So did you do it?

Jimmy: I was literally with you and Scott!

Grian: I can't figure it out, you guys are good.

Pearl: Are you sure it wasn't just lost?

Grian: ... ... ... Yes?

Pearl: Grian.

Grian: I wanted to do a fun murder mystery ok!?

Scott: Not really a murder mystery.

Grian: A fun mystery.

Tango: I think we all knew it was just lostificated. You were the only one in denial.

Grian: A fun.

Pearl: Was it fun for anyone though?

Grian: A.

Loop #496

Grian: False king, I challenge you!

Ren: Is that so? A duel?

Grian: I challenge you at a match of 4d chess.

Ren: What-

Ren: Checkmate!

Grian: Are you sure?

Ren: Uh?

Grian: Oh you poor, poor man.

Ren: Me hand, what is he doing?

Martyn: He seems to be laughing.

Ren: I did not-

Grian: Checkmate.

Loop #497

Grian: False king, I challenge you!

Ren: Is that so? A duel?

Grian: I challenge you at a match of minigolf.

Ren: Minigolf?

Grian: 10 holes, one vs one.

Ren: You're on.

Ren: I can't believe this!

Grian: That was easy.

Ren: How have you done this.

Grian: It's because...

Ren: Yes?

Grian: I.

Ren: Yeees?

Grian: Have a secret.

Ren: What is it!?! What is the secret.

Grian: That I.

Ren: Just say it!

Grian: Am more skilled then you.

Ren: How dare you!?

Grian: Byeee!

Loop #498

Grian: False king, I challenge you!

Ren: Is that so? A duel?

Grian: I challenge you to a game.

Ren: What game?

Grian: Have you ever heard of tetris?

Ren: I yield! I yield!

Grian: Oh come on that wasn't that bad.

Ren: You almost crushed me!?

Grian: Nothing bad.

Ren: I could have died!

Grian: Sounds like a you problem.

Ren: Hiw was that fair?

Grian: Skill issue.

Prev Next First

[aq2003]

series 3 is so frustrating because there is like a shining core of pure diamond underneath the problems . like conceptually it rocks so incredibly hard. but the problems

[ghastbutlikegay]

dudes ive hit a point with The Horrors:tm: where im unable to convince myself that any of my friends actually like me

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[sarahreesbrennan]

Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

[lidiasloca]

i’ve been dying for a fic about azriel meeting his mate who is just someone in velaris. and him being super private and secretive about it to the point that the ic is like what is wrong with you??? and then he finally tells them by bringing his mate to family dinner??

a private relationship with azriel

azriel x reader

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You had grown to know Azriel’s soul like the palm of your hand. There were no misinterpretations or confusions. It all lay clear and honest between you. He could hide no truth, and neither could you.

So it was no surprise that he kept you like he would an oath. It was his protective nature. And you had accepted that long before it showed, because you wanted him, just like he was.

Yes, being hidden behind his back from his loved ones drove the knife more into your flesh, but so it would to watch him suffer knowing your protection was at risk. So you kept it how he wanted, private.

At least that’s what you told yourself today, as he was about to leave for a family dinner, one you were of course not invited.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you blurted out, thinking how much lost you had been in your head.

“I’m - I’m leaving,” he said hesitantly, scared as always of how much could you bear the knife he kept twisting.

Knowing how he’d laugh and talk and have fun with his family, and you wouldn't be there, kept your mind in a dark place. You would never be there.

Maybe you hadn’t quite accepted being his secret, as you thought.

You had no heart for words; your tight nod was his final cue to leave silently.

Guilt filled your lungs when you let out a weak breath. It always felt like you had a wordless argument when he left. Like you shouted your pain and he yelled his reasons. But there was only silence.

But what was there to overthink about, now? He was gone, and you were at your apartment again alone.

Or so you thought.

“Y/N”

You turned in a heartbeat to Azriel’s voice.

What are you doing, you were going to ask, but your heart was faster. “You’re back…” you murmured in wonder.

He gave you a half smile, since most of his joy had settled in his eyes, which regarded you expectant.

“I am.”

You cocked your head, intrigued. You were used to the little use he gave to words, but that didn’t make you less curious about what was on his mind constantly.

“Why?”

And thanks to his eyes, you somehow could read his heart. Somehow you knew why he was back.

Nonetheless, you were too vulnerable to risk sparking your hopeful hypothesis.

He slowly walked to you, only stopping when your warm breath caressed his chin. He assessed every centimeter of your face. Knowing him, he was taking time to plan his words.

You inclined your face upward to watch his eyes, which let you look through his soul more than his words did.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Let me present you to them.”

You breathe caught. No matter how many times you blinked, your disbelief didn’t wash out from your eyes. No matter if you had known this was why he was back, now that it was out of his lips, it was harder to believe.

“You really mean it?” you questioned, still confused; what had made him change his mind about his most solemn rule?

“Yes.”

A tear ran down your cheek before you realized you were crying. “Oh,” was all you could express, as Azriel gently wiped your tears, watching you in worry.

“You don’t want to?” he asked with a concerned frown.

You chuckled weakly, shaking your head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then why are you crying, love?” His voice was so gentle and unsure, as if he was afraid his words were strong wind for the candle that was you.

“Because I thought you would never ask - I thought I was always going to be a secret,” you mumble in between sobs.

His lips parted at your blatant confession. “I’m so sorry,” he sighted, moving his hands to hold your face, looking deep into you. “I never wanted you to feel like you were a secret. I did it because I wanted you to be protected. The less people know, the less risk.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry still.” He looked down, biting his lip as he though. “Will you come, then?”

A sweetly-crafted smile bloomed in your flushed face as you moved your hands to his shoulders, as if you were to start dancing. “Of course, Az.”

“Good,” he smiled in return. “Because it would be a very boring dinner without you.”

You laughed at that. “Didn’t you told me they were very funny?” you asked with a risen eyebrow.

“They used to be, but now they only interrogate me.”

“What for?” you questioned as you grinned, feeling the excitement to meet his family grow.

“They think I’m in love. Feyre said she sees it in my eyes,” he said, rolling said eyes in sarcastic disdain.

You cocked your head, questioning him with a wordless remark. He understood and gived you a smart smirk, adding, “And she is right. I am in love.”

“Then I think it’s only fair you show her she was right all along, isn’t it?”

He suddenly took you in his arms like he always does before taking off flying. You bursted out laughing in excitement when he walked to the terrace. He really was taking you to the dinner.

“My mate is just so fair and kind…” he mocked with a gentle voice.

“She is. And she also is very funny,” you added, matching his cocky grin with one of your own.

“They will love you," he said, almost in wonder.

You blushed at the thought. You could not deny you were growing nervous.

“Good. Because I love you,” you murmured.

Your mate leaned in to peck your forehead. And as he took off flying, the nervousness dissipated, and your heart filled instead with the love you had for Azriel.

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[utilitymonstermash]

In California due to prison over crowding and a policy called realignment, many sentences are now served in county jail. Recently I came across this very funny jail memoir in The Newsweek.

On race:

I knew that I had to join the Peckerwoods, a notorious white supremacist gang. But I am by birth half-Jewish. I have a Jewish last name too, so I was fearful.

My plan was to pretend I was German since my last name is Yiddish, so pretty similar sounding. It's probably not politically correct to say this, but I also don't look like a stereotypical Jewish person, at least in the eyes of neo-Nazis.

I also think my image played into it. They saw a crackhead from Skid Row who weighed 130 pounds and just didn't connect that with a Jewish guy. So I got away with it. They believed I was just a German-American. They had no suspicion whatsoever.

For about three or four weeks, I played along. But I soon realized there was no need to. I never heard anything really racist or antisemitic.

There was another man named Lou. He was probably 50 years old, and every day, he would get a different meal than everyone else—a special meal in a blue box—and people lined up to buy it.

I was curious. I looked in the garbage and saw there was Hebrew lettering on this blue box so I knew Lou was probably Jewish. I asked Lou if he was, and he said yes, that's why he gets the kosher meal.

I said: "I'm Jewish too, actually." He didn't really care. I said I had told the shot caller—a kind of gang leader—and all the guys that I was German when I came in, and now I'm thinking about getting the kosher meal.

I asked what he thought the consequences would be of revealing that I was Jewish. He said: "Oh, well, they're not going to care that you're Jewish, but they are going to care that you lied. So, I would just go talk to the shot caller privately and work this out."

I expected a very violent repercussion for lying. There are violent repercussions for everything, from not washing your hands after using the bathroom to getting caught sharing food with another race.

I talked to the shot caller. He was pretty angry that I lied, but at the same time, he said: "Listen, I'm half Armenian. I'm not even fully white. We don't really care. These are just the rules and we have to follow them.

"As the shot caller, if it gets out that I'm not enforcing these rules, I'll get stabbed on the yard.

"You lied. You got to come clean to all the boys, and it's not a big deal. Just when you get the kosher meal, make sure that white guys get preference over buying it. If no one white wants to buy the meal, then you can sell it to the other races."

On managerialism:

Violence is highly organized in the California prison system. I was in county jail, but it's just as bad as prison, if not worse.

If you get into an altercation with someone, you're not allowed to fight them. You have to go to your shot caller, and he has to go to his shot caller, and the shot callers must decide whether you're allowed to fight in a very controlled environment.

[...]

I had to fight people for breaking very stupid rules, such as sharing food with a Black person—a rule that I think is ridiculous. To be honest, my shot caller thought it was ridiculous too. He told me personally that he shared food with Black people all the time; he just had to keep it secret.

[...]

It's Kafkaesque; there's some kind of bureaucratic overwatch going on and you don't even know if it exists or not, but you just have to follow these dumb rules.

A shot caller is your gang leader in jail. This is not the leader of the entire gang but the leader in your pod, meaning your dorm.

Every gang has a shot caller, and then that jail has a head shot caller, and then the whole prison system has a single shot caller somewhere at the top that is this Wizard of Oz-type overlord who no one ever really sees but somehow enforces the rules.

On yarmulke:

I'm not a practicing Jew; I never was, and no one in my family really is. But when you get the kosher meal, they also give you a yarmulke for some reason.

When the other inmates saw the yarmulke, they were mesmerized by this magical Jewish hat. The people who ran the world wore these hats, they thought, and now they were around one in a jail cell.

The Mexican shot caller would request to wear it when he gambled to bring him financial luck. This started sort of a buzz in the jail, and eventually, lots of people were requesting to wear it. Even neo-Nazis requested to wear it when they were gambling.

I asked them to treat it with respect, not because I am religious, but I thought: "My ancestors were religious. Don't be disrespectful."

The amount of respect they had for this yarmulke was actually disturbing; the fact that a Nazi with swastika tattoos would be so polite about a Jewish yarmulke.

On tolerance towards the Jews:

Once it came out that I was Jewish, I experienced zero antisemitic hate. It was more of a fascination. A lot of these people had never met a Jewish person. They pictured Jewish people as owning banks and companies and potentially even the jail.

So when they saw this Skid Row homeless addict who was Jewish, a lot of light bulbs went off about their preconceived ideas. Immediately, they asked: "What are you doing here? Can't you make a phone call? Don't you know a lawyer?"

I said: "No, I'm Jewish. My dad was a heroin addict carpenter. Not all Jews are what you think they are."

It opened up a lot of playful conversations with these people. They were fascinated with the concept that Jews were lawyers, so I started getting a lot of requests to consult people on their cases.

I had to tell them: "Listen, I'm a carpenter crackhead homeless guy. I'm not a lawyer."

They didn't care; they wanted to go over their cases with me. There was almost some soft antisemitism, but it mostly was playful and fanciful obsession and inquiry. They thought I had mystical powers.

[...]

I have stayed in touch with some of the people in jail. Not all white people were Nazis. In fact, a small minority identified as neo-Nazis; most just identified as Peckerwoods. I've kept in touch with both.

On demographics as destiny:

I talked to Lou about it, and he said that there used to be some problems for Jews, but in the end, the white gangs have such low numbers that they don't really care. They needed people.

[petew21-blog]

Stop the bullying

Aiden was your typical straight bro, just lifting and pumping his body with his bro in the campus gym and in the afternoons playing football. He still couldn't let go of his high school ways of bullying people, so he tormented them even here in college.

How could people let him? Well he was a jock and a very favourite nephew of the dean and everytime a problem occured, the dean very efficiently solved it by punishing the other student. Efficient right?

That was until Aiden and Tom tormeneted yet another one of his gay classmates just right outside of the parking lot by beating him right next to one of the cars. What Aiden didn't know was that a very well known stoner was sitting on the other side.

Trevor was incredibly stoned, but not that much to save one of his fellow classmates. He entered the scene slightly confused what was happening

Trevor:"You guys would mind stopping this shit? It's interrupting my meditating session"

Aiden:"Get lost stoner or you're next"

Trevor:"I don't want to be rude, but I have to warn you. If you won't stop, I'll have to stop you myself" Trevor took of his beanie threw it on the ground and carefully placed the lit joint next to it

Aiden:"Just shut the fuck up already" and threw a punch at Trevor. Trevor only smiled and didn't even flinch. Maybe it was because of the fact that he knew the ounch would go right through him and it would be the needed thing to let him possess Aiden. Trevor got sucked in right in front of the other two guys. It took him a while to position himself

He woke up to the the sight of schocked Thomas and the poor gay fella on the ground trying to cover himself

Trevor positioned his cap on the head. "Ahh, you guys just left the gym right? Man, he reeks so much." and sniffed his new armpits obssesively. Then he took off his shirt, throwing it next to the gay guy and just examined his new torso. Smiling and touching his new chest and abs. That's when his eyes widened as he saw the joint on the ground slowly burning away. "Oh no. Can't let it go to waste!"

Thomas just kept staring with his mouth wide open.

Trevor leaned closer to Thomas and started talking:"I'm not sure you understand the situation that'sd happening here right now Thomas. But if you don't want this guy on the ground to take your body next, I suggest you keep your motuh shut about all of this and run away"

Thomas looked back only once as he was running away from his friend, or was he somewhere in there still? He might never know

Trevor reached out his hand to the guy on the ground:"It's safe now, man. Promise that this arm won't hurt you anymore."

The guy hesistated but than took his hand. He stood up, painfully grunting and holding his stomach.

Trevor inhaled the smoke from the joint and asked the guy:"So... what's your name man? You're ok?"

"I'm Martin, I... I think I am ok. So... Are you...? Who are you?"

"Well my name is Trevor, or Aiden now, I guess. haha. And don't worry I won't possess you. It's a power I use only when I think it's helping others, or.... when I need to get some confiscated weed. You wouldn't believe how much the police has stashed. And how ripped some of them are haha"

Martin was checking out Aiden's body as Trevor was enjoying his smoking, getting in the mood more rapidly than he was used to in his own body. Martin noticed the beanie lying on the ground. He tried to reach it but it was still painful. Trevor noticed and grabbed it himself

"Haha, I think Aiden will have a much needed style change. Gone are the days of the jock, in with the chill"

"So... Trevor? You can actually make other people possess someone?"

"Yes, sir. Who do you have in mind? I would be very happy to let you pick someone, but... morally I would be happier if it would be someone not very honest."

"Well... there is this girl in my class, Samantha and she is a total bitch. Just like Aiden. Would you let me possess her?"

Trevor:"Samantha? You wanna possess a girl? But I thought you were gay, man."

Martin:"Yeah, well that's the thing. Her boyfriend is Marc, the quarterback. And I had a crush on him since forever. I don't care if I am a girl or a boy. As long as I am with him."

Trevor:"Well, as you wish sir"

vv

Trevor did as he promised and than went on as his day would normally go. Not like he had anything planned anyway. His phone kept buzzing about Aiden's football pracitce, but he didn't care. His destination now was the locla skatepark. To Trevor, the swap meant a few things: he now had a stable flow of cash, he was hotter, he was fitter and he didn't have to worry about his future anymore

When Trevor finished with his skating he got the courage to enter Aiden's home. He was welcomed by Aiden's girlfriend who he then went on to have a very wild sex in the bed. Trevor didn't mind that she was a girl, just one of the few perks of being a bisexual. You get a much bigger dating pool.

Trevor let his new girlfriend sleep next to him and right as he was in the bed, he proceeded to lit up another of his joints he grabbed on the way.

Naked, high on weed and exploring his body. Enjoying the hard dick in his hand. Inhalimg the musk in his armpits. He couldn't get enough. He kept jerking off, thrusting his hips while caressing the muscles with the joint in his hands. So tight and compact. Everything was his now. The whole world was

The girlfriend woke up, schocked about the stateshe found him. Still jerking and smoking weed. She kept shouting about something but Trevor only heard himself saying:"Close the door behind you when you're leaving" and still kept jerking off.

And as she left, he unleashed streams of cum and shot up right up to his face. "Damn, Aiden. You cum a lot. I love this"

The months went by and the ex-straight ex-jock ex-bully was no a very newly transformed stoner, skater, but still maintaining his beatiful muscularity, bisexual man, who now kept dating and screwing a few women and men. Who knows how Aiden's feeling right now, right? Maybe he would enjoy the fuck that his body is high right now fucking a beautiful girl. Maybe he wouldn't really enjoy that his body had a huge dick in his ass. Who knows

Another story request from the inbox: Hey love your work! Thoughts on having a tough straight college jock getting possessed by a bisexual stoner/skater, enjoying his musk & muscles and becoming a laid back weed smoking himbo?

[cosmiiwrites]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ enemies to lovers

.ೃ࿐ adam x fem!reader .ೃ࿐

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ summary: in which you and adam find out you don't hate each other as much as you think you do cw: NSFW, fem!reader, p in v, oral (f!recieving), creampie, adam (he's his own warning), hair pulling, semi-public sex, cussing a/n: FINALLY DONE !! first smut fic though, so apologies if some things dont make sense :(

you hated adam. you hated his cocky attitude and his fuckboy persona. and most of all, you hated how everyone stayed quiet about it. him being the first man didn't mean jack shit to you. if he was being an egotistical asshole? you won't hesitate to put him in his place. even if that meant starting an argument in front of the promenade, putting your hatred for one another on display.

adam, on the other hand, loved someone who could match his abrasive attitude. and it meant more that you went out of your way to shout insults at him every chance you got. to be honest? it turned him on. but he would rather die then admit that. during meetings, you two would bicker non-stop, shooting daggers at each other from across the table. so yes, everyone and their mothers knew about you and adam's ongoing feud. what did everyone also know? the unspoken sexual tension between you two. the tension so thick it was tangible. the tension everyone knew about except the two idiots who claimed they hated each other. even lute was getting sick of it. "what a bitch, am i right?" "yes, sir." "she's just salty because i'd never go for a cunt like her," "mhm, sir." "maybe i sho-" "you know what i just remembered? sera saying she had something to discuss with me. ill be leaving now, sir." adam shot her a confused look. it wasnt like lute to walk out on a conversation so abruptly. (spoiler alert, she just didnt want to hear adam talk about you for the millionth time today) "well, uh, shit, okay." upon leaving, adam bumped into a familiar face. "well, well, well, if it isn't-" you slid right past him, ignoring any advance he'd tried making towards you. "what the fuck?" adam's face grew warm from embarrassment. did you just ignore him? he planted himself in front of you, hoping to make a statement. his tall figure hovered over yours. "ignoring me, hm? is that any way to treat the first man?" he teased. you sighed and rubbed your forehead in annoyance before answering, "if by 'first man' you mean 'overly-confident egomaniac' then yes." that's what adam liked about you; you didnt kiss his ass 24/7 like all the other angels. you didnt crave his approval. "i seriously don't understand how people can tolerate being around you," you groaned.

"oh fuck off, the ladies love me," he grinned. "especially in be-" you threw your hand to cover his mouth. "ugh, spare me the details, you gross fuck." your statement only widened his shit-eating grin. "why, jealous?" he teased, dragging on the s. "fuck, no! i feel bad for all the women you've slept with, they've probably faked all their orgasms as to not hurt your fragile ego." you retorted. adam's smirk dropped. he couldn’t BELIEVE you thought he was incapable of pleasuring a woman. luckily for you, his anger quickly turned to interest as an idea popped up in adam's head. he leaned into your ear, voice low and husky, "you wanna bet on that?"

taken aback from his sudden offer , you backed up until your back hit the wall of the alley you two were in. “what,” you breathed, “are you on about?”

“if i can make you cum,” adam started, “you have to admit that one; im the dick-fuckin’-master, and two; i AM capable of pleasuring a woman. deal?” adam's said a ton of dumb shit, but this? you let out a boisterous laugh. “are you serious?” but after a few beats of unearthly silence, thats when you knew he was. “well, shit.” you did want a chance at proving him wrong and taking down his ego. to be fair, no one’s made you cum in a long, long time. and you were always up for a challenge.

you grabbed adam by the collar and dragged him down to your level.

“deal.”

———————————————————————

thats how you found yourself up against a wall, being eaten out by the first man, the first soul in heaven, and your well-known rival.

you didnt want to admit it, but god, this man was good with his tongue. not to mention his hands.

he gripped your thighs tightly, spreading them apart and smirking up at you. your flustered face drove him mad, only fueling his desire for you. its not his fault you looked so fuckin’ cute. maybe he should get you like this more often…

adam shamelessly licked up and down your entrance, earning small involuntary whimpers from you. he dragged his hand down your thigh to rub circles on your clit, making you twitch under his touch. “taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled. wanting more, you tugged at his hair, forcing his tongue to prod at your cunt. “impatient, are we? and to think you hated me.”

it was like he was waiting for this exact moment; for adam ate like a man starved. like he hadn’t eaten in days, and you were the only thing that could nourish him.

suddenly, he dragged his long tongue against your clit, “shit, adam!” he smirked against your cunt. “enjoying y’self, babe?” “f-fuck—haah—you!” was all you can manage, before he sunk his tongue deeper into you, fingers now circling your clit twice as fast. “dont worry, tits, you’ll be doing that in a bit.”

it wasnt long before you had cum all over his tongue and face, panting like a maniac. you had already lost the bet, but you didnt care. nor had any of you two mentioned it. lost in a drunken haze, all you wanted was his cock buried inside of you.

you quickly recovered from your high and grinded against his painfully hard erection. “s-shit, babe, didn’t take you for a desperate whore,” adams words were slurred, his need for you fogging his brain. “s-shut up,” you retorted “looks like you can still talk back,” he grinned. “i’ll fuck that bratty attitude out of you.” “youve yet to do so,” you teased. “you bluffing, dickmaster?” oh, now you’ve got him in a chokehold.

those would be your famous last words, before adam would recklessly pound into you.

adam quickly undid his boxers, revealing his hard cock, precum already spilling from his tip. you thought he was joking when he called himself the ‘dickmaster.’ you silently wondered how that would fit inside of you. “see how fuckin’ worked up you get me, tits?” adam babbled.

he bent you over, your wrists just above your head.

you were about to reply with a snarky comeback when he pushed his cock into you, no warning beforehand.

“i fuckin’ knew it,” he said. “tight as shit. bet no one’s fucked you as good as im about to, huh?” you wanted to respond, to deny his accusations, but the only sounds that left your mouth were desperate moans and whimpers. it was like music to his ears, fueling him to fuck you brainless.

his large size stung, but pain quickly turned to pleasure when he began to move.

he picked up his pace, pounding into you brutally. it was oh, so sinful. but adam would go to hell anyday if that meant he could have your tight little cunt all to himself.

adam took a fistful of your hair, forcing your back to arch. when you didnt protest, adam threw a line of praise at you. “there we go, good fuckin’ girl, just like that…” the position you were in was a bit uncomfortable, but you quickly stopped paying attention to that when adam thrusted into you sharply. “s-so good f’me,” he babbled.

you knew he was almost at his peak when his thrusts grew sloppy. “shit, almost there, fuck!” he groaned. “m-me too, adam, fuck,”

in one deep thrust, he buried himself inside of you, spilling his cum. you felt your stomach grow warm, full of adam’s seed.

adam was still inside of you, even after you both had came. there were no sounds other than your pants and his huffs. thank god this was an empty street.

finally, he pulled out of you. you whined at the loss of contact, earning you a cheeky grin.

“so,” he said, breaking the silence. “how was that for pleasuring a woman, hmmm?” adam smirked. “still hate me?”

“always, just a little less now.”

[amirasainz]

Hi loves, if you want more drivers and wags drabbles, don't be shy to request something!

I hope you'll like this one. I will also add a masterlist soon! Please send some requests(can be only driver, drivers and wags or Sainz family), I need some inspiration!

(Wish me luck, I am writing a physics exam tomorrow)

-XoXo

Chaos before her arrival

Chaos. Everywhere at the grid was chaos. People are running left and right. Mercedes mechanics carrying flower bouquets in their garage. McLaren bringing an extra princess like sofa in theirs. Ferrari has three personal chefs at the motorhome.

One might think the royal family is coming to the grand prix. But one wouldn't be so wrong. In fact, Amira Sainz, the paddock princess and littlest sister of Carlos Sainz, was attending her first GP after the winter break.

With staying in Colombia for filming the 3rd season of Narcos, babygirl didn't have a lot of time to attend her big brothers GPs.

On one hand, Carlos was thankful that his baby sister wasn't surrounded by the drivers and their crazy girlfriends.

I mean, can you believe the audacity from Lily and Alex to go shopping with his baby sister because:" Baby, you look so warm, let's get you some shorter clothes to cool you off"(Alex) and "Baby, I saw this really cute handbag for 30k and it reminded me of you. Let's go get it!We can be all matchy-matchy" (Lily)

Or George and Carmen with their "Sweetheart you have to come to London with us. We can have our own tea party the mansion from Downtown Abby and wear our Tommy Hilfiger clothes and...."

Or Pierre and Kika and their "good hearted" invitation to Portugal because, apparently, babygirl is looking too pale. So she has to spend the whole winter break in a villa with only one bedroom (ups) and a private beach with them. Obviously!

But the worst of them all were Charles and Alex. Carlos can't even think about it. The last time his sister came to visit the grid, Charles had the audacity to give her a sparkling pink La Ferrari. And if that wasn't enough, he and Alexandra had to drive her around the city (let's be honest, our girl can't drive. But that's OK, cause she is pretty) with her sitting in Alex lap to "get the full driving experience cherie"

So, as you can see, Carlos wasn't very happy to have his sister attending a GP with these demons around her. His poor angel, nearly getting eaten alive by those monsters (is he dramatic? Yes. Does Carlos care? Absolutely not!)

But Carlos heart, mind and soul hurt the whole time she was in Colombia. What do mean his darling sister isn't by his side or by their family. She's just a baby! What if someone robbed her? Or her car gets stuck? Or worse, she has to go buy things with her OWN money?!

No, Carlos couldn't live with that thought either. So either way, their wasn't really a good solution to his problem.

When he saw all the teams acting crazy, decorating their garages, how his sister likes them and cleaning EVERYTHING, his blood was boiling. His baby, darling sister is staying in HIS team garage, on HIS half. (I'm looking at you, Charles and Alexandra)

However, the last straw for him was when he saw all the wags waiting by the entrance for Amira. They stood at the entrance like hinters waiting for their prey.

Oh Carlos could feel the grey hairs growing

And Amira? During the whole fiasco, babygirl was in the spa getting ready for her exhausting day. Looking pretty the whole time and watching the race IS pretty exhausting. Our poor babygirl🥺

@stinkyjax @khaylin27 @xoscar03

[brucewaynehater101]

I have a vent fic wip that I may or may not finish so I just need to tell someone that I am...feeling so many things all the time about the consequences of the 16th birthday but...

primarily, right now, at this moment. without Robin/Bruce, Tim thought he would lose Dick and everyone else he knew through Robin. and then a little bit later when he quit for Jack, he got radio silence for Months until he became a potential victim, and even then it was just Cass stopping in to give the message and be like "I'll watch you to keep you safe 👁️👁️ ok bye" and he had actual Proof that without Robin, he would lose everyone.

and then. Dick "you're my equal (even tho I'm drastically changing your life without your knowledge or permission), you're my closest ally (even tho you don't even have a name to go out in the field to assist me as backup), I need you (even tho, as mentioned, I made a huge decision without your input because I didn't need it because I know best actually)" Grayson.

skipping over the fact that Dick didn't even have the time to say "you're fired" or anything resembling that, when Tim lost "Robin" to Damian, he felt like he lost everything else too. it didn't matter what Dick said about "equals" or "allies" or "needing". he already had Concrete Proof that it was all false. cheap words that are easily disproven do nothing in this situation, Dichard!

(disclaimer: I love and respect Dick Grayson, I just also think Dick Stopped Existing as soon as he made Damian his Robin for the most pathetic stupid illogical risky-ass excuse he could ever give for making anyone Robin (or a vigilante in general). "because he'll kill someone again". who the fuck says that?? who thinks "oh no oh god oh fuck this kid is gonna go off the rails he's gonna kill someone, I need to Put Him In A Place Of Power Over Oblivious Innocent Untrained People Who Are Expecting A Kind And Empathetic Hero To Save Them" hUH???? ok sorry, I just wanted to rant about what Tim "losing Robin" meant)

I agree with ya. Dick Grayson is fantastic, but it seems weird that he nuked his entire relationship with Tim (a very strong one that other fans have referred to them as "The Brothers") for the new kid.

Yes, Damian is a ten year old traumatized kid who just lost the dad he didn't really have the chance to get to know. Yes, Damian needed guidance, boundaries, and compassion.

But DC spent so much time and effort building up Tim and Dick's rapport only to obliterate it once the "blood son" came in (I also love Damian. This is not hate on the kid. This is confused commentary on DC's choices). It's just a strange idea, but that's also why it hurts so much when Dick does that to Tim.

Then you tie in Tim losing Robin by Dick to Tim's experiences before? Fuck. You are so right for that.

As far as the RR run, Dick could've handled Tim believing Bruce a bit better. I don't necessarily blame him for that one. I get why he wasn't supportive in the way Tim wanted, even though I would've chosen differently for my siblings.

Dick taking Robin, though? That was fucked up. I, honest to the gods, do not see how that was a justified course of action. I can understand his perspective, but it's still not okay. At all.

There's your very adequate analysis:

Robin, for Tim, is his tie to his loved ones. He has proof (twice) that without it, he does not have access to the people he cares about and his support system.

Dick said a lot of pretty words about "equals," but his actions were precisely contradictory to his "intentions."

Tim has had Robin taken from him before or had to give it up. He chose to go back despite this. He obviously feels strongly about being Robin

Damian has not proven, at this point, to be trustworthy as a vigilante (someone in power without oversight). He has instead shown use of excessive force

This isn't even going into the way he found out. That's just an extra layer.

The way Tim has repeated lost and regained Robin (even after RR) as well as his title as Red ROBIN are, to me, a sign that he's still trying to hold on. It's my belief that he would have moved onto a new title, like his predecessors, if it hadn't constantly been an unsure role.

His start was rocky as hell due to Bruce not initially wanting it. Tim had to prove himself and put himself into the costume.

He "quit" twice before it was taken from him in a traumatic way (nothing like being instilled with the fear that the position you've held for four years can suddenly be yanked out from under you without warning)

Damian and Jason both vehemently protested to him being Robin

It would make sense if all of these factors combined to Tim's unwillingness or inability to just let Robin go, especially when we factor in his reason to be Robin. Since Bruce never really gets "better" and continually falls back into bad habits, Tim needs to maintain his task of pulling Bruce back from the edge. We could also throw Jean Paul into this to further how Tim is forced to play as the barrier between a grown adult and their desire to harm others in the name of good.

So, Tim's time as Robin is marked by consistent instability while contrasted with his inherent position as Bruce's leash and the batfam fixer. While the other Robins did have times of doubt, the predecessors of Tim did not have the pervasive role insecurity with regards to Robin.

They had their big moment at the end and some smaller moments in-between, but not quite on the continous scale of Tim. Tim had three big moments and was still sucked back into Robin when Damian quit.

To be Robin is to earn Bruce's love and the ability to be part of the Wayne family. To lose Robin is the risk of losing that (at least to the perspectives of the Robins if not 100% the reality).

I'm not sure I'm articulating this accurately. Regardless, no wonder Tim clutches the title of Robin with bleeding hands no matter how much it cuts him and costs him.

[coff33andb00ks]

Oscar + 47 41 ⭐️

47 & 41: holding onto the other’s hand so they can’t run away / loosely holding onto each other’s hand

driver + number = drabble/short fic <3

<this took forever I'm SO sorry>

"I quite like that one."

You narrow your eyes and tip your head, propping your hands on your hips. "Oscar?"

Your boyfriend gives you a gentle smile. "Yes darling?"

Ignoring the way the pet name rolls off his tongue, making your stomach feel all mushy, you huff with annoyance. You know he's only saying it to get the impromptu shopping trip finished. "You've said that for every outfit."

He's unaffected, blinking once, smile still in place. "Yes?"

"You can't quite like all of them."

"Can't I?"

You wrinkle your nose. "No."

He blinks at you, still smiling. "Ah." Rubbing his nose, he looks you over again. Then, with the most deadpan voice, "You look like shit."

"Oscar!"

"Now what?" he groans, smile finally fading.

"I just want you to be honest," you sigh, crossing to where he's seated outside the dressing room.

"Am I ever not honest?" He looks genuinely confused and it hits you - Oscar is never anything but honest. As soon as you're close enough he's taking your hand, lightly swinging it as he looks you up and down. "You always look sensational, darling. You could wrap a curtain around yourself and still be the most beautiful woman in the room."

Again your stomach feels all mushy. Again you ignore it. "Stop being ridiculous."

He stops swinging your hand. "I'm lost," he says. "Why don't you tell me what you want me to say?"

"The truth."

Standing, he tightens his grip on your hand and guides you into a slow turn. Once you're facing him again there's a grin pulling at his lips. "You look amazing."

"Yellow makes me look sick," you sigh.

"Yellow on you reminds me of the sunflowers I got you on our first date."

"Osc..." It's practically a whine.

"I love you in everything. Because - to me, honestly - you look beautiful in everything." He's speaking softly, and when he speaks like this you have a tendency to forget where you are.

"Stop," you mumble, vaguely aware of the other people milling around the shop and he's about to make you cry. He always says the right thing - you think it's because he grew up with sisters and his mom is a gem. Gotta send her a sweet text thanking her. You start to back away but his hand tightens around yours, holding you fast. "Osc–"

"You want the truth? That I can't look at any color and not think how you'd look in it? That I'll see someone else wearing the same shirt or dress as you and wonder why it doesn't look right?" He holds your hand tightly, keeping you from getting away. "Christ. You think I'm just saying bullshit, don't you? I'm not, and I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

"Oscar, you don't–"

"You took my breath away the moment we met. I got it back, but I lose it again every time I look at you." His other hand comes up, cupping your cheek. "I don't care what you're wearing, darling."

"Oh Osc," you whisper, smiling as you fight tears. "I really do love you."

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about the Mirror Scene

also know as horny edition, reprise, again I decline every responsability if "feelings" arise during the reading of this thread. I'll be tempted of discussing the scene frame by frame, but I shall restrain myself to the most important points maybe

1) Words. This is not just about the speech at the beginning of the scene but also throughout the entire piece. I'm a writer, ofc I love when people use words well. Pleas don't make me say how many times I though about Mr Colin "I love dirty talking" Bridgerton (a couple of people actually knows) because it could become uncomfortable very quick.

2) Consent. Consent. Consent. I'll repeat every time because it's the sexiest thing I've seen. What do you mean it ruins the mood? Your partner is checking in with you and it builds trust connection and intimacy. It's not apart from the act. It's a fundamental part of the act.

3) Boobs. I'm sorry to report that, even as a fellow member of the perfect breasts club, I'm absolutely not immune. Not even one bit. I'm not even sorry I'm not immune. Thank you, Nicola, your service was wildly appreciated. (But seriously, did I buy a more revealing dress because I was a bit more confident of my own because of this bit? Yes! So, jokes aside thank you Nicola for your service)

4) Guidance. Gentle Dom Colin is my favorite Colin and I will never be able to hear the word "lie down" without thinking of him. But also, the tenderness displayed, the softness, the attention to the partner's needs, it's all part of a pattern of Colin being the most attentive partner.

5) "You are so beautiful", I'm not going to lie, I'm still walking 5 feet taller because of that. It healed something in me. It doesn't magically cure all the self issues problems, but it hit me the first time and it hit me again everytime. And if it was healing for you as much as it was for me, let me give you a hug. You are so beautiful!

(I can't believe I can't find the gif, if someone knows where to find it, please tell me, i'll edit the post)

6) "Not there. Not yet." Colin Bridgerton, Master of Edging. I see you Sir. I approve you wanted to wait for round 2 for that. But don't hide you did say that because you would finish in 0.1 second if she would arrive that. Still, even just for the cutest expression on Pen's face, it was worth it.

7) "Is there more?", Pen I want to hug you (respectfully and dressed, of course). His nod. Her blinding smile. Lord (don't) forgive me, I do not care about sinning when it never looked and felt better.

Gif by @polinsated

8) All the moments where you can see the lust and the pleasure in Pen's eyes. I will never shut up about it. They send me always into the stratosphere because it feels real. I don't know they do it, but it just feel real.

9) "Can we do it again?" What can I tell you? It's always the quiet one (I should know, I'm also a quiet one 😏) I'm not sure Colin realize what he did awake but he will become aware soon. I'm sure he doesn't mind.

(it's not my gif, stupid Tumblr, it's from @polinsated )

10) Let's be honest. All the above are real, but what really sell this scene is trust, connection and intimacy. It's not an easy thing to communicate but somehow they do it perfectly. And the nudity is functional to this goal. It adds another layer.

I love this scene but the me I was some years ago might have hated it because it is a mirror indeed for me. The me I am now is grateful that this scene exist. Because it's kind of the goal, to have that trust, intimacy and connection. So maybe it's a sign from the Universe. Maybe it's a sign of things to come. I certainly do hope so.

Maybe one day I might be able to talk about this scene without tearing up, but today is not that day.

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffon

Where The Path Leads-A Taste

Masterlist Next Chapter

a/n: I didn't think I would be coming back with a story and to be completely honest, I fully believed my creative drive had been zapped. However, @mysticalpandora gave me a challenge and it somehow led me here???? I'm gonna roll with it. My list of unfinished drafts is growing, but I am determined to finish at least 1 WIP.

If anyone is interested in where this ride goes, DM me and ask to be tagged. Like & Reblog if you enjoyed the read! And comment your thoughts if you have any. I enjoy reading them!!

Her purple eyes glitter with quiet contemplation. She is calm, composed, absolutely beautiful, he thinks to himself. His calculative and appraising eyes take stock of this daring girl no woman that stands before him, and deep within him is a hunger for a hunt.

The Na-Baron had yet to come across someone who could stand so still within his presence.

This excites him. This may be a season of true satiation. A thrill of a hunt that lasted far beyond his arena kills. Far beyond the meager missions, his uncle sends him on to create distance from his people’s adoration and praise. A reminder that he is yet to be The Baron.

His uncle was not immune to his potential. He held a guarded edge around him when he was near. If it was true fear, or anticipation for his succession was unclear. One could say both.

“If you should use my gifts to aid in your fight, I will have my answer.” She stares directly into his eyes. Her jaw is relaxed and she pulls her lips into a teasing smile, “Worry not, Na-Baron, I can take no for an answer.”

He bares his black teeth in a mock smile, his answer comes in a raspy deep lull, “The answer has already been decided for us, little dragon”

He looks at the two deep ebony daggers that sit neatly in the box she had placed on the high table in the corner of the room, its sharpened blades glowing in the dim light of his changing rooms near the arena. The excited screams of his people chanting his name break the silence.

The tip of the dagger's, curve near its end. All along the blade is an engraving of silhouettes, tiny dragons flapping their wings. He realizes the engravings are shining silver.

He knows no one in the boxed seatings would be able to tell what the engravings were but he almost purrs outwardly in delight. A silent claim from his little dragon. He wonders if she realizes just what game she’s playing.

“Yes, however..” She pauses, her eyes drop to her clasped hands, her fingertips tapping against each other, a sign of nervousness, he notes. As if hearing his observation she stops and rearranges her hands so they are clasped behind her. “While this arrangement was decided before we were born, I want it to be known that I am not unwilling to be your wife or have you as my husband”

She pauses once more. He can practically hear her thinking with the way her eyes furrow and her lips pursed in consideration of the words she says. Because words have meaning and none of it should be spent on idle chit-chat or false pretenses.

A rare oddity that most others fail to recognize. He wonders if her words are hiding who she is. If beneath her elegant and calm demeanor lies something weaker. Something inside him wants to see her unravel.

“If we are to go into this arrangement, I would like for us to go into it as equal partners. Your fight becomes my fight, and mine becomes yours.” She moves to the side to dip her fingers into the bowl of black oil. The servant who holds it cowers away, as if afraid to be associated with her candor.

She’s gathered too much, it drips onto the floor as she nears him slowly. Her eyes are entranced with his, determination clear within her purple irises. One step. There is no hesitation as she smears her hand over her mouth and down her neck. Two steps. The oil leaves a trace of four fingerprints along the path. Three steps. She reaches out to his chest. Her fingers hovered over his skin. He can feel the heat radiating from a single hand. His blue eyes hunger for more but he remains still. His mocking smile turns into amusement. My little dragon is brave, he thinks with pride.

She pouts as a thought crosses her mind, “No one would see it.” She doesn’t realize she has said this aloud. He watches with rapid anticipation, his body grows taut as he wills himself not to move. He waits and waits and watches as she comes to a decision, her cheeks red and eyes mischievous. She gathers courage and motivation with quick movements, and her hands are suddenly on him. Trailing the top of his chest, then to his neck, finally, they nestle comfortably on either side of his face. She tugs gently, urging him to bend to her level and he allows it, purely for the entertainment.

His face is level with hers, his eyes are on her face, studying the curve of her nose, the red in her cheeks, the plumpness of her lips, and the giddy look in her violet eyes. He wants her to make eye contact. He wants her to see the monster inside him and fear for her life. He wants to see her calm demeanor slip. For her teasing tone to melt into cries of terror. It's all he knows. And he admires hates how she has yet to cower before him. But she is too busy studying the right of his cheek where her lips will claim him for all to see. She leans and presses a kiss to his aching skin.

He tightens his mouth and remains still, it would do no good to ravage her before their nuptials.

She pulls away and continues her statement, “Even if it has been decided, the fact remains that I choose you to be faithful to, to be by my side. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. In life and in death, my soul will always seek you amongst the billions of stars and galaxies that separate us.”

He wants to snarl and bite. A part of him cannot comprehend what she is saying and he is angry. He glares, his large hands coming up to wrap around her wrists and he pulls them away from him. His skin is left wanting and his heart is enraged. It’s beating so fast and erratically and his thoughts cannot settle between slitting her throat and slamming her into a wall to be consumed by him.

“What silly nonsense you speak, little dragon. Whether I pick up the blades or not and use them in the arena, is no answer. Whether by choice or by force, you have been sold to my family for me to use as I please. You are my pet. My little dragon. Nothing more, nothing less.” As he speaks his voice gravels with rage. He knows nothing else other than the white hot boiling blood beneath his skin. Whether in pleasure or pain, there is no difference. “You are naive”

He finishes his growl with a sneer. She stumbles and her maids rush to catch her from behind. I pushed him too far, she concludes. She holds in a sigh and holds her head higher. Her chin juts out and her eyes gleam. A thought crosses her mind and a fire burns within, “If I’m so naive, then my dearest husband-to-be, it is YOUR duty to protect me.”

She cares not for his comment about being sold to House Harkonnen. In the grand plan of all things, it is the least of her worries.

He’s turned away from her and the servants, who hid quietly in the corner, rush to put his armor on. He merely grunts and clicks his tongue, “Be gone little dragon, before you find a knife in your throat”

She wants to scoff but thinks better of it. She’s gotten away with too much in the short time she burst into his changing room to accost him with her offer. She steels herself and with a quick glance at his muscled back. She wonders if she’d ever be able to get through that thick bald skull of his.

She turns and leaves, and her two maids follow dutifully. Her lips glitter with the black oil. Her four fingerprints running down to her chest is a statement in itself. The matching handprint and kiss on his skin are enough to get her message to all with eyes.

She’s sunk her claws into him and no one would tear her from him. She’s seen too much. Knows too much. Suffered too much to give up now.

No Bene gesserite, no Emperor, no Baron, and no Atreides would rip them apart. She would die faithfully, clinging onto hope, clinging onto a path with the most resistance to prove a point.

A dragon does not kneel…

it conquers.

Edited: 8/18/24

[pupmkincake2000]

Characters study?

Since I play as Gale, I wanted to look at relationships from his side and from my own, since I think that Gale and I have very similar beliefs regarding relationships.

Don't get me wrong, I love Halsin,

he's an incredibly kind and caring teddy bear, but being in a relationship with him is not for everyone. And there are moments in the conversation with him that were very unpleasant for me. But I’m glad that he warned me in advance how he perceives a relationship with someone.

Yes, there are many people who are into polyamorous relationships, but I don’t think Gale is one of them, despite the opportunity to sleep with Halsin even when playing as Gale (I think that in this case some lines should not be available at all as it was with the Dark Urge, when you cannot resist your nature, even when playing a good character).

Now I will explain why.

Halsin honestly admits that monogamy is not for him. He considers us someone special, in fact, declares his love, but immediately says that we are not that special at all and he, even having entered into a relationship with us, will still be free to sleep with other people.

His words are not a lie, but they seem to contradict each other.

That is... there are more people who want to be something special, who want exclusivity from those they are dating than those who would prefer polyamory, I believe. In the case of Halsin, you will simply be just one of his huge number of lovers, and, perhaps, in another couple of decades, he will say those words about love and specialness to someone else, as he spoke to us. It's not mine cup of tea, to be honest. I am a selfish person, and I would like to be special for someone I love. And I really didn’t like that Halsin, without even knowing whether such a relationship suits me, says he hopes to sleep with the person I am dating too. This remark made me understand that although Halsin is still my type of men in appearance and character, he absolutely does not fit into my understanding of relationships, love and specialness. Let me remind you, I play Gale's origin and I am sure that Gale would also refuse and be disappointed.

Just like Astarion. And I will now explain why.

Literally Gale's entire problem and trauma is based on the fact that he wants to be loved,

he wants to be cared for, seen, considered special (which in the case of Halsin will be impossible), he wants to be visible and significant. I know that playing his origin you are still able to choose any lines but... if you play Tav and romance him, Gale does not agree to share his love with someone else and does not agree to be shared too. I believe that Gail is monogamous, and not just monogamous, but he won't allow the thought that his loved one could be with someone else or that he himself could be with someone else while already being in a relationship. Such people rarely fall in love, they are like the wolves Halsin spoke about, who choose a lover for the rest of their lives. And no, I don’t think Mystra was such a lover. I'm sure Gale wants in a relationship not so much exclusivity, but to have something of his own. Something that no one can take away from him. Someone only his.

The same story with Astarion.

He hasn’t had anything of his own for 200 years, and despite his mannerisms and flirting with everyone, he also wants to have something of his own, something that no one will take away from him, and something that will belong to him and to no one else. He is also desperately looking for someone who will be his. Only his. Yes, he agrees to a threesome, he agrees to share his lover with Halsin, but he clearly does not want this and agrees only because he is afraid of losing his love. He refuses to have sex with the drow twins, and if you agree, he will most likely end the romance with you. He is very afraid of not satisfying his lover; he wants to be desired and loved. He and Gale are very much alike when it comes to the relationship, although their reactions are different. Both want exclusivity. One speaks about it directly, the second one shouts about it with his behavior and body language.

I think that's why I love the ship so much.

They both want the same thing, they just express their desires differently.