#drain clearer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lostalioth · 2 months ago

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

→ premise: eddie wasn’t convinced you were as innocent as you acted. his pervy thoughts of you were often guided by all the little dirty things you did. he knew he shouldn’t think that way you were his friend after all but you had to know what you were doing to him right?

→ pairing: perv!bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, 2.1k words, corruption kink, dacryphilia, frontagge? [eddie rubs his dick against her til he cums?] unprotected penetration, small bit of degrading language [whore], nicknames [baby, pretty girl, sweets, pretty best friend], reader is described to wear eddies shirt and pink/girly clothing a bit, not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 12

Eddie was a touchy guy, a very touchy best friend in fact. He seemed to lack any awareness of personal space when it came to you.

Having you sit in his lap during movie nights whether it's just the two of you or if Robin or Steve join in. Laying his head in your lap while you play with his hair and his hands palm at your thighs tracing shapes on them. Draping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side when you're in the middle of a conversation with someone or leaning his body weight against you. Now to you and your naive mind, you found all this and everything else he may do as innocent, you didn't understand why everyone new you met assumed the two of you were dating.

Except for Eddie everything he did, he had a little pervy underlying reason to it. Leaning on you and pulling your body against his to feel your soft skin on his and subconsciously claiming you as his. Sitting you in his lap to feel the heat radiating from your pussy on his cock even through multiple layers of fabric. Laying his head on your lap and rubbing on your thighs Imagining his head is buried between them instead.

Constantly he came up with any excuse he could to have his hands on you, to have your body against his, even rub up against you when given the chance when he’d scoot behind you to get somewhere even if there was a clearer path to his destination. Rubbing his bulge lightly against your ass when he’d brush by. To him there was no way you weren’t aware of his intentions when he did these things and all the little pervy moves he made. Every dirty thought he had or thing he did was guided by the seemingly not so innocent things you would do.

Though you weren’t actually aware of just what the things you'd do, did to poor ole’ Eddie. Batting your eyelashes at him when you wanted to be the one to pick the movie, pressing your body against him of your own accord when a scary part came on during one of his movie picks. He even swears though he isn’t 100% sure it wasn't a very vivid dream that you were grinding your ass against him for a second one time you were sitting in his lap.

It was currently one of those frequent movie nights and Eddie was painfully hard, his cock has been aching the moment he walked inside your house. Part of it sure was that he was just excited to have quality time with his pretty little best friend but then when he came in and saw the state you were in he was a goner. You were more comfortable around Eddie than anyone and you had opted to be cozy so all you had on was a long t-shirt and frilly pink socks, no pants on. Being the perv he was and with the fact he couldn't tell exactly he was secretly wishing you didn't have any panties on either.

Eddie got to pick the movie and it was one he’d seen a million times over so it didn't matter that he couldn't bring himself to pay attention. His eyes glued to you, your thighs exposed almost more than they are when you wear your tiny lacey skirts that also almost kill Eddie. Any last drop of reserve or self-control he had was slowly draining away from his body.

If he thought too hard about everything he felt like a piece of shit bestfriend that all he could think of during movie nights anymore was bending you over your living room couch and claiming your pussy as his. Making you his as you whine and moan that it's too much to take and he tells you what a good girl you’re being. Expect there was a small denranged part of him that desperatly wanted to corrupt your sweet naive mind until you’re the one who can only think about him fucking you, making you just as much of a pervert as he was.

Far too lost in own dirty thoughts he fails to notice that the movie has now ended, meaning it was your turn to pick and he should probably stop staring at your body.

“That was a good movie. Ed's wasn't as scary of a movie as you usually pick” your sweet voice snaps him out of his trance and he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your thighs crossed over one another.

“Oh uh yeah, figured I’d pick a calmer one this time for you sweets” he explains, lightly coughing as he squeezed the pillow that's been covering his lap this whole time, a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes forms on his face as he finally turns his attention to your face. Though switching his focus fails to dull the throbbing in his stiff cock, if it goes on any longer there's definitely going to be a wet spot in his boxers. You smile back at him before getting up from the couch, running over to the kitchen and putting the empty popcorn bowl in the sink. He watches as you walk away, a small groan leaving his lips, it didn't help that the shirt you wore was one of his old hellfire shirt’s. You in his clothes always made his heart ache just as much as his dick, you often stole his shirts or hoodies which didn't help people thinking you were dating and Eddie secretly loved that.

With a bounce in your step you make your way back over to the couch, standing more in front of Eddie as you do. Bending at the waist you lean over to pick the remote up off the oddly low coffee table, your shirt riding up as you do. Giving him an agonizingly perfect view of your ass and the mound of your pussy in your little pink panties. “Oh fuck..” he groans out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he is gripping the pillow infront of him. You turn around facing him now as you lean back up, having heard Eddie mumble out something. “What’d you say Ed’s??” You question with a cute look of confusion on your face.

His last ounce of composure and restraint flies out the window as he throws the pillow off his lap and grabs ahold of your hips pulling you into his lap.

“You fucking feel that pretty girl? That’s what you do to me, fuckin’ killing me sweets” he groans out, his bulge pressed right against your cunt, his jeans and your thin panties do nothing to stop him from feeling the heat settling in your core. you gasp out dropping the remote onto the cushion besides you as you feel just how hard he is. The cold metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine when his hands push up at your shirt, bunching it up as they go. “But- I didn't do anything, or- I didn't mean to anyway Ed’s” you manage to stutter out, taken aback by both his abruptness and how good his cock feels against you even confined in denim. Lifting you up before letting go of your hips for a second so you're hovering over him, he unbuckles his belt and button to his jeans before tugging them down his thighs. “Ed’s I-I dont think best friends do this…” you whine out yet don't make any move to stop him as he grabs ahold of your hips again, planting your pussy right on his cock again with only thin underwear separating you now. You may be naive and innocent but you weren't a virgin you were well aware of what he was doing.

“it’s okay baby, just be my pretty little best friend and let me play with you okay, my cocks aching for ya’ yeah?” His tone is soft and slurred, his head going hazy in desire for you and the fact you were letting him go this far. “Mhmm~ okay i can do that” you whine out, your hips having a mind of their own squirming and grinding against him as his hands rub down your thighs.

“Atta girl sweets, s’good to me, always so sweet on me” he groans out as his fingers inch closer and closer to your aching pussy. Your slick has managed to begin soaking your panties, while Eddie's tip leaks precum forming a matching wet spot on his boxers. Tugging your panties to the side he runs his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, running over your clit that jumps at the small bit of attention. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes are glued to where your best friend's hands are playing with your leaking pussy. “Eddie.. it feels s’good” you whine out your hips bucking at his touch every time his fingers brush over your bundle of nerves.

“Look at you pretty girl, so fucking wet f’me like a little fucking whore” he groans out as he pushes down at his boxers, you lift your hips to help subconsciously. He pushes them down only enough to let his cock spring free, his cock thick, tip reddened and as veins run along the underside of his shaft. Your eyes are entranced by the sight, your mouth watering and your hole clenching around nothing, who knew your best friend had such a pretty cock.

Grabbing onto the base of his cock he angles it to nudge open your slit and run his tip through your soaked folds, grinding his shaft against your pussy. “Ahh~ pleasee Ed’s need you inside” you whine out, already getting overwhelmed, his cock rubbing against your bundle of nerves and tip just barely pushing at your hole before slipping out. The ongoing teasing and desire for him to push inside you crowd your head making it go fuzzy. “Nooo not yet baby, not till you're begging for it, gotta corrupt my sweet innocent little best friend til shes a cock hungry whore begging for me to fuck her” he chuckled darkly, even though he was more desperate than you to finally push into the warm heat of your cunt he was gonna make you beg for it.

Tears well up in your eyes threatening to fall as you buck against him in response to his hips grinding against your pussy. “Aww ya’ gonna cry sweets? Go on cry baby, beg for it” he groans out, he knew it was sick but as your tears fall down your cheeks he can feel his balls tighten, heavy and full of cum that's almost ready to burst. Your slick and his precum mix together to soak your panties, the thin fabric turning see through as he hooks it over his cock to keep it pressed between your folds.

“Fuck im gonna cum pretty girl, should cum in these fuckin’ flimsy panties and ruin em’ then stuff them in your mouth as i stuff this pussy” he growls out, his words making your pussy throbbing and your head spin, your head nodding frantically desperate for him to do exactly that. “Yeah baby? Want me to do that?” He taunts, a lopsided smirk glued to his lips as he leans in closer, forehead pressed against yours while your tears continue to fall down your cheeks, your eyes turning red and puffy the longer you cry out in pleasure.

“Please Ed’s yes!~ please need you to cum and i need you to fuck me please” you moan out, a deep stasifaction settled in eddie at your plea and he surges forward to press his lips to yours muffling your whines. Your thighs burning from grinding desperately against him, the last string of Eddie's snaps just as you dig your nails into his biceps and cry out his name into the heated frantic kiss. Hot ropes of cum spurt out and coat the inside of your panties and paint your puffy folds. Not stopping his thrusting Eddie grabs his cock that's still sandwiched under your now ruined panties and guides his still leaking tip to your entrance. Pulling away from your lips, he slaps his hand over your mouth just as he pushes inside you in one sharp hard thrust. A cry of pleasure and maybe some pain falls from your lips, along side a long line of curse muffled agianst his rough hand as he fucks up into the wet heat of your pussy that clenches down on him.

“My pretty bestfriend’s gonna be such a good fuckin’ cock drunk whore, all f’me now, all mine” all you can do in nod in respone, your eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure.

→ a/n: I rushed the end of this so i could get it out today and get back on track with kinktober lmao and somehow its still 2 thousand words and some change lmao but anyway enjoy loves give me feedback and tell me if something is misspelled this wasnt read over as im tired.

3K notes · View notes

aurorawhisperz · 24 days ago

Text

You’re All I Need (r.c.)

contains: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, family drama.

father!rafe x mother!reader

a/n: if this goes well and finds its way into my busy schedule, i’ll turn this into a series! and guess who just hit the two-decade mark.. 🎉🎂

summary: you’re sick, exhausted, and barely holding it together while caring for your daughter, juno, alone. desperate, you call rafe, your ex and her father, for help.

who am i to want you now that you’re leaving?

•

almost a year ago, you and rafe had gotten into a big fight over the summer that left both of you saying things that couldn’t be taken back. by the time he was gone, you thought it was over for good. he stormed off and it felt like the end.

that was the same summer you found out you got knocked up.

when you finally told him about the baby, he swore he wanted to be there, for both of you. but you couldn’t do it. you didn’t his half-assed attempts at playing family. so you told him he could be in the baby’s life, but not yours.

the day your daughter was born, nothing felt real. you named her juno, inspired by a movie you’d watched a hundred times during your pregnancy. you didn’t need rafe there that day. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

and for a while, that worked. until tonight.

the fever is unbearable, heat radiating from your body as you lean against the wall to steady yourself, your legs trembling beneath you.

juno cries loudly, sharp and continuous, her small fists waving in anger from her playpen. juno was only a few months old, but the sounds she made tonight seem louder than anything, or maybe it is the throbbing in your head that is making everything clearer.

you tried to calm her down—rocking her, even her close until your arms felt like they might give out but your fever had drained every ounce of strength out of you.

rafe was in the middle of a business call when his phone rang. he saw your name on the caller ID and immediately sensed that something was off. he excuses himself from the meeting and quickly picks up.

“what’s up?" he asks, his voice filled with concern and curiosity. “do you wanna have juno tonight?”you ask, not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “i don’t don’t know..I’m just..” then you sigh. “she’s been saying ‘dada’ all day and she refuses to eat.”

rafe winced at the loud noise. juno’s cries are clearly heard from the other end. it was clear that you were having a hard time, and he felt concerned for both you and juno.

“yeah, ‘course, i’ll take her.” he replies quickly, then rafe doesn’t waste any time. telling some lame excuse to his clients, gathering his things and completely bailing on the group of people in the meeting room.

the drive to your place felt excruciatingly long, but he kept his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible. rafe offered you and juno a spot at tanneyhill but since you were too petty towards him at that time, you declined.

He rushes to his car, his mind racing with thoughts about you and Juno. The drive to your place feels excruciatingly long, but he keeps his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible.

finally, he reaches your home and practically jumps out of the car, making his way to the door and banging on it urgently.

"(name)? it’s me! open up!" he calls out, the sound of juno’s cries echoing in his ears.

when you open the door, rafe’s eyes slightly widen in worry at your appearance. he could see the paleness in your face and the exhaustion in your eyes. he quickly steps inside, his eyes scanning the room for juno.

"are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "you look absolutely exhausted. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m fine, she’s in my room..” and rafe saw all the tell-tale signs of a fever as he watched you lay down on the couch. he knows you’re not as ‘fine’ as you claim but doesn’t push the issue for now.

a year ago, rafe cameron was chaos incarnate. consumed by his demons, or maybe he was the demon. the outer banks was his kingdom, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, the rafe walking up the stairs to go see your daughter isn’t the same man you walked away from last summer.

decades of being ward cameron’s son don’t just vanish but having a daughter changed rafe in many ways no one thought was possible. he’s more conscious, more quiet, like he’s constantly trying to prove more to himself than to everyone that he was better than the man who raised him.

you’ve seen him with juno, the way he holds her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.

rafe watches you as you lie down on the couch, he frowns when he sees how weak you look.

he turns and heads straight to the room where juno is crying. he walks over to the crib and leans over, gently scooping up the little girl, holding her close to his chest.

"hey, little one," he coos, his voice soft and soothing. "your dad’s here." juno immediately stops crying as rafe picks her up, her small body calming at the familiarity of his touch and voice. rafe rocks her in his arms, gently shushing her and whispering words of comfort.

"there you go," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking her soft hair. "no more cries now, i’ve got you."

he walks back to the living room, holding juno close to his chest as he approaches you on the couch.

"hey," rafe says softly, his tone showing concern. "you really don't look well." he moves closer, gently resting a hand on your forehead to feel your temperature. as he suspected, your skin was hot to the touch.

you look up to see him with juno on his hip. “just take care of her for the night.” and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

rafe saw through the way your eyes struggled to stay open. he saw how sick you truly were, but you're trying so hard to hide it.

"damn it," he mutters, his voice tight with worry and frustration. "baby, you’re in no condition to take care of juno on your own right now. you need to rest, and i can't just leave knowing you're not okay."

rafe reluctantly looks down at juno in his arms, her tiny face looking up at him with wide trusting eyes. he then glances back at you, still lying on the couch, weakness written all over your face.

"i will," he replies firmly. "but first, I'm putting you to bed. you need to rest and get better. then I'll take care of the baby."

he heads up and carefully sets juno on the crib for a moment and then walks downstairs, over to the couch, gently scooping you up in his arms.

“put me down..” you whine. "no" rafe replies firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "you’re burning up with a damn fever. no condition to be worrying about juno right now." he carries you towards your bedroom, his arms holding you securely against his chest. though you protest, he ignores your weak struggles.

once he reaches your bedroom, he gently lays you down on the bed, making sure you're comfortable and settled. he pulls the covers up over you, tucking you in and smoothing back your hair from your forehead.

looking down at you, he can see how exhausted you really are, the fever taking a toll on your body. but his focus quickly shifts to the crib where juno is starting to cry again, her hunger growing stronger.

rafe watches you for a moment, concerned. the feeling of your skin under his touch tells him how high your fever really is. he glances over at the crib, juno’s cries growing louder.

"stay right here," he instructs you firmly. "i’ll feed our baby, then i’m coming back to check on you."

with a sigh, rafe picks juno up from the crib and brings her to the kitchen. he goes through the motions of preparing a bottle for juno, mixing the formula with warm water and shaking it gently until it's ready. he then sits down next to your bed, leaning back against the headboard while he carefully feeds juno the bottle.

his eyes occasionally flick to you, checking on your condition. even though he's busy feeding the baby, he keeps a watchful eye on you, noticing every shiver and every sign of discomfort in your sick state.

after a few minutes, juno is satisfied, her tiny belly full and content. she starts to drift off in rafe’s arms, her small eyes growing heavy.

he carefully passes the baby back to the crib and turns his attention back to you. he returns to your bedside and sits down, his eyes studying your pale and weary face. the sight of you in this state was devouring him from the inside.

your eyes flutter open. “rafe, take her to your house..” then you turn to the side, your back facing him.

rafe looks down at you, gently taking your hand in his own, it broke his heart a little. the fact that you're asking him to take juno now.

"baby," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "you’re still burning up. i can't just leave with juno while you're like this."

it was always like this with rafe. back then, whenever you didn’t want him to care for you, when you pushed him away, built your walls high, and told him you didn’t need him, he’d force it anyway. he had this annoying way of ignoring your protests, showing up when you least expected it with that hot stubborn determination in his eyes.

if you were sick, he’d be at your door with soup, even if he didn’t know how to make it. if you were upset, he’d sit next to you in silence, waiting until you caved. it didn’t matter how hard you tried to convince him you were fine; rafe never listened. he cared in the only way he knew how to care; recklessly, even when you swore you didn’t want him to. that part of him hasn’t changed at all.

“come on, she’s your only priority at the moment.” you try sending him away. his grip on your hand tightened a little at your words. “don't be fucking ridiculous," he retorts, his voice stern. "juno will be fine with me at my house. but you're not. you’re sick and need rest and care. i’m not just gonna abandon you like this. not happening."

“you don’t have to stay anyway… you’re not my husband or boyfriend or anything. you’re just her dad.”

rafe bites down at your words. he knows he’s nothing more to you than juno’s dad, but hearing you say it so bluntly still stings.

“no, i’m not your husband or boyfriend,” he replies, his tone sharper than intended. “but damn it, i still care about you, even if you don’t want me to.”

before you can respond, a shiver racks your body, your fever making you tremble. rafe notices immediately, his frustration giving way to concern.

“jesus, you’re burning up,” he mutters, leaning closer to place the back of his hand on your forehead. “why didn’t you tell me you were this bad?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. standing up, he moves to the kitchen, returning with a cool cloth. he gently presses it against your forehead, his jaw tight with worry.

“you’re in no condition to be alone right now,” he says firmly. “especially not with a fever this high. you need someone to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“take her,” you whisper, your voice weak. “i can take care of myself. you don’t have to do both.”

“damn it, will you just listen to me for once?” rafe snaps, his voice low but laced with irritation. “you’re not fine. you’re barely holding it together, and you want me to just walk away? why are you so goddamn stubborn?”

“i don’t need your help,” you insist, glaring at him weakly. “just watch juno. that’s all.”

rafe exhales sharply, trying to keep his temper in check.

“what’s it gonna take for you to get it through your head that you need support too?” he demands. “i care about both you and juno, you idiot. why can’t you just let me help you when you clearly need it?”

“and why does this concern you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. his eyes narrow at your question, frustration bubbling over again.

“why do you think it concerns me?” he bites out, his voice rough. “you really have to ask that? you think i don’t care about you? you think i only see you as juno’s mom?”

you manage a breathy smirk, too weak to move but pleased nonetheless. “i knew it… son of a bitch.”

“knew what?” he challenges, his tone sharp. “that i actually give a damn about you more than you think? if you know, then why are you still fighting me on this? why are you so damn stubborn about letting me help?”

your smirk stays on your face, though your eyelids are already drooping from exhaustion.

“yeah, i care about you,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “you drive me absolutely fucking insane with how stubborn you are, but i still care. happy now?”

when you don’t respond, too tired to argue anymore, he shakes his head and adjusts the cool cloth on your forehead.

“i’m not leaving,” he says, and there’s no point in arguing. “someone has to take care of you since you clearly can’t be trusted to do it yourself.”

the room feels smaller with him in it, like his presence is closing in on you from all sides. he settles next to you, the mattress dipping slightly, and it’s awkward, too close for comfort, too familiar for what you are now. exes. nothing more.

“you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, your voice scratchy and weak. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t care,” he says, not even looking at you. his voice is calm, steady. “you’re burning up. if i get sick, so what?”

you try to sit up, even though your body feels like it’s made of lead and your head pounds with every slight movement. the fever’s still got you in its grip, but lying there next to rafe feels like too much. too intimate. too close.

but the second you push yourself up, the world tilts. your balance wavers, and before you can steady yourself, your head drops against something solid.

his shoulder.

rafe lets out an annoyed sigh as he watches you struggle to get up, knowing full well that you're too weak to stand on your own.

"damn it, woman," he mutters as you collapse back onto him. "what did I tell you? you’re supposed to be resting, not trying to get up and walk around like a lunatic."

he gently wraps his arm around you, supporting your weakened body against him.

"just stay still and don't move," he whispers. "you’re in no condition to be up and about. you need to rest and recover. you know i’ll take care of you, right? stop trying to do everything on your own."

rafe gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch light and soothing.

your hand finds its way to rafe’s arm, fingers gripping him weakly, as if holding on to him will keep you steady. rafe freezes at the touch, his gaze dropping to where your hand rests against his skin. it’s a simple gesture, but it feels like everything all at once.

he doesn’t pull away. instead, he shifts slightly, his own hand coming up to gently squeeze yours, his grip warm and steady, like he’s anchoring you.

“you’ll get better,” he murmurs. “just give it time and let yourself rest. let me look after you for once, okay?”

you think about the way things used to be. sneaking off when you had the chance, meeting him at the beach under the cover of darkness. stolen kisses, the kind that made your heart race. rafe was always the one who pushed boundaries, the one who made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe looks down at you, the question pulling him out of his thoughts. he takes in your pale face, the tired lines around your eyes, and sighs. part of him wants to say no, to avoid whatever this is turning into, but he knows he can’t leave you like this.

“yeah,” he says finally, his tone gentle but firm. “yeah, i’m sleeping here. someone needs to keep an eye on your stubborn ass so you don’t try to do chores at three in the morning.”

you let out a weak laugh, but it fades quickly. “you shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “it’s—it’s awkward. it’ll just make things weird.”

rafe arches a brow, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a frown. “why are you acting like something’s gonna happen between us?” he counters, his tone light but laced with something deeper. “it’s fine. stop overthinking it and just… lay down. you’re not gonna win this argument.”

before you can protest, he gently guides you back down, his hand steady at your back. the warmth of his body against yours is impossible to ignore, but you’re too drained to fight it.

then, out of nowhere, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. the gesture is so tender it takes your breath away, but you’re too tired to react.

as your eyelids grow heavier, your mind drifts back to the first time rafe said he loved you. it wasn’t in a quiet, romantic moment, it was in the middle of an argument. his voice had been loud, angry and raw, but it was real. rafe always let things spill out when he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

now, as sleep pulls you under, you hear his voice again, quieter this time.

“i miss you,” he whispers.

you don’t respond. maybe you’re too far gone, maybe you don’t want to. but maybe you miss him too.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe #rafe fluff #rafe angst #rafe cameron angst #obx #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #babydaddy!rafe #babydaddy!rafe cameron #angst #fluff #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #obx x reader #outerbanks x reader

2K notes · View notes

miss-floral-thief · 1 year ago

Text

Dunno how anti stress it is , but might as well use it now

#personalice #they always give it twice as much as I need #forearms and neck aside I don’t like having too thick a layer on my face #would rather get a bottle to control the exact amount #but would prolly just get the clearer gelnkind that’ll wash off in the shower #well hopefully it’s fine down the drain at least lol #still weird it’s from a ‘dead sea’ rather than like pink rock salt or so

0 notes

amiableness · 5 months ago

Text

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1260 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist this is part one of this blurb! the next part will be smut! this was supposed to one whole blurb, but unfortunately, i can't stop adding details

A week had passed since that toe-curling, heart stopping kiss with James, yet the memory clung to you, refusing to loosen its grip. Every moment replayed in your mind—the way his breath had mingled with yours, the warmth of his lips, the intoxicating mix of hesitation and desire that had crackled between you. It was impossible to shake, no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind.

But life, as it often does, had intervened. Work had been intense for both of you. His late nights at the office, followed by early morning school drop-offs, and your endless deadlines and marathon meetings had drained you both, leaving little room for anything else—especially the conversation you so desperately needed.

But you were hoping tonight would be different. He’d asked if you could watch Henry, and you’d never refused him before. And you weren’t about to start now.

“Darling?” Henry mumbled, his voice carrying that endearing tone that always made you smile. As he grew older, the nickname was losing its childish lisp, becoming clearer and more deliberate with each passing day. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, knowing it would bring you to tears. And as much as it weighed on you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how James was feeling.

“Yeah, my love?” You hummed, your eyes still fixed on The Rescuers playing on the TV. Henry had insisted on watching it in James’s room because he wanted to “see the mice all big.” At first, you hesitated, unsure if being surrounded by James’s scent was a good idea. But Henry’s excitement was impossible to resist, and you found yourself giving in, despite your nerves.

“When is daddy back?”

“Um,” You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Soon I would think.”

“Oh.” Henry murmurs, shifting closer to cuddle into your side, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp yours. The two of you are nestled under the dark duvet, surrounded by the seven stuffed animals he insisted on bringing along. “I miss him,” he whispers, his voice tinged with quiet sadness.

“I’m sure he misses you too.” You say, offering him a gentle smile. He looks up at you with those unmistakable eyes—his father’s eyes—brown and sweet, carrying the same warmth that James’ have. His dark curls fall messily across his forehead, a mirror of James’s unruly hair. Even the curve of his smile, so innocent yet so familiar, pulls at your heart. It’s impossible not to see James in every feature, every expression, and every little gesture Henry makes.

All you can think about is James.

“Do you miss daddy?” Your lips part, flustered and caught off guard by the question. For a second you debate lying, but you realize there’s no point.

“Yes, I miss him too.” You finally murmur, and Henry’s face lights up with a grin, as if he’s just heard the most wonderful thing. He turns his gaze back to the TV, his attention returning to the movie, while he snuggles his stuffed dinosaur tightly in the hand that isn’t holding yours. The sight of him, so content and secure, tugs at your heart.

The movie has long finished and another has begun, but you’re oblivious to it all. Henry is fast asleep, nestled into your side, and you’re not far behind. Your focus is solely on threading your fingers gently through Henry’s dark curls. The rhythmic motion that had soothed him to sleep now lulls you as well, your eyes growing heavy with each tender stroke.

“Hey.” James murmurs with a warm, inviting smile, immediately drawing your gaze to the doorway where he stands. His white button-up shirt is casually open at the collar, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and as he crosses his arms, the fabric tightens over his biceps, accentuating their firm definition. Your eyes slowly trace down to his forearms, where the veins are subtly prominent. The combination of his relaxed stance and the his snug shirt makes your pulse quicken.

You resist the urge to fan yourself.

You swallow hard, struggling to pull your gaze back up. “Hi,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grins, and you know instantly he’s caught you. “What are you two doing in here?” He asks, walking further into his room, glancing down at the stuffies with a soft chuckle

“Henry missed you,” You say softly. “That and he wanted to watch a movie on the big TV.”

“Of course he did.” James says with a soft, knowing tone. He rounds the bed and settles next the side closest to Henry. With a gentle touch, he brushes a few stray curls from his son’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment. Then, leaning down, he places a tender kiss on Henry’s forehead.

“I’m going to put him to bed.” James says softly, his voice soft as he looks up at you from his kneeling position by the bed. You nod quickly, your words caught in your throat.

You watch as James moves with practiced ease, sliding one hand tenderly behind Henry’s back and slipping the other under his knees. He lifts him carefully, his movements gentle yet confident, raising Henry up and off your chest. As hedoes, Henry lets out a soft whine, his small face scrunching up in a mix of sleepiness and longing. With a tiny, outstretched arm, he reaches toward you, his fingers stretching as far as they can go, desperate to grab you.

“No.” He huffs, his eyes opening the tiniest bit to glance up at his dad.

“It’s bedtime.” James says softly, drawing Henry close to his chest and gently reaching down to grab the stuffed dinosaur Henry clings to.

“No! But I—” Henry protests, wriggling in James’s arms. He twists around, casting a desperate look over his shoulder at you. “I want mummy.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes dart to James, wide with shock. He mirrors your surprise. With one arm securely wrapped around Henry’s squirming body, he struggles to keep his son from wriggling free. Henry’s little face is flushed with frustration, his eyes locked onto yours as he reaches out with tiny, pleading hands, desperate for your comfort.

“Do you want to say goodnight to mum before bed?” James asks quietly, leaning down to speak into Henry’s ear. Henry stops squirming instantly and nods. Gently, James places his son back onto the bed, and Henry immediately flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck. He collides with you with a soft thud, and you hear James mutter about being gentle with you.

“Goodnight,” You say whisper, one arm holding him to you and the other holding the back of his head. “I love you bunches. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Your eyes flicker up to meet James’ who is watching you with an indescribable look.

“Love you.” Henry mumbles, the sleepiness in his voice affecting his pronunciation. Then he leans back and plants a big kiss on your forehead, mimicking the affectionate gesture he’s seen his father make so many times. You laugh quietly and press a kiss on his nose in return. Satisfied, Henry crawls back to his father and lifts his arms. James picks him up, his gaze lingering on you.

“I’ll be right back.” James says softly before heading to Henry’s room. As he walks away, Henry peeks over his shoulder and waves a tiny hand at you.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

part two here!

1K notes · View notes

eccentricwritingbaby · 6 months ago

Text

sex ban

carlos sainz jr x reader

summary - carlos puts down a sex ban in order to try and improve his racing performance. after he caves and realizes he can’t do it, you place your own sex ban to get payback. and it’s killing the both of you.

warnings - smut

masterlist

carlos had been down and out with his performance recently, nervous about his impending unemployment. you knew he was stressing out and pushing himself harder than ever. every morning before the sun was even up he was out running, cycling, in the gym, you name it. you could tell he was losing his energy more than usual because your late night activities were consistent with you being only on top.

you and carlos had a very passionate and constant sex life. it was wild and lustful, a trait that didn’t waiver in your four years together. that was until recently. carlos was clearly drained and tired from his all day activities that the nightly ones had dwindled. while he was stressed, it was usually taken out on you in a pure day through night sexcapade as he fucked you every which way in every room and every position.

your worry grew stronger as the sex stopped sporadically throughout the day and began only at nightime. even then, he was too tired to truly give you his all, ending up with you on top and exerting all the energy. riding him was nice, and you enjoyed the position, but you needed to be really fucked. thrown onto the mattress, handprints and bite marks to clean up the next morning. but all of that came to a worse halt when carlos arrived home in the evening from a day with his trainer.

“hola, mi reina,” he sighs out, letting out a groan as he sat next to you on the couch, muscles clearly about to give out.

“hola, mi amor,” you gently greet, leaning forward to give him a hug and kiss in greeting, “how was your workout?”

“good, i’m sore right now but i should be okay for tomorrow,” he grunts again, attempting to lean back into the couch.

“los, are you sure you’re alright?” you ask again, your eyebrows pulling in concern, “you seem like you’re very sore,”

“no no,” he assures quickly, “i’m fine, just went a little hard today,” he cranes his neck to get a good look at you, the pain in his eyes evident as you stare into them.

“do you need a massage?” you quietly ask, beginning to run your hands down his chest and stomach, implying your intentions for a happy ending.

“actually…” he trails off, eyes now darting everywhere but your own, “we need to talk about that,”

“what?” you ask sharply, removing your hands from his body and sitting up straight to look at him clearer.

“my trainer thinks it’s a good idea to not have sex right now,” he lets out quickly, averting your gaze again.

“i’m sorry, what?” confusion is laced in your tone as you attempt to process what he just told you.

“he thinks that i need to save that energy, conserve it for races and training,” carlos now is bold enough to meet your gaze, regretting it instantly under your sharp stare.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you shake out with a laugh.

“mi amor, don’t be upset, please,” carlos pleads to you, “it will only be for a few months, until i get a contract for next year-,”

“MONTHS?!” your voice reaching a higher octave in surprise, “are you fucking kidding me, carlos?”

“mi amor-”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head and now standing up from your position on the couch, “you don’t get to ‘mi amor’ me right now, this affects both of us you know,”

“this is my career, y/n,” he lets out in a whisper, his insecurities on full display.

“and this is our relationship, carlos,” you bite back quickly, “i hope you’re comfy on that couch, you’ll be sleeping there tonight,” with your final statement, you get up and walk upstairs to your bedroom, ready to head to sleep and hope his stupidity was all a dream.

“it’s really been two weeks?” alexandra asks you as you both take a break from the bustle that was the ferrari garage during race weekend. you had already told her about the ‘ban’ last week at the other grand prix to which she was shocked and appalled that you were still standing. you and carlos fought for the first two days about it before you had come to terms with your situation. you weren’t happy about it. but you had come to terms with it.

“two very long weeks,” you emphasize to her as you both begin your walk from the hospitality center back to the garage.

“i don’t know how you’re doing it,” she laughs, “if charles ever placed that i’d be done,”

“my vibrator and i have gotten really close,” you joke with a smile, “but really i understand carlos’ motivations, he’s freaking out about next year,”

“i’m sure,” alexandra nods in agreement, “it sucks that you have to deal with it too, though,”

“the things we do for love,” you laugh with her again. as you both continue to walk and talk about your predicament, two ferrari drivers were in the garage talking about the same thing.

“what is wrong with you?” charles asks your boyfriend, still in disbelief that he has been holding it out for two weeks.

“i don’t know,” carlos laughs, “but it’s not working, i want to break it tonight,” he confesses to his teammate.

“oh she’s going to be happy, i’m sure,”

“i hope,” carlos sighs, “she was pretty upset when i brought it up in the first place,”

“no shit,” charles scoffs, “i’d be pissed if alex put down a sex ban,”

“we’ve been fine since, she hasn’t been holding a grudge or anything,” carlos shrugs.

“well good luck,” charles gives carlos a quick and firm pat on the shoulder, “you might need it,” he laughs as he walks away, leaving carlos to question the past few weeks quickly. just as he starts debating your feelings, he spots you and alex walking towards the garage, and he begins to sport his large smile.

“hola, mi reina,” he shouts towards you, “come here,” he yells again, beckoning you closer to his hidden spot in the corner of the garage.

“hi, baby,” you reply once you’ve reached him, his arm coming up to pull you into his body for a hug, “how’s it going?”

“good, i have to get in the car in a few,” carlos leans down to plant a few kisses to your lips, a warmth growing in your lower abdomen as he continues to roam your body with his hands, “how was alex?”

“good,” you reply, chasing his lips with yours to get some sort of relief, your own arms beginning to roam his body as well, “how’s the car feel?”

“not as good as you will tonight, cariño,” he speaks into your mouth as you both continue your pursuit of each others mouths.

“what do you mean, amor?” you ask in your sunken tone, too caught up in the feeling of his lips and hands on you to catch what he was implying.

“i mean tonight,” he moves his head to begin kissing down your neck before continuing, “the ban lifts,” he sighs out.

“what?” you ask sharply, putting space between your bodies quickly in order to process the information.

“we’re having sex tonight, amor. i can’t put it more simple than that,” he laughs as his nerves begin to rise, scared of your harsh reaction.

“no, we’re not,” you direct, now moving further away from him, his arms itching forward to have you in his hold.

“yes, we are, cariño,” he replies, pulling you into him yet again.

“no,” you give him a cross look, stopping his actions from going further, “we’re. not,”

“why?”

“i believe you placed this ban in order to ‘train better’ and you weren’t going to lift it until you had a spot for next year?”

“mi reina, i can’t do this,” he groans in frustration, “i need you,”

“you should’ve thought about that before you started this stupid thing,” you laugh, tapping his cheek quickly before turning around to leave, “karma, my love, karma,” you leave quickly, but not before hearing a long groan come from your boyfriend, giving you a giggle as you disappear.

“y/n?” carlos calls out into the hotel room. you had left the track after the race as carlos finished up with the media, giving him a kiss goodbye and assuring him that tonight nothing would happen. he had thrown a small tantrum to charles who just laughed at his behavior, giving him a stern ‘i told you so’. now back at the hotel, you had decided to give carlos some payback. after he had withheld sex, he still was coming home from his training, hot and sweaty. tempting you beyond belief. he needed to feel what you felt. so here you were, all dressed up in your best red lingerie set, where nothing would happen.

“in here!” you call out from the bathroom. hearing his footsteps grow closer, you giggle for a second to yourself before making eye contact with him through the mirror.

“cariño…” he trails off, raking your body with his eyes, lust overtaking his complexion within seconds. you could tell by the tent forming in his pants these were a long two weeks for him as well.

“what?” you feign innocence with your question, widening your eyes and relishing in the effect you had on your boyfriend, four years later.

“you know what,” he sighs out, making strides to get closer to you, but you just take the same length of strides backwards, moving away from him.

“i thought i made it pretty clear earlier, the sex ban has not been lifted,” you shake a finger at him, starting to move forward in order to push past him and out of the bathroom. his hands stop you in your attempt to slide past.

“y/n, please,” carlos tries, squeezing your hips to further his point of urgency, “you’re killing me,”

“now you know how i felt these past two weeks,” you lean in closer to really set him off with your next word whispered in his ear, “...papi,”

a loud groan escapes his lips as he squeezes your hips tighter, “mi amor,” he starts, settling his lips between yours, kissing you with the passion you had been needing the past two weeks.

“carlos,” you squeak out, separating the two of you, “i’m tired-”

“baby-”

“this is what you wanted, remember?” you eye him pointedly, laughing to yourself at his pained expression. the same one you sported everytime you got into bed with him for another sexless night.

“cariño, this isn’t what i want,” he pushes, trying to grasp you back into his hold as you push away from him.

“it’s what you asked for,” you say to him as you climb into the bed, raising your ass in the right direction to catch his attention.

“fuck, amor,” he sighs, staring at you shamelessly, basking in the moment of finally being able to appreciate your body after two long weeks, “you’ll be the death of me,”

“too bad you had to go and listen to your trainer instead of your girlfriend,” you spit back quickly, getting comfortable in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face before moving to sit on the end of the bed by your feet, “what will it take for you to forgive me?”

“i don’t know,” you fake ponder, “maybe in two weeks i’ll let you know,” you scoff out, winking at him before turning around in bed and closing your eyes. you hear a quiet grunt of disapproval before he heads to the bathroom in order to ready himself for bed as well. you hear the shower turn on, it’s gotta be ice cold, you think with a laugh, before drifting into sleep.

“i’m telling you alex,” you giggle into your coffee the next weekend in the hospitality section, “his face has been priceless,”

“i can’t believe you’re doing this to him,” she laughs along with you, “he told charles that he has been dying,”

“that’s exactly what i was going for,” you confess with a chuckle, “i’m running out of lingerie soon, so i think i’ll switch to just totally naked, that’ll really throw him off,” alexandra just keeps laughing at your game, and encouraging you as you tell her more ideas.

meanwhile in the garage, carlos is beyond on edge and charles knows exactly why.

“i told you so,” charles sing-songs as he passes by his teammate.

“shut the fuck up, mate,” carlos shakes off, running his hand through his messy hair for the hundredth time, “this is-”

“killing you, i know,” charles laughs again, “just apologize to her, grand gesture,” he attempts to provide a solution to his friend.

“i’ve tried that,” he shrugs, “i’ve bought her bags, shoes, dinners, and nothing,”

“wow,” charles eyes widen in surprise, “are you sure the sex is good for her?”

“shut. up. charles,” carlos says through gritted teeth, “she’s just stubborn, wants me to wait the two weeks like i made her do,”

“actually that’s pretty fair-” charles begins, but stops abruptly as carlos’ left shoe comes hurling at his head, “hey! i’m not the one who gave you the sex ban! don’t hurt me!” he cries out in laughter, running away quickly before the right shoe has a chance to be removed.

the two weeks were up and you were burning. you needed carlos biblically in every way you could possibly imagine. however, the need to watch him squirm one last time tempted you completely. so there you stood - naked, oiled up, hair done, heels on - ready for carlos.

“hola, y/n, i’m home!” carlos calls throughout your shared home as he enters.

“i’m in the bedroom!” you call back, giddy with excitement as you hear his footsteps approaching.

“oh, oh mi reina,” carlos stutters, stopping dead in his tracks as he tracks your body with his eyes.

“hola, papi,” you seductively whisper, watching his eyes turn from their beautiful caramel brown to a lustful black.

“ohhh,” he lets out in a groan, immediately dropping down to his knees, and crawling forward to be at your feet. just as he approaches, you push your heel into his shoulder, stopping him from moving closer, “mi amor…,” he sighs in a plea, moving his lips to meet your ankle, slowly trailing them up and kissing your legs in admiration.

“carlos,” you warn as he inches closer to your heat, “i think there’s one more day on the ban,” his eyes snap up to meet yours, widening in hope for you to forget it already.

“mi reina, please,” he whines, his lips furthering their pursuit on your thigh, “i’ll do anything, anything,”

“anything?” you ask with a smirk, an eyebrow cocked in amusement at his desperation.

“anything,” he breathes out, “absolutely anything,”

“no more sex bans,” you start, your boyfriend already nodding his head in agreement, “you fuck me everynight,” you keep going, carlos still shaking his head as his lips don’t stop their attack on your leg, “and you fuck me good tonight, papi,” you finish, him already climbing up your leg in urgency to reach the place he needed once given the green light.

his lips meet yours after leaving a trail on your entire body, you hum and moan into the kiss as his hand climbs up your body and begins to grip your neck. pushing your head to the side, his lips migrate to your neck, biting and sucking in the places he knows will keep pretty sounds leaving your mouth.

“mm,” he grunts, pushing his thigh in between your legs, leading you to let out another silky moan and grind down onto his jeans, “y/n,” he chokes out, “on the bed,” he directs. you eagerly move away from him and slide onto the bed. as you start to remove your heels, he pulls your hand away quickly, “leave them on,” he sighs out as you just smirk towards him.

with the confidence of his desire for you warming your insides, you pull on the collar of his shirt, ultimately forcing him on top of you and leading his lips back to yours, he slips a moan out at your boldness. he stops only for the removal of his shirt before his lips come crashing to yours once again.

he slides his hand down your body, giving your nipple a tight pinch on his way before meeting his desired destination. once his hand cups your heat, your moan echoed the walls as you hadn’t felt anything but your toys for a month. and they were not nearly comparable to your boyfriend.

“i’ve barely touched you, amor,” he chuckles out between your kisses.

“shut up,” you bite back, “it’s been a month,”

“i know,” he breathes, lips moving back to your neck, him relishing in the sound of your sweet moans as his fingers get to work, “so wet for me, reina,”

“only for you, papi,” you choke out in between your moans. he slips his digits up and down your folds a few times, gathering your wetness on his fingers before slowly, too slowly, entering you. he drowns out your moans with his lips on yours, pumping his fingers faster as his thumb comes up to rub your sensitive bud.

“need you, papi,” you moan out, “need you inside of me,”

“i know, mi amor, i know,” he shushes you a little bit, kissing you lightly as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, “i want to savor you,”

“do i need to tell you how long it’s been again?” you desperately moan, arching your back into him as he hits your spot. carlos moans along with you, reveling in your need for him and how easily he can get you undone.

“no need for that, amor,” he shakes off with a laugh. pulling his fingers out of you, they meet his mouth as he tastes the sweetness of you he had missed for weeks. he lets out a guttural moan, and he begins to remove his pants. taking them off in one swift motion, his length slaps up to meet his stomach as you attempt to not drool at the picture in front of you. scrambling towards your boyfriend, you start to make a motion in order to give him the same attention he gave you, ready to be on your knees and ready for him. only for his hands to grab your waist, tossing you backwards onto the bed.

“do i need to remind you how long it’s been?” he asks you, mocking your question from earlier. you sit up on your forearms, watching as he crawls across the bed to be on top of you, meeting your lips in a kiss. you get so caught up in the kiss, carlos’ movements to enter you were lost as your brain fogged in lust.

“are you ready, mi reina?” he quietly asks, rubbing his length in between your folds.

“si, papi,” you seductively eye him after your answer, his eyes rolling back as he moves forward to kiss you again. as he enters inside of you, both of your moans paint the walls of your bedroom.

“fuck, y/n-”

“aye, carlos-”

his pattern begins slow, the movements beginning to warm you up as you stretch to fit him perfectly. his lips attack your neck as your hands pull on his back, you scratching, him biting. both of you moaning in the bliss you had been missing for weeks.

“oh, oh baby,” he breathes, movements quickening as he gains his rhythm. carlos pulls back slightly from you, moving an arm next to your head in order to hold himself up as he pounds into you harder. your back involuntarily arches, pushing your breasts to meet his chest, sweat mixing together as well as your moans.

“mi-mi amor,” he stutters out, and you recognize immediately what he’s about to tell you, “i know it’s soon but-”

“i know, carlos, me too,” you breathe out, the warmth in your tummy heating up as you feel your aching ready to be released.

“with me, baby, with me,” he grunts out, his pace now sloppy as he attempts to bring you towards your high with him.

“mhm,” was all you could let out, your nails now digging further into his back, “‘m close,”

“c’mon, mi reina,” he stutters out, his high coming quick, “now, baby,” he breathes out in haste. you both collapse into each other, a sweaty pile of moans and kisses as you begin to come down from your high.

as you both lay there, carlos still inside you, he kisses your forehead and starts moving some of your hair away from your face. you finally kick off your heels and kiss carlos in between catching your breath.

“you do know we need to go again, right?” you laugh out through the kisses.

“oh we’re going all night, y/n,” carlos reassures you, kissing you again.

“good,” you giggle, “and never again will this happen,”

“never, mi amor, never,”

2K notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 12 days ago

Text

Distracting Birb! Part 28

*throws this and runs* Masterpost

“So what did you find out?” Tim asked as he spun around. He was at the computer, of course, and looked most of the way to villainy backlit by the large screens.

(Dick loved his little brother, but villainy really wouldn’t be the most surprising outcome for Tim.)

“What makes you think we found anything?” Jason answered, just to be impertinent.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t have called us all down to the Cave if you didn’t have anything.”

Jason scoffed. “You underestimate how willing I am to waste your time.”

“Boys,” Cass said calmly, ending the growing argument with just that word.

“Duke still out on patrol?” Dick asked as a distraction.

Tim glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “On his way back. He’ll be here in fifteenish.”

Best not to wait in case Danny woke, Dick decided. They’d be sure to fill him in. “Okay. Well, Danny was not lying, he has a lot of plants.”

“Dick managed to turn on the watering system. We’re all very proud of him,” Jason said flatly.

The siblings all golf clapped, which Dick took a dramatic bow to. “Thank you, thank you. Otherwise a pretty normal apartment. Comfortable, a little nerdy, and not fussy.”

Jason nodded. “There’s a hero—not sure if someone real or fictional—that we saw a few times. Someone called Phantom.”

Obliging, Dick sent the photo of the mug from the bathroom up onto one of the screens. Tim spun back to the computer and started searching.

“There were also a lot of medication in his cabinet; vitamins and several prescriptions also. Some of them had weird labels.”

“Damn, Dick, you couldn’t have gotten a clearer photo?” Tim asked as he squinted at the new set of images.

“As much as I hate to defend Dick,” Jason said as he added photos of his own to the screen, ‘that is a clear photo. Danny was writing in the same language along with English in a bedside notebook of his.”

“Are you in need of glasses, Drake?” Damian asked as he looked from the photos to Tim with a judgmental brow raised.

Tim flicked him off, which Dick considered telling Tim off for (Damian had enough bad habits), but was actually curious about this. “No. The text looks glitched out.’

“No,” Damian said slowly and with a scowl, “it is clear. Odd, but clear.”

“Cass?” Dick asked.

She moved a step closer to the television, head tilted. There was a long, quiet moment before she lifted her hand a gave a so-so motion.

Tim looked from her, to Damian, to the screens. “…Dick?”

“So that’s the thing, it looks wrong to me too. If I look at it too long it’s like it gives me a headache. Jason can read it though.”

Jason snorted. “That’s taking it a bit far. I feel like I should be able to read it. I can get a word here or there maybe.”

“Like it whispers,” Damian said, the quiet words oddly poetic for the youngest of them.

“…yeah, like it whispers,” Jason agreed, just as softly.

“Right, okay. Freaky language that only some of us can even see, much less read, and those who can have spent a lot of time in or around the league,” Tim said. “How concerned do we need to be able this? To we need to be concerned about this? I feel like we need to be concerned about this.”

None of them had an easy answer for Tim.

All of them were grateful for the roar of Duke’s bike interrupting the conversation as he pulled into the cave.

“What are you all looking some grim about?” Duke asked. He yanked his helmet off and took a deep breath, like he hadn’t been able to breath in hours.

It was a feeling they all got. Even a good patrol was draining and Duke had been actively on follow up over what had gone down today with the Mad Hatter. Dick tossed a towel Duke’s way and went to grab a drink for the other from the food safe fridge.

“Stuff from Danny’s place. Take a look at the screen,” Jason said.

“Danny? I thought that we liked the guy,” Duke said, accepting the drink with a grateful thank you. He drained half of it his the way to the screens. “Shit, that’s a lot of meds.”

“Take a closer look,” Jason said, though not unkindly.

Duke stepped closer to the screen.

And went alarmingly still.

Dick resisted the instinctual urge to reach out and grab him. “Duke?”

Duke gave an answering hum and turned his head, just slightly, towards Dick. His eyes never left the screen. Dick wasn’t sure if Duke had really heard him. It was Jason who ended up acting, ended up listening to that instinct. He stepped between Duke and the screen, blocking their newest brother’s view. Duke sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“What?”

“Hey, come on, have a seat,” Jason said and guided Duke backwards into one of the chairs at the table.

Tim swiftly cleared the photos from the screen.

Duke shook his head. “Sorry, man, I don’t know what… that, huh. What did those look like to you all?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with different levels of medication in them,” Tim replied calmly. “Dick and I can’t read what’s printed on them. Damian, Jason, and maybe Cass can a little which means it might be League writing of some sort.”

Dick leaned against the table. “What did you see, Duke?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with something in them. Like whatever it was my powers were weird about it. I’d have to see them in person to know anything about why, I guess, but they were… I don’t know. But whatever that stuff was I don’t think it’s League because I don’t think it’s human. I don’t think it’s earthly.”

“Well, fuck,” Dick said with a sigh.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

#there's no looming evil #what are you talking about #Im innocent #everyone will be fine #🙂#(never trust the slight smile emoji)#dp x dc #birdritch #danny/bruce

845 notes · View notes

b00tyliciousbabe · 8 days ago

Text

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙

oddballs and eggnog

goofybf! x THICC male reader

summary: love me a nerdy man that’s got a lil spice to him. plus a lil xmas lore!

notes: HI BEAUTIFULS! merry xmas to those who celebrate. it’s been a while fr, my bad dawgs uni work has been ploughing my ass so violently im reconsidering if a degree is even for me. but as a masochistic bottom, i had to channel my energy elsewhere; thus, this fic is just me showing the variety of my tastes as the true indecisive femboy that i am. show me a cute guy and i will plan my whole life with him. i need to get a grip.

originally, i canonically wrote this character with ginger hair (y’all know i fold for redheads), but the more i kept writing, the clearer it became to me that dark brown hair/black aligned with my OWN understanding of him. it’s all fiction anyways so feel free to adapt body types as you see fit. enjoy my lovelies 🎀

album rec: flo - access all areas. these girlies have my heart. been following them since about 2022 and they are genuinely my fave artists, cannot wait for flo world domination.

you guys had mutual acquaintances for a couple years, but it wasn’t until the two of you got to university that your friendship really blossomed. the engineering student didn’t have the best luck when it came to relationships; in fact, people would only toy with his emotions when they wanted something from him, so he learnt to put up a wall of cynicism.

these barriers he had fortified for his own protection made him quite a reserved guy. never cruel or nasty. just quiet. sure, he wasn’t a complete loner, he had a few VERY close bros who he’d let in, but it was clear that in this silence, he was safe.

he’s super handsy, whether that means pulling you on his lap, be it at parties or when he’s gaming, or placing his hands in your back pocket when y’all walk to class, he just wants to hold you. probably got something to do with the fact that he needs to make sure you’re real and not the angel he believes you to be. you love your needy bf and his craving for physical touch.

this is kinda juxtaposed by how flustered he gets by your words. the minute you whisper in his ear, he could cum in his jeans on the spot. he gets so red when you compliment him which makes him squeeze you tighter.

he wasn’t a virgin before meeting you, he’d had a few hookups but nothing sexual with someone he genuinely cared about. as a result, it made sense why he was very nervous when it came to your first time together.

to relax him, you decided to give him a blowjob to ease the tension and allow him to cum quick in the first round so he’d last longer during anal. sat back on the edge of his bed, he wore a vest and baggy joggers, awaiting your fingers to unleash his raging boner. you knelt down and flashed a comforting smile to him, which he failed to mirror perfectly.

‘we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready to. I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.’ you said concerned, stroking his abs, clear to you that he was stressing.

‘nah baby, i want this so bad. it’s just gotta be really special because you’re really special to me.’ he said gripping your chin.

‘i love you, y/n. like a lot.’

‘i know that you weirdo, i love you too, you mean so much to me.’

‘now, lemme show you how much.’ you said coyly, to which he was more than happy to oblige.

when i tell you, your man eats so well that his cum is literally like milk. the typa white, thick, pearly cum that you would swallow every drop of, because it truly is just disrespectful not to. the first time he came was a surprise for the two of you. he didn’t realise how much he loved seeing his cum all over your face, decorating your juicy, wet lips. the head you gave him was so good, he napped for 2 hours straight after you drained him. but that deffo changed him for the better.

his hobbies include boxing and gaming. he’s such a nerd he makes his own demo projects, playing with his classmates. you always chastise him for not making his hobby a lucrative endeavour - your boy’s got a talent and he doesn’t seem to know it. equally, he loves his legos and comics just as much as he enjoys coding, making you the prettiest bouquet of lego flowers for your first date. after spending some time walking, he took you back to his place and y’all spent the entire night binging his favourite marvel and dc films.

one time it was his birthday and you thought it be a good idea to make a short graphic novel of the journey of your relationship - ending steamily with you pregnant.

‘baby, i love this so much! who knew how sexy you’d look with a baby bump?’ ‘anything can happen in the multiverse’ you laugh, as he kissed your jaw.

‘I’m gonna fuck you so good tonight.’

as we have established, he’s far from experienced. he holds your hand through missionary always because it makes him feel safe. makes so many jokes during it as a way to deflect. lowkey loves being choked. you took the lead most of the time before, using him as a pole and ride the shit out of him.

but, that night he ploughed you with a sense of purpose, so deep and mercilessly that your insides were moulded into an incubator for any hypothetical foetus he would soon impregnate you with. after, he laid curled up next to you, caressing the belly that he had now filled with

‘i hate biology sometimes,’ he says breathlessly. ’you’d look so good with our lil baby growing inside your belly.’

your boyfriend is the goofiest mf ever; playing practical jokes on all his friends and fulfilling his role as your comedian. definitely one of your favourite characteristics of his.

his sleeper build is INSANE. he might appear tall and lanky, but he is far from it. bench pressing more than 100 kilos with one arm - the brudda is basically superman. he’s what you’d get if clark kent had ginger hair, and was a huge weirdo.

though he cannot dance to save his life. he used to be very awkward and shy, but the minute them clothes are off and you two are in the sheets? stroke game is giving pornstar baby girl lemme tell you! ever since your first time, it’s like you awaken the sexual drive in him that’s been missing all his life. this, paired for his complete adoration for you makes him a lethal weapon in bed - quite literally, your man casually packs an 8 inch pussy destroyer with veins that massage and pummel your gummy walls so well.

after this moment he became the BIGGEST TEASE. slapping his dick all over your face. as you chase his dick like a good puppy, he giggles at how desperate you are. ‘sweet Jesus you feel good’. ‘holy shit’. ‘don’t act like you don’t love it.’ painting hickeys all over your neck . he loves when ppl ask you because of how flustered you get, makes him want to mark you more. he’s no longer shy to the world and he thanks you everyday for that. living to call you princess - in both a mocking and endearing tone, he loved toying with your nipples because you’re his lil doll. in cowgirl he will play with them whilst jerking you off to get you to cum all over his abs. and! he LOVES eating ass - like almost obsessively, as if he’s high of your pussy.

he smells so good. so good. you always act like a bitch in heat whenever he steps out of the shower with a towel skimpily wrapped around his adonis belt.

your bf loves playing with his cum and using his dick as a paintbrush to decorate your belly, butt, and face. ‘my masterpiece’ + ‘my muse’ he professes. somehow managing to entrance you to always stroke his dick during makeout sessions. he brings his hands to play with your hair, knowing that his dick is in extremely good hands with you - literally. always pulling you off of his dick because he is really sensitive and ur mouth is a fucking weapon, but will show you that he’s the boss and could leave you bedridden for a couple days after a good fuck.

things he would say drunk off of eggnog:

‘i would die a happy man beneath those beautiful cheeks of yours’

‘put ur hole on my North Pole.’

‘ay, you Don’t get to call me handsome unless you’re gonna HANDsome of those fat cheeks of yours to my lap.’

‘come on, I’ve been a good boy, Santa says gimme some of that pussy you know I love so much.’

‘that ass of yours, come here lemme unwrap it.’

this man has you written into his destiny. he always dreamed of raising a son and dressing him up in the flyest outfits and with you, that desire became reality. you too truly are a match made in heaven.

taglist:

@ghostking4m

@gayaristocrat

@lysanderplume

@acoustickitten

#gay #bottom male reader #smut #gay male #gay reader #male bottom #male x male #gay love #gay smut #male bottom reader #male reader #mxm #m4m #gay men #mlm #mlm yearning

482 notes · View notes

godsfavdarling · 2 months ago

Text

waiting for the day to end (pt.1)

part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor.

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water.

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present.

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different.

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk.

You knew all this and tried to stay rational.

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached.

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him!

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants.

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate.

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state.

Now he sees.

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter.

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for.

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now.

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps.

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles.

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door.

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers.

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize.

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight.

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours.

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet.

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #tw: alcholism

830 notes · View notes

ink-perfect · 1 month ago

Text

short n sweet ⋆. @chibinasuu

you weren’t nosy.

not usually, anyway.

but as you passed the galley of the thousand sunny on your way to grab a drink, the sound of sanji’s voice brought your steps to a halt. something about his tone—eerily calm, stripped of its usual flirtatious cadence—became a mystery so intriguing you just had to put your ear to the door.

“i’ve been wanting to say this for a while…” his voice was low, a murmur wrapped in something you couldn’t quite identify, yet it slipped under your skin with ease. an involuntary shiver made its way down your spine, as though he were right behind you, leaning in to breathe them directly into your ear.

but of course, he wasn’t. and what you were doing right now was wrong, on so many levels.

you made the move to walk away as his muffled words went on, but you soon realised you just couldn’t. you almost felt magnetised, your questions pulling you in despite every other rational thought running through your head.

cause after all, what was the saying? curiosity only killed that one cat?

something like that, yeah.

so, you slowly cracked the door open just enough to sneak a peek. the view wasn’t perfect—sanji’s back was to you, his lean frame managing to block whoever he might be talking to. still, the scene in front of you told its own story. one hand gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. his shoulders were slightly hunched, carrying that telltale tension you’d come to recognise as his overthinking posture.

man, what could possibly have him so worked up?

“you just…mean so much to me,” he spoke, voice clearer and softer than you’d ever heard it. slowly, he raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a measured breath. “and i can’t hold this in any longer.”

oh shit.

was sanji confessing?

the thought sent a shooting pain right through your chest. you threw away all subtleties, craning your neck in every angle to get a better vantage point as your mind raced at a mile a minute. who could he possibly be talking to that meant “so much” to him…

not that you were jealous or anything.

“i think about you all the time.” he continued, each word coated with a sweetness that could very well make sugar seem bitter in comparison. “the way you bring people together, the way you laugh at all my jokes. i…i feel as if the whole world slows down when you’re around.”

i mean, it was sanji. he flirted with everyone, right? it was his thing. surely this was just one of those times, and it really wasn’t that deep. surely.

“and honestly? i think i might…” he trailed off. your eyes darted back and forth in the sliver of view you had, heart pounding as if it was silently urging, no begging, him to continue.

“...i think i might love you.”

scratch that.

it was that deep.

sanji was in love.

the idea hit harder than it should have. you’d spent so long brushing off his antics, telling yourself his charm was everyone’s to share. but now that he wasn’t performing, the vulnerable edge to his voice made it clear: whoever he was talking to truly mattered to him like no other. and the fact that it wasn’t you upset you a lot more than you’d thought.

the ache in your chest twisted into something unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, you fully pushed the door open, stepping into the room. sanji whipped around, startled, his golden hair slightly falling into his eyes as he made way for you to see who he had been speaking to. and as you followed your line of sight, your gaze fell to…

a steaming pot of soup?

you blinked. “sanji, are you…confessing to soup?”

the colour drained from his face before rushing back tenfold. “uh, love...just how long have you been listening?!”

“long enough,” you replied, stepping into the room as your shoulders lightened with something close to relief. you then crossed your arms, trying not to grin too big. “so… is it a mutual thing, or do you think soup prefers to keep it professional?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his cheeks blazing. “i wasn’t confessing to the soup, okay? i was just…practicing.”

you blinked, the tension in your chest loosening just enough to let out a shaky laugh. “practicing?” you repeated, your lips curling into a teasing smile despite the confusion still muddling your thoughts. “for what, exactly?”

sanji shifted, his posture tense but uncertain, vulnerability radiating from him in waves. his hand moved to the back of his neck, ruffling his golden locks in yet another rare gesture of nervousness you recognised. the confident chef, always so suave, now looked almost fragile under the weight of his own words.

“for you,” he admitted at last, the words barely above a whisper.

time seemed to stop, the weight of his confession crashing into you like a tidal wave. “me?” you managed to get out, voice trembling.

“yes, you,” he repeated, stronger this time, his gaze locking into yours. his blue eyes were raw, unguarded, brimming with emotion that made it impossible to look away. “i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, you don’t even know.”

his words hung in the air between you, your chest tightening as you thought about his confession over and over.

sanji had been practicing. for you.

slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer, making sanji's eyes widen with a mix of nerves and intrigue. before he could speak, however, you brought your hands to his face, fingers softly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath hitched as you tilted his head, shifting his gaze from the soup up close to you.

“now,” you murmured, voice low and steady, your smirk curling into something softer, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

masterlist

394 notes · View notes

revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

absolutely in love with your starscream series! i feel like you're one of the only people who write him like he's actually HIM, you actually give him his internal struggles and fears instead of just making him a big jerk "just because he can be" like everyone else does for some reason... can't wait to see what comes next in the story!!!

I’m trying my best to figure out their characters and motivations

Everything is Alright Pt 44

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Listening to the soft chatter of you and his cassettes as he works, Soundwave cycles through security feeds. For the most part, it’s a monotonous job aside from the occasional brawls between the ranks. But with both factions desperate for energon, neither side is willing to launch an attack just yet, locked in a stalemate while Autobots and Decepticons both hunt for viable mines. Standing when he catches a flicker of a thought, he bends to offer his hand. Watches Frenzy and Rumble exchange a look as you wrap your arms around yourself and come to him without hesitation. Trusting him. Those tumultuous thoughts ringing clearer through him when you climb into his hand so he can lift you to his desk. And nudge a box toward you. “Fuel, little one.” Reluctantly losing your warmth as you step onto the desk, servos flexing with the urge to reach for you.

• Glancing up at him, warmth spreading through you at that affectionate tone, it’s almost like he can read your mind some times. Just responding to things you want or need before you can even think to ask. Because the box appears to be full of food. Hungry, but knowing all too well from Starscream that human food is confusing at best for Cybertronians, you look inside. The box is full of bottles of sriracha, barbecue sauces, dry rice, cans of soup, and bags of jerky. Well, it’s something different from the junk food Starscream keeps giving you and the dwindling supply of dried and canned food he’d taken from your house. And he’d thought of you, went out just to find things you needed because he wanted to. Tearing into the jerky, you feel him run a servo down your spine and try not to think about that little fantasy or your very messed up, tangled feelings for both of them. “Unsatisfactory?” He inquiries, nudging the box again with a servo as you chew.

• It would be easier if he could pick up more than emotions and brief flurries of images from you, but your organic thoughts are just too quick, too chaotic to untangle. You glance up at him as his servos linger on your spine to strengthen that connection between you. Picking up on your amusement at his question, a lick of heat that warms him as your mind circles back to that fantasy and you tear your gaze away suddenly, but not before that need can sink into him, into his spark with a delicious tension. “The soup and rice needs to be cooked,” you say finally, leaning back into his touch, distracting him from the images he’d accidentally taken from Starscream. Those fantasies of his tangling with the way you crave his touch and needing more. Spinning him tight with a hunger so ferocious it’s almost unnerving.

• The feel of those warm servos moving lazily against your back slowly drains every worry away. Like Star, you feel safe with him. Unlike Starscream, you have no idea what Soundwave really wants from you. What you want? Laughably unattainable. “Cooked,” he echoes with a soft rumbling noise, a servo sliding up the side of your neck in a gentle slide. Where Starscream is lonely even if he’ll never admit it, Soundwave has his cassettes. And maybe it’s as simple as that. You’re not that much smaller than they are, so maybe you’re just another cassette for him to care for. You have no idea, but you like his quiet presence. Leaning into his touch, you look up when the door opens, feeling Soundwave stiffen before making what sounds suspiciously like a soft growl as Starscream lets himself into Soundwave’s quarters.

• Wings stiffly up and trembling with barely leashed anger, Starscream zeroes in on you sitting on Soundwave’s desk, the communication officer’s servos stroking down your spine as he turns to glare. Soundwave’s touch is possessive, servos lingering on you, fueling his own aggression. He’s aware of the cassettes on edge at him invading their space, too. Of Soundwave’s stiff posture. And that makes him bare his denta in a smirk, because Soundwave clearly doesn’t like it when it happens to him. You at least smile for him, twisting to look at him as Soundwave curls his servos around you in a silent claim. The other mech watching as Starscream moves to deliberately sit on Soundwave’s berth, his wings flaring out in challenge. He might not be able to take you back without risking Soundwave going to Megatron, but he can at least protect you. Look after you and ensure you aren’t harmed. Though, truth be told, he doubts Soundwave would hurt you. He’s just a bit too interested in you, something that twists about Starscream’s spark, because you’re his. And antagonizing the other mech? Just a bonus.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #idw soundwave #idw starscream #soundwave x reader

263 notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 19 days ago

Text

Confusion - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

summary : You are again confused by the situation, your grandfather's last words and your loyalty to your mother are questioned again. But you remember your mother's actions and you choose to follow your heart.

You sat beside your grandsire, King Viserys, as he lay in his grand yet dimly lit chamber. The air smelled faintly of herbs and burning incense, meant to ease his breathing. His face was pale, his features sunken, but there was still a quiet strength in him despite the toll the sickness had taken. The soft crackling of the hearth was the only other sound in the room.

It had been a week since your wedding to Aemond, and while life around you moved on, something within you felt frozen in place. Tonight, you felt the urge to be here, to be by his side. You sat close, gently taking his frail hand in yours, feeling the roughness of his skin. His fingers twitched slightly at your touch, his eyes fluttering as he shifted in his sleep-like state.

“Rhaenyra…” he mumbled under his breath, his voice weak and hoarse. His face tensed for a moment, and then he murmured something else, clearer this time. “The king… Aegon… must…” His words faded into an incoherent string of whispers.

Your heart ached at the sight of him like this. The mighty King Viserys, who once held the realm together with his presence alone, reduced to a man at the mercy of his illness. His mention of Aegon sent a cold shiver through you. Was he speaking of Aegon the Conqueror, or did he mean your uncle, Prince Aegon? His thoughts often wandered these days, tangled between past and present.

You furrowed your brow, glancing down at your grandfather with concern. His face was lined with pain and weariness, his eyes half-lidded but distant, staring at something you could not see.

“Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon…” he muttered again, his voice rasping like dry leaves crumbling underfoot. His words were slow, broken by shallow breaths.

“Grandsire,” you called softly, leaning in closer, your fingers gently stroking the back of his hand. “What do you mean? Which Aegon are you speaking of?”

He didn’t answer. His lips moved, but no sound followed. His eyes flickered beneath his lids, lost in whatever dream or memory had claimed him. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, as if trying to ground himself, but he was slipping further into his haze.

“Grandsire,” you tried again, a hint of urgency in your voice now. “What are you trying to say? Tell me.”

But he only repeated, “Aegon… the king… must be Aegon…” before his words dissolved into soft, incoherent murmurs once more.

Confusion and unease settled in your chest. Did he mean Uncle Aegon? Was he talking about the future of the realm? Or was this the rambling of a man caught between dreams and reality? Your gaze lingered on his face, searching for any sign of clarity, but there was none.

You let out a quiet sigh and brushed your thumb over his knuckles, grounding yourself as much as him. “Rest, grandsire,” you said softly, voice laced with quiet affection. “You don’t have to worry. I’m here.”

But your mind was far from calm. His words echoed in your thoughts like a warning. Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.

His breath grew shallow, each rise and fall of his chest slower than the last. You stayed still, your eyes fixed on his face, watching as his features softened with an eerie kind of peace. His fingers, once holding yours with frail strength, began to loosen.

“Grandsire?” you whispered, leaning in closer. Your voice trembled, filled with quiet desperation. “Please… stay with me.”

But he didn’t answer. His eyes remained closed, his face as still as the stone walls around you. His hand, which had once clung to yours, went slack in your grasp. The warmth of life slowly drained from his skin.

“No… no, no,” you murmured, shaking your head as if to will him back to you. “Grandsire? It’s me… I’m still here. Please.”

The weight of the moment settled heavily on your chest. Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You felt his absence the moment it happened — a shift in the air, an undeniable stillness. No more faint breaths. No more quiet murmurs. Only silence.

You stayed like that for a moment, gripping his hand as though you could tether him to this world just a little longer. But it was too late. The Stranger had come for him, and Viserys Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was gone.

“Grandsire…” you said again, but it was softer now, like a farewell. Your vision blurred with tears you could no longer hold back. Slowly, you placed his hand gently on his chest, fingers curled as if he were merely sleeping.

The weight of the room pressed down on you, and for a moment, you felt unbearably small. Alone in the presence of death. Alone with the echoes of his final words.

“Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.”

Those words lingered in your mind like a curse.

You hurried through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your grandsire’s final words pressed heavily on your mind. Reaching the door to Alicent’s chambers, you didn’t bother to knock. You pushed it open with a sense of urgency.

Alicent turned toward you, already dressed in her evening gown of deep green with golden embroidery. Her auburn hair was neatly styled, her expression calm but watchful. The moment she saw your face, her brows drew together in concern.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping toward you. Her voice was gentle but firm, her eyes scanning you for any sign of harm. “Come, sit with me.”

She gestured toward the cushioned chairs near the hearth. You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing, but eventually, you stepped forward, your movements stiff with unease. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the cold pit that had settled in your stomach.

As you sat, she took the seat beside you, placing a hand lightly on your arm. Her gaze was steady, maternal, and patient. “Tell me, my love,” she said softly, “what troubles you?”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting to the flames as if searching for the right words within them. “It’s Grandsire, mother” you finally said, voice strained. “He… he’s gone.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her chest. Her hand tightened on your arm as she straightened in her seat. “Gone?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Viserys… is dead?”

You nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the fire. “I was with him when it happened,” you murmured, your voice distant. “His last words… he spoke of Aegon. He said… ‘Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.’”

Her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place — shock, realization, and something sharper, something more calculating. Her lips parted as she drew in a sharp breath, her gaze darting to the door as if expecting someone to walk in at any moment.

“Are you certain?” she asked quietly, her voice low and urgent. Her grip on your arm grew tighter. “He said it clearly? Aegon… the king?”

“Yes,” you whispered, finally looking at her. “I don’t know what he meant. I thought he was confused. But he said it as if it mattered.”

Alicent leaned back, her eyes distant now, her fingers lightly pressed to her lips. She sat in silence for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the air. You watched her carefully, confusion growing in your chest.

Finally, she exhaled slowly and turned her gaze to you, her eyes filled with quiet resolve. “You did well to tell me,” she said softly, her hand moving from your arm to hold your hand firmly. “You are brave to have stayed with him until the end.”

There was a pause. Her gaze grew sharper, more deliberate. “What you heard… it will change everything.”

You walked slowly, each step heavier than the last as your mind replayed your grandsire’s final words over and over. “Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.” The weight of it pressed on your chest like a stone, and your breath came shallow with every step.

When you finally reached your chamber, you pushed the door open, your movements sluggish and drained. The warmth of the fire greeted you, a stark contrast to the cold numbness spreading through your body. Your gaze shifted, and there he was — Aemond.

He sat by the hearth, a book in his hand, its pages resting open on his lap. His sharp features were bathed in the soft glow of the firelight, his single eye tracking your every move. The moment he saw you close the door behind you, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You’re late,” he remarked softly, his tone more observant than accusatory. He closed the book with a quiet thud, setting it aside on the table near him. Rising from his chair, he stepped toward you, his gaze sharp but steady.

His eyes roamed your face, searching for something unspoken. “What happened?” he asked, voice low but firm. His hand reached out, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked slowly, your lips parting to speak, but no words came out at first. Your throat felt dry, and the ache in your chest only grew stronger. “He’s gone,” you finally managed to whisper, barely able to say the words aloud. “Grandsire… he’s gone.”

Aemond’s face hardened, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered with realization. His hand cupped your cheek now, steadying you as if you might collapse. “Viserys is dead,” he said, not as a question but as a grim statement of fact.

You nodded slowly, eyes downcast, too tired to meet his gaze. “I was with him,” you murmured. “He… he kept saying Aegon. Over and over. ‘Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.’ I don’t understand, Aemond. I don’t know what he meant.”

Silence hung between you, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fire. His thumb moved softly across your cheek, a quiet gesture of comfort. But his eye — his eye was cold, distant, like he was already a thousand miles away, lost in thought.

“He meant what he said,” Aemond replied quietly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “And if Mother hears of it…” He trailed off, his gaze sharpening like a drawn blade. His grip on your face became just a bit firmer. “You told her, didn’t you?”

Your silence was answer enough.

“Good,” he muttered, glancing toward the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. Then his gaze returned to you, more focused, more intense. “No matter what happens next,” he said, his voice low but certain, “you stay by my side. Do you understand?”

You searched his face, seeing the weight of it all reflected in his features — the burden of family, of duty, of ambition. Slowly, you nodded.

“I will,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “I’ll stay with you.”

His lips pressed against your forehead, firm and steady, as if sealing a vow between you both. When he pulled away, his gaze lingered on yours for a moment longer, something unspoken but understood passing between you.

“Rest,” he said softly, guiding you toward the bed. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

You leaned back against the headboard, the soft glow of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. The weight of the blankets draped over you felt heavier than usual, as if mirroring the turmoil in your heart. Beside you, Aemond lay in a rare moment of peace, his features softened in sleep. His silver hair spilled over the pillow, and his steady breaths were the only sound in the stillness of the chamber.

But peace did not come to you.

Your gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. How can he sleep so easily when the world around us is about to shift? you wondered, turning your eyes toward the ceiling.

No matter how much you tried, your mind refused to quiet. Thoughts of your grandsire’s last words haunted you like a ghost. “Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon.” Every time you closed your eyes, you could hear his voice as clearly as if he were still beside you.

Your heart ached with confusion and doubt. What should I do? you asked yourself, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. Should I stand with Aemond, with Alicent, and the greens? Should I help them make Aegon king? You glanced at Aemond once more, remembering his words from before. “You stay by my side.”

But then, your thoughts turned to your mother. The memories came back, sharp and clear — her leaving you behind in the Red Keep, her departure for Dragonstone without a word, leaving you in a sea of green. You remembered the nights you cried alone, the hollow ache of abandonment that stayed with you even as you smiled in front of others.

She left me. She left me here like I was nothing.

Your fingers dug into the blanket, eyes hardening with the weight of it all. She doesn’t get to decide for me now. You lifted your head, glancing once more at Aemond. He was still there. He had stayed. He had fought for you — at the throne room, at the feast, even now as he lay beside you.

Your choice was clear, though it left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your mother had her sons. She had Jace, Luke, Aegon, Viserys and the child growing in her womb. But you… you had Aemond.

I have him, you thought, your heart steadying for the first time that night. I have him, and I will not be left behind again.

Slowly, you reached out and brushed your fingers against Aemond’s, his hand resting lightly on the mattress. His fingers twitched at your touch, and for a moment, you thought he might wake. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand shifted, curling slightly as if to hold yours.

You laid down beside him, your face close to his. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away the cold ache that had settled in your chest. You closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to breathe deeply.

I’ve made my choice.

And with that, sleep finally found you.

The sharp knock at your door pulled you from the depths of sleep. Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of the dying embers in the hearth. It was still dark outside; the sun had yet to rise. For a moment, you lay still, hoping it had been a dream. But the knock came again, firmer this time.

You sat up, the weight of sleep still heavy on your body. Aemond stirred beside you, his eyes barely opening as he glanced at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Who is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Stay,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his arm as you rose from the bed. Pulling on a light robe to cover your nightgown, you made your way to the door.

When you opened it, Alicent stood there, fully dressed in a green gown embroidered with golden threads. Her face was set with urgency, her brows drawn together in a look that sent a jolt of unease through you.

“You must dress quickly,” she said in a hushed, hurried tone, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Aemond still lying in bed. She sighed softly but said nothing about it. “There is no time to waste. We must go to the council chamber.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice still hoarse from sleep. You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus on her words.

Alicent’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker there — worry, maybe even fear. Her voice was quieter now but no less urgent. “Your grandsire’s final words. We must discuss them with the council.”

Your heart stopped for a moment as the memory of Viserys’ last breath returned to you. Aegon… the king… it must be Aegon. The weight of it settled on your chest like a stone.

“But what does that have to do with me?” you asked, your voice more steady now, but doubt still lingered in your heart.

“Because you were the only one there,” Alicent said firmly, placing a hand on your arm. Her gaze was unwavering. “You heard him. They will ask you to confirm his words. They must hear it from you.”

Her meaning was clear. They need me to say it. They need me to be their witness.

A part of you wanted to refuse. You wanted to stay here, where it was quiet, where Aemond’s steady breathing was the only sound you could hear. But Alicent’s grip on your arm was gentle yet firm, her eyes full of silent expectation.

“Dress quickly,” she repeated, glancing briefly at Aemond again. “We have little time before the council convenes.”

Her words echoed in your mind as you nodded slowly. This is it. This is where it all changes.

You glanced back at Aemond, still lying on the bed but watching you now with sharp, alert eyes. He said nothing, only gave you a single nod of understanding. You knew he would be by your side, no matter what.

With that, you turned to your wardrobe, heart steady but mind racing. The weight of what was about to happen was heavier than any gown you would wear that morning.

The council chamber was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Lords and knights sat around the long table, their gazes sharp and calculating. The torches flickered, casting long shadows across their faces. The weight of the moment pressed down on you like a thousand stones.

You stood beside Alicent, her presence steady at your side. Her eyes, warm but expectant, lingered on you. She had already spoken, her voice firm as she declared, “The king’s final wish was for Aegon to be king.”

Murmurs broke out around the room, skeptical glances exchanged between the council members. Lord Beesbury shook his head, his lips curling in disbelief. “Impossible,” he muttered. “Viserys never wavered in his support for Rhaenyra. This is treason.”

All eyes shifted to you. Alicent’s hand lightly pressed against your arm, a silent reminder of what must be done. Slowly, you stepped forward. Every gaze in the room locked on you — skeptical, curious, and watchful.

You drew in a slow breath, feeling the weight of expectation settle on your chest. Your eyes met Lord Beesbury’s for a moment, his frown deepening. Then, you lifted your chin, your voice clear and steady despite the storm raging in your heart.

“I was with him in his final moments,” you began, your voice ringing through the chamber. “I held his hand as he breathed his last.” Your gaze swept over them, meeting the eyes of every man present. No one dared to interrupt. “He spoke of Aegon. He said… ‘Aegon must be king.’”

The murmuring grew louder this time, no longer whispers but sharp words exchanged in low tones. Some of the council nodded, while others frowned deeply. Lord Beesbury slammed his hand on the table, his voice rising in anger.

"Convenient,” he spat. “The only witness is a child of Rhaenyra’s blood, now bound to House Hightower through marriage. Am I truly meant to believe this?” His gaze bore into you, sharp with doubt. “What loyalty does she owe us? She is her mother’s daughter.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed at his words. “Watch your tongue, Lord Beesbury,” she said coldly. “She is my daughter now, and she has spoken the truth. If you will not believe her, then you call the queen herself a liar.”

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. All eyes shifted between you and Lord Beesbury. His face twisted in frustration, his jaw clenching as he leaned back in his chair. He said no more, but his displeasure was written plainly on his face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart still racing. Aemond’s gaze caught yours from across the room, steady and unwavering. His single eye was sharp as ever, and in it, you saw neither doubt nor judgment — only trust.

You had played your part. You had spoken the words they needed to hear. But as you stepped back beside Alicent, a question echoed in your mind, one you could not push away. Was this the truth? Or was it a lie I have chosen to make real?

The sun’s first light seeped through the grand windows of the Red Keep, casting soft golden rays along the stone corridors. You followed behind Alicent, her steps brisk with urgency. Her gown swayed with each determined stride, and you could hear the faint click of her heeled shoes on the cold floor.

When you reached Aegon’s chambers, two guards stationed at the door stepped aside. Alicent pushed the door open with force, her eyes scanning the room with precision. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled, but the room was otherwise empty. No sign of Aegon. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her frustration barely concealed.

“Of course he’s not here,” she muttered under her breath, turning sharply toward you. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see it — the weariness behind her composed face. She had dealt with Aegon’s disappearances too many times before.

“Come,” she said, her voice firmer this time. “If he’s not here, then perhaps with Helaena.”

You walked beside her, the quiet tension between you both unspoken but understood. The halls were still, with only the distant clinking of armor from the patrolling guards. As you reached Helaena’s chambers, the door was already slightly ajar. Alicent stepped inside first, and you followed close behind.

Inside, Helaena sat on a large cushioned mat, her three children gathered around her. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, played with small wooden dragons, their innocent giggles filling the room. The youngest, Maelor, was in Helaena’s lap, his tiny hands tugging at the strands of her loose silver hair.

Your heart softened at the sight. For a moment, it was as if all the weight of the world had lifted. But reality settled in just as quickly. Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

“Helaena,” Alicent said as she crouched beside her daughter, her voice gentle but urgent. “Where is your husband?”

Helaena glanced up from Maelor, her gaze distant but serene, as if her mind lingered somewhere far beyond the present. She blinked slowly before tilting her head, her eyes finally meeting her mother’s.

“He’s… he’s in the places where shadows dance,” she murmured softly, her voice dreamlike and vague, as it often was. She looked back down at Maelor, brushing her fingers through his hair as if she had said nothing unusual.

Alicent let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her temples in frustration. “That could mean anywhere,” she muttered to herself, glancing toward you. Her gaze hardened, resolve returning to her features.

“Find Ser Criston,” Alicent instructed, standing to her full height. “Tell him to search every corner of the city if he must. We will find him before anyone else does.”

Her eyes flicked back to you, searching your face. “Stay with Helaena for now,” she said firmly. “Keep her calm. If you hear anything, send word immediately.”

With that, she swept out of the room, her steps faster than before, her purpose clear.

You turned to Helaena, who was still humming softly to her children. Her hands moved with care, tracing little circles on Maelor’s back as he leaned sleepily into her chest. For a moment, you considered her words.

“In the places where shadows dance.”

You glanced toward the window, eyes narrowing in thought. Those words sounded more like a riddle than an answer — but with Helaena, perhaps it was both.

You sat on a cushioned chair, gently rocking Maelor in your lap. His small hands clung to your dress as he nuzzled into your chest, his soft breaths warm against your skin. The weight of him, so small and innocent, grounded you in the moment, even as your thoughts swirled with the chaos unfolding beyond these walls.

The door creaked open. You glanced up to see Aemond stepping inside, his presence commanding as always. His sharp features were framed by the glow of the morning sun, his eye fixed on you with quiet intensity. His gaze softened for a moment when he saw you holding Maelor, but it was brief — duty had hardened him too much for softness to last.

“Aegon is gone,” he said, his tone clipped but controlled. His hands rested behind his back as he walked further into the room. “I’ll go to the city to find him.”

You frowned, adjusting Maelor in your arms. The boy let out a soft whine, his sleepy eyes blinking up at you. “The city?” you echoed, looking back at Aemond with concern. “You know how dangerous it is there, especially now.”

Aemond tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Danger is hardly something I fear.” His eye lingered on you, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in his expression. “I won’t let them get to him first.”

You knew who he meant. Otto, Alicent, the council — all of them were hunting for Aegon, each for their own reasons. You could see it in Aemond’s face: he wasn’t doing this for them. He was doing it for control, for power, for you — perhaps even for himself.

“Be careful,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on his. Your fingers brushed through Maelor’s silver hair, his small weight a reminder of all that could be lost if things went wrong. “If something happens to you—”

“Nothing will happen,” Aemond interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Maelor’s head before letting his lips linger near your temple. “Keep your faith in me, wife. I’ll return before nightfall.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. His warmth stayed on your skin even after he pulled away. Aemond glanced down at you once more before turning on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the door.

“Lock the door after me,” he said, his tone commanding but protective. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

With that, he left, and the sound of the heavy wooden door closing echoed through the room. You glanced at Maelor, still curled in your arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of your dress.

“Stay with me, little one,” you whispered softly, pressing your lips to his forehead. “We’ll wait for him together.”

You stepped into Alicent’s chambers, the soft creak of the door announcing your arrival. The room was filled with a tense air, though the sight of Aegon sitting on the edge of a chair, disheveled but present, brought a wave of relief. His hair was messy, his clothes wrinkled, and he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Beside him stood Aemond, his posture straight and unyielding, his face a mask of calm control. His sharp gaze flickered to you the moment you entered, softening only slightly when he saw Maelor cradled in your arms. He said nothing, but the shift in his eye was enough — he had done his duty, as he always did.

Helena moved quietly at your side, her gaze distant as she hummed a soft tune under her breath. Her fingers lightly brushed against yours as if grounding herself in your presence. She glanced toward Aegon, but if she had any thoughts about him, she didn’t voice them.

Alicent turned toward you, relief flooding her face the moment she saw you both. Her hands reached out, resting lightly on your arms as she glanced down at Maelor, her eyes warm. “You’re here,” she said softly, brushing a strand of silver hair from Maelor’s face. “Thank the Seven.”

Your eyes shifted toward Aegon, narrowing slightly. “So, you’ve been found,” you said, your tone carefully controlled, neither scolding nor kind.

Aegon raised his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting yours with a mix of defiance and weariness. “Unfortunately,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Dragged back like a common criminal.” His gaze flickered briefly toward Aemond, but he didn’t hold it long. “You should have left me where I was.”

Aemond stepped forward, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. His voice was cold but sharp as a blade. “You are the king now, brother. No one will leave you anywhere.”

Silence followed his words. The weight of it pressed on everyone in the room. You shifted Maelor slightly, rocking him as his eyes fluttered closed, his tiny head resting against your shoulder. Your fingers traced gentle circles on his back, the rhythm soothing both him and yourself.

Alicent sighed, rubbing her temples. “There is no time for this,” she said, her voice firm but exhausted. “The coronation must be prepared. The whole realm must see him crowned. The people must know their king.” She glanced at you, her gaze steady but kind. “You should prepare as well. Your presence will be expected, as will Aemond’s.”

You glanced toward Aemond, your eyes meeting his. His face remained still, but you knew him well enough now to see the subtle shift in his jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders. He didn’t like this any more than you did, but he would play his role — as he always did.

“Of course, Mother,” you replied, giving a small nod. Your fingers pressed gently against Maelor’s back as he let out a soft sigh, his little body relaxing against you. “We’ll be ready.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he returned his attention to Aegon. “No more running,” he said firmly, his voice as unyielding as Valyrian steel. “No more hiding. You will take the crown, and you will do it with dignity.”

Aegon let out a dry, humorless laugh, slumping further in his chair. “Dignity,” he repeated bitterly, shaking his head. “That’s not something I’ve ever had, brother.”

“Then learn,” Aemond replied sharply, his single eye flashing with something dangerous. “Learn it quickly. Or I will make you.”

No one spoke after that. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire and Maelor’s quiet breaths against your shoulder.

As you walked back to your chambers, the faint flicker of movement caught your eye. At the far end of the dimly lit corridor, you spotted a figure moving with careful, deliberate steps. For a moment, your heart leapt to your throat — the silver hair, the proud stance, the grace in each step. It looked like her.

Grandmother? you thought, slowing your pace. No, that’s impossible.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Rhaenys had left for Driftmark just yesterday, her ship sailing out of the harbor with the banners of House Velaryon snapping in the wind. She had no reason to be here. Your eyes lingered on the shadowy end of the corridor, your gaze sharp and searching. But the figure was gone.

My mind is playing tricks on me, you thought, rubbing your temple. The weight of the last few days was beginning to take its toll. The death of your grandfather, the heavy talk of succession, the ever-tightening grip of responsibility — it was all too much.

With a soft sigh, you continued on your path, your fingers lightly brushing the cool stone wall beside you. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor. The flickering torches cast long, wavering shadows across the floor, shadows that danced like ghosts in the firelight.

You stepped into your chambers, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. The sight of Aemond standing near the hearth drew your attention. He was already dressed in his black leather tunic, the polished metal of his belt catching the glow of the firelight. His long silver hair, as precise as ever, framed his sharp features, and his eye — the one that remained — watched you with quiet intensity.

“I had a gown prepared for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. He gestured to the bed where a rich green gown lay neatly folded, its fabric shimmering with golden embroidery in the dim light. “Wear it.”

For a moment, you stood still, your gaze flickering between him and the gown. You could see the weight of expectation in his stance, the unspoken message beneath his words. This was not merely a request — it was a reminder of where you stood, of where he stood.

You swallowed your hesitation, offering him a small nod. “Alright,” you said softly, stepping further into the room.

Aemond’s gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always. He didn’t move to help you, nor did he speak again. Instead, he watched you with the quiet patience of a man who always saw more than he let on. His presence was both reassuring and suffocating.

As your fingers brushed the smooth fabric of the gown, you felt the weight of it — not just the silk and embroidery, but the meaning it carried. The green of House Hightower. The side you had chosen, or perhaps the side that had claimed you.

“Do you need help?” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, his tone softer than before.

You glanced at him, seeing something different in his eye this time. Concern, maybe. Or was it control? It was hard to tell.

“No,” you replied, gripping the gown in your hands. “I can manage.”

He nodded once, satisfied, and turned away, his gaze fixed on the fire. But even as he faced away from you, you felt his presence like a shadow that never left your side.

As you finished fastening the gown, the soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room. The weight of the green silk settled on your shoulders, cool and heavy like the expectations placed upon you.

Then, you felt it — the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut, your breath catching in your chest. His presence was undeniable, steady and deliberate.

“You wear green so well,” Aemond’s voice was a low murmur, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the curve of your shoulder, a fleeting kiss that lingered far longer in your mind than on your skin.

You felt his hands next, warm and calloused from hours of swordplay. His fingers grazed the sides of your neck as he carefully placed a chain around it. The cool metal touched your skin, and then the weight of a pendant settled at the base of your throat. The chill of the emerald stone was sharp at first, but it quickly warmed against your skin.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his fingers adjusting the chain with meticulous care, his touch gentle but firm. His hands lingered for a moment longer, resting lightly on your shoulders. You opened your eyes and glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The green gemstone glowed against your skin, matching the deep green of your gown. It was beautiful — undeniably so.

Your gaze shifted to Aemond’s reflection. His eye was already on you, his expression unreadable, as it so often was. But there was something in the way he looked at you — not just pride, but possession. You belonged to him now, and the emerald around your neck was as much a symbol of that as the rings on your fingers.

“Now,” he said, his hands finally releasing you, “they will see you as they should.” His eye met yours in the mirror, sharp and unwavering. “As mine.”

A quiet breath escaped you. You tilted your head slightly, your gaze meeting his with quiet defiance — or perhaps acceptance. “Then I hope they see me clearly,” you replied, lifting your chin ever so slightly.

Aemond’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing for only a moment before it vanished. “Oh, they will,” he said softly, his voice laced with certainty.

The grand space of the Dragonpit buzzed with the murmurs of the gathered crowd. The vast chamber was filled with lords, ladies, and commonfolk alike, their eyes fixed on the figure slowly ascending the steps to the altar — Aegon Targaryen. The air was thick with anticipation, a storm of whispers and held breaths.

You stood beside Aemond, your hands folded neatly in front of you, the weight of the emerald pendant resting on your chest. The air was cold, but the heat of so many bodies pressed into the space made it feel stifling. The smell of incense lingered faintly, blending with the earthy scent of stone and dragonfire.

Aemond was still as a statue, his gaze sharp and unwavering. His eye never left Aegon, his jaw tense, lips pressed into a thin line. You glanced at him briefly, noting the focus in his face — pride, perhaps, or something darker.

Aegon walked slowly, his golden cloak trailing behind him like a river of molten gold. His eyes shifted nervously, flicking toward the crowd, as if searching for something — or someone. His steps were hesitant, as though each one grew heavier with the weight of what awaited him.

At the top of the altar, the High Septon awaited, his robes as white as fresh-fallen snow. Alicent stood near him, her hands clasped tightly together. Her eyes followed Aegon with an intensity that bordered on desperation. You knew what this moment meant to her. It wasn’t just a coronation — it was a victory.

When Aegon finally reached the top, he knelt before the High Septon. The crowd hushed to an eerie silence, as if all of King’s Landing held its breath. The Septon raised his hands, his voice clear and commanding as he spoke the sacred words that had crowned kings for generations.

“With the blessing of the Seven, I anoint thee with the oil of the Father, to grant you wisdom; the oil of the Warrior, to grant you strength; and the oil of the King, to grant you the right to rule.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as the oils were poured over Aegon’s brow. His eyes closed for a moment, his breathing shallow. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles white.

The Septon reached for the crown — King Aegon I’ crown — the black iron band adorned with rubies — the conqueror crown. Slowly, he lowered it onto Aegon’s head.

“All hail Aegon, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”

The crowd erupted. Cheers, shouts, and applause filled the Dragonpit, echoing off the stone walls like thunder. The sound was deafening. You glanced at Aemond, expecting him to react, but his face remained a mask of calm control. His only movement was a slow, steady exhale through his nose, like the release of tension from a drawn bowstring.

Aegon rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the crowd with renewed confidence. He raised his sword, Blackfyre, high above his head, and the cheers grew louder. The people chanted his name, “Aegon! Aegon! Aegon!” Their voices surged like waves crashing on the shore.

You watched as he soaked in the adoration, his eyes now alight with something unfamiliar — triumph. He smiled, not the uncertain grin of before, but a wide, sharp smile of a man who had finally claimed something he feared he never would.

The sight of him like this made your heart twist. The boy who had once run from his responsibilities now stood crowned before the realm, basking in their love. But behind the cheers, you knew the truth. This crown had been stolen. And those who had been robbed would not forget.

Aemond leaned closer to you, his voice low and sharp, meant for your ears alone. “This is only the beginning.”

You glanced at him, his face so close to yours. His eye was cold as steel, but his lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. Your fingers brushed against his as you looked toward the crowd once more, your heart steadying itself for what was to come.

The scene unfolded with breathtaking speed. One moment, Aegon was standing at the altar, crowned by the High Septon, basking in the cheers of the crowd as the new king. And the next, chaos erupted in the Dragonpit. From the shadows below, Rhaenys Targaryen, your grandmother, emerged with her dragon, Meleys. The roar of the dragon reverberated through the chamber, shaking the very stones of the pit as the ground trembled beneath your feet.

The crowd erupted into panic, some fleeing, others screaming in terror. The tension was palpable, a sense of impending doom hanging in the air. Rhaenys, with her fiery gaze and regal composure, was an intimidating force as she guided Meleys toward the center of the Dragonpit, her dragon’s eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

In an instant, Aemond moved. He surged forward, his hand grasping yours firmly as he positioned himself between you and the chaos. His face was hard, eyes narrowed, focused entirely on the danger ahead. The protective instinct in his movements was unmistakable, his body tense with readiness.

“Stay behind me,” Aemond’s voice was low, yet there was an edge of command to it. His hand was warm as he held yours, but there was no time to reassess the situation — only action.

You could hear the sound of Meleys’ wings flapping, the rush of wind following the dragon’s descent. The noise drowned out everything else, but there was a terrible clarity to the moment. Rhaenys had come, and she had not come for a peaceful gathering.

Aemond’s grip tightened as he slowly moved you backward, keeping you shielded from the view of the dragon and the rising threat. You could hear his breathing steady, though his body remained on alert. The presence of his protectiveness was overwhelming — it was as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a tense dance of survival.

From behind, you could hear the voice of Aegon, shouting for calm, trying to assert his authority, but the murmurs of the crowd only grew louder. Rhaenys’ intentions were unclear, but her presence had thrown the entire Dragonpit into disarray.

In this moment of chaos, Aemond remained resolute, guarding you from the unseen dangers around you, his body braced for any attack that might come. The weight of this situation was clear — this was no ordinary crowning, and this would not be a peaceful reign.

Everything had changed. And Aemond was determined to ensure that you would survive the storm.

As you sat in the silence of your chambers, your thoughts raced with the weight of everything that had transpired. The sound of footsteps outside the door, the frantic murmurs of the court, all of it felt distant as your mind grappled with the troubling realization of your own actions. The fact that you had been a part of the Green faction’s effort to crown Aegon, especially now that Rhaenys’ rebellion had disrupted everything, left you in a turbulent state of unease.

Your mother—what would she think of you now? You had never imagined that your path would diverge so far from her, that your allegiance to the Greens would drive such a wedge between you. She had always been the one who guided your every decision, the one who made choices for you even when you were old enough to stand on your own. But now, you had acted against her, and though it was not entirely of your own volition, the weight of your decision still weighed heavily on your heart.

You tried to push aside the thoughts of your mother’s disapproving gaze, imagining how she would react if she knew the truth. Would she see it as betrayal? Or would she be unable to forgive you for siding with Aegon’s cause? The bitterness in your chest grew as you recalled the harsh words she had spoken when she left you in the Red Keep—words that now felt even more cutting in retrospect.

The door creaked open softly, and your thoughts were interrupted. Aemond stepped inside, his presence a reminder of the tumult that had gripped your life since the marriage. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of distress.

“Still thinking about it?” he asked, his voice steady, yet tinged with concern. He crossed the room and sat next to you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder as if to anchor you back to the present moment. “Rhaenys’s actions are unpredictable. But you have nothing to prove to her—or to anyone. What matters now is what we do next.”

You nodded, but the weight of your own guilt and uncertainty lingered. What you had done was more than simply taking a side; it had changed the very core of your family dynamics. You were no longer just the daughter of your mother, but the wife of Aemond, tied to the Greens in a way that would never be easily undone.

“I never wanted this… all of it,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if Aemond could hear the depth of your conflict. “But now I’m caught between two worlds. I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Aemond remained silent for a moment, his gaze softening. He took your hand in his, his fingers warm and comforting. “You belong with me. And you’ll figure the rest out in time. You always do.”

But even his reassuring words couldn’t ease the confusion within you. Your heart was torn, and you could not deny the growing rift between the past and the future. Your loyalty to your mother, your guilt over the Green faction’s rise to power, and the unsettling silence in your own soul all weighed you down.

Aemond could sense the hesitation in your eyes, the unspoken worry that clouded your thoughts. His gaze softened for a moment as he approached you, his fingers brushing against yours in a quiet gesture of reassurance. But you could still feel the weight of the situation pressing on you, the fear of what might unfold if he left for Storm’s End.

“Aemond…” Your voice was gentle but firm, betraying the anxiety swirling inside. “Please, don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. We don’t know how things will go with Borros. It’s risky. I… I don’t want to lose you.”

Your words hung in the air, the concern clear in your tone. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the importance of his journey—securing Borros’s support was crucial for the stability of Aegon’s reign. But the thought of him traveling into unknown peril, facing danger on his own, left a cold unease in your chest.

Aemond’s expression softened as he took a step closer to you, his voice low and reassuring. “I know this is hard, but I have to do this. You know how important this is. I will be careful. I promise, I’m not foolish enough to take unnecessary risks.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he looked into your eyes. “But I also promise that I will come back to you. I will not let anything happen to me. I swear it.”

Even as he spoke, you could see the determination in his eyes, the resolve that had driven him to take on the responsibilities of his house. But it didn’t ease the fear that gnawed at you. You felt your heart tighten as you searched his gaze, the love and the worry mixed together.

“I know you’re strong, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice soft but earnest. “But I need you to promise me—promise me you’ll stay safe. Whatever happens, don’t do anything dangerous.”

Aemond paused for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he nodded slowly. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will make sure to come back to you, no matter what.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the gesture gentle, almost tender, before pulling away. “I’ll return, and we’ll be stronger together. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing, but the unease in your chest remained. Watching him leave would be hard, but you had to trust him. You just had to.

“I’ll be here when you return,” you said softly, your hand lingering in his as you looked into his eyes one last time before he left.

And with that, he turned to go, and you watched him go with a heavy heart, hoping that the future would be kinder than you feared.

You sat in the quiet room with Helaena, watching her children play, but your mind was elsewhere—constantly drifting back to Aemond. The weight of the situation was too heavy to ignore, and despite the outward calmness, your heart was restless. You couldn’t shake off the worry for him, not knowing what might happen when he left for Storm’s End.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed your unease. She shifted closer to you, her voice soft but full of understanding. “Aemond will be fine. He’s strong. He’s clever, and he knows how to navigate these dangerous situations.” glancing at her children who were playing innocently nearby.

You nodded silently, feeling the truth of her words hit deep. Aemond might be able to handle himself, — but there was something that didn’t sit right with you.

Helaena leaned in, her voice lowering a bit. “You know, Aemond has always loved you. He’s loved you since Driftmark.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you blinked, trying to process what she had just said. “What do you mean?” you asked softly, confusion clouding your thoughts.

She smiled wistfully, a faint sadness in her eyes. “When you stood up for him there, at Driftmark, when everyone else turned their backs on him… he saw something in you. It was then that he realized you were someone who would always stand by him. Someone who truly understood him. It’s not just duty for him—it’s love.”

Your heart fluttered at her words, the realization slowly settling into your chest. All this time, you had seen Aemond’s coldness and his fierce dedication, but now, in this moment, you understood that beneath it all, his feelings for you ran deeper than you had ever imagined. He had loved you in his own way, even when it seemed impossible, even when the world around you was in turmoil.

“I didn’t know…” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you thought of everything that had transpired between you two. How far you had come from those early days of tension and conflict.

Helaena’s gaze softened. “He doesn’t say it often, but he shows it in his actions. He trusts you, and he loves you, deeply. He will come back to you. He always comes back.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at her words, the reassurance that maybe, just maybe, the bond between you and Aemond could withstand everything. You only hoped that when he did return, it would be with the promise of peace, not just for his house, but for you, for both of you. You wanted to believe that, more than anything.

“I hope so,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Helaena.

You gazed softly at Helaena as her children played nearby, a smile crossing your face as you spoke. “You’re lucky, Helaena, having two sons,” you said, admiring the bond between mother and child.

But as you spoke, Helaena’s expression shifted, her face becoming distant. There was a sadness, a quiet weight that seemed to settle over her. She looked at you, her eyes slightly glazed, as if lost in a thought you couldn’t quite reach.

“Blood and Cheese,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

The words hung in the air like a cold omen, and you blinked, confusion tightening in your chest. “What do you mean?” you asked, the phrase foreign to you, yet it felt like something dark and dangerous lingered in it.

Helaena didn’t immediately respond. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, her eyes unfocused as she spoke again, more softly this time. “It’s a story… a memory,” she said, her voice distant. “A blood for a blood, and cheese for cheese. A sacrifice, a trade…”

You frowned, trying to make sense of what she was saying. The phrase seemed out of place, unsettling in the peaceful atmosphere of the moment. Helaena’s words felt like they were slipping from some hidden place in her mind, and you could sense there was more to it than she was letting on.

“What do you mean by that, Helaena?” you asked again, your voice tinged with concern.

She finally turned to meet your gaze, her eyes filled with an eerie calm. “It’s coming,” she said quietly. “The blood will be spilled, and the cheese… the cheese will be paid.”

A chill ran down your spine as the cryptic words echoed in your mind. Whatever this ‘Blood and Cheese’ meant, it sounded like a harbinger of something dark on the horizon. You felt a knot form in your stomach as Helaena’s eyes moved away from you, her mind seemingly lost in the depths of a terrifying premonition.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something you weren’t prepared for.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #hotd imagine #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd x reader #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen #hotd one shot #aegon ii fanfic #prince aegon targaryen

262 notes · View notes