#i've been thinking of this for a few months‚ and then i came across a nice fic that had explored the same idea! made me happy

[snowthornes]

Hello hello !! This is Aspen. As one of the people who came upon the post that is the center of the current conflict, I thought I'd come forward.

I was scrolling through my FYP when I came across this post. I read through it out of curiosity, but this particular part made me stop in my tracks.

— from @childrenofcain-if, this post.

You see, this part has strong similarities to a book I'd read only a few months ago and loved dearly.

— The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle Book #1)

It has such similar beats. Character A accusing Character B of being condescending, or trying to make them feel stupid. Character B lashing out and saying practically the exact same lines, just a little remixed, in response. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I didn't want to just ignore it, either.

Even more concerning, there was no mention of the Raven Cycle anywhere at all. There was no attempt to credit the source this snippet had so clearly been 'inspired' by. (and that's another argument that i won't get into for now, because the lines between inspiration and straight up copying can blur real fast.)

I don't hold nearly enough knowledge about the incidents that happened in the past to truly comment on it, but I've heard concerning things regarding @/childrenofcain-if and plagiarism. The PJO if I've aside, actual people have voiced actual concerns about the 'what lovely bones' and 'IT'. That compounded with this latest thing only serves to make things more suspicious.

And @/childrenofcain-if's responses don't serve to inspire confidence.

It took him several reblogs to come right out and admit that that certain snippet was taken from The Raven Boys. Why didn't he come right out and say so in the first place? Why didn't he credit them if he was aware that he was taking that quote? Immediately going up in arms and trying to make someone look bad for accusing you of plagiarism when they hold actual pieces of evidence — instead of logically explaining why such a thing occurred and your reasonings behind them — is far from the powerful clapback you may wish to present.

Plagiarism is plagiarism and the way you, author, handled this does not inspire confidence at all. Perhaps that was a snippet that wasn't in the official game at all, but are people really wrong for thinking that you would plagiarize in the official game as well? The snippets we write outside of the game are still supposed to be our works, aren't they? They're something we're supposed to take pride in. Whether those snippets were 'official' or not, they were still written by you, and you represent the face of your official game.

When you plagiarize, no matter if it was official or not, people will notice.

And attacking those same people for having the gall to point them out won't fool anyone with working critical thinking skills.

Ciao, Axel! I've been following this project for a while now and really like your work. I just wanted to drop in here and tell you that the recent surge in hate asks may be from group chats and discord servers where people are very hateful towards interactive fiction authors.

I'm not in them personally but my friend is and she told me that's probably where a lot of the asks come from. There's you, Amy, Morgan, 13Leagues, and a lot of other authors that they do this to almost on a weekly basis. My friend has since left the server because it was getting more about hating on these authors than discussing interactive fiction.

I can share some username with you in PM if you need them, my friend was a lurker and got as much of the information as she could before leaving.

i’m so confused by this, ngl.

so they don’t like me or these authors, like concerningly so, but they still take the time out of their day to check our blogs on a regular basis, read everything we write, type up hate comments for us to read and enjoy? something is not clicking here cause why do they sound like obsessed exes?

i appreciate the heads up, dear bonnie, but i don’t need the usernames. their actions are already so pathetic that it gave me a good laugh lmao.

[1-800-crscnt]

a hc i have is where Coruscant is still not a very good posting, but the Guardsmen try to make it as enjoyable as possible for the visiting troopers. they scout out good party/relaxation/dining spots for clones, they personally get supplies that troopers normally would never have (usually small things like nail polish, high quality shaving cream, a music box, etc.), and they just like to improve life on the planet in general for themselves and by extension the other troopers, which can add another reason for Fox and his commanders to be so busy & secretive so often (especially if you want to make the ways they make this possible very angsty and/or complicated) and another chance to make all the clones more connected despite their differing views/experiences.

[bandzboy]

very much this... cr.

[kurthorton-moving]

.

[jeonqkooks]

Do whatever your heart tells you

that was so fast, that post was up for less than a minute i think asdfkgjk. thank you 🥺 i'll sprinkle some love onto my other babies that haven't experienced the spotlight in a while <3

[tpwk-formula1]

hello! please may i order thick crust, alfredo sauce, artichokes, broccoli and argula with water and aftercare please served by lando🩵

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

thick crust sugar daddy alfredo sweet sex artichokes "Imagine your father saw you now. On your knees like a proper trained slut for me to use" broccoli "Made just for me huh?" arugula "I love stretching this pussy out" water breeding kink dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Lando x Sugar Baby! reader

TW - Size kink conversations, terrible representation of a sugar daddy/baby relationship, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex, talks of filling reader up with cum

WC 1800+

AN - I am so sorry this one took me forever! A few of the first few requests got lost amongst the rest and I just found them and will be out within the next couple of hours <3

Y/N POV

"I'm ready to go home," I tell Lando softly while pulling his hand towards the exit of the Monaco shopping center we had spent the last hour in.

We came here with the intention of Lando purchasing some things I had set my eyes on but as soon as we got here we kept getting stopped by fans. I loved watching the joy spread across Lando's face when a different fan would approach him but after a while, I was starting to get overwhelmed.

"You only got one thing, baby," Lando tells me softly but I just shake my head pulling Lando closer to the valet wanting to get into the car as soon as possible.

"We can get it online," I say sharply still making our way to the valet when Lando's car was parked out front. When we hand them the ticket Lando opens the door for me before shutting it softly and climbing into the driver's seat.

"Didn't know you wanted to fuck me that bad," Lando says with a smirk making me scoff and roll my eyes softly at him before cracking a slight smile.

"I don't know how you handle all the people talking to you in public. I'm not even the one they're taking pictures and I was overwhelmed," I tell Lando softly pulling the hand he had resting on my thigh into my hand so I could play with his rings.

"You know you're a terrible sugar baby right?" Lando questions me with a smirk making me throw my head back with a soft groan.

Lando and I had known each other for years and have been close for the past few years, and one drunk night decided to come up with some stupid idea where we hook up whenever we can and in exchange Lando will take care of some of my fiances.

"You pay my rent still," I tell him softly making me laugh a little.

"You basically live in my bed, why the hell would I make you pay rent for a place you're rarely in," Lando says with a light laugh making me laugh a little with him.

"I don't Lando, it's a strange situation. I mean I use your card occasionally," I tell him with a soft smile.

"Baby, you've had access to my credit card for almost a year and I kid you not I've made three payments of less than a thousand dollars each time," Lando says making me scrug. I think this whole Sugar Daddy and Sugar Baby situation was our weird way of covering up the truth of us wanting to be together.

"Would you rather me max it out every month?" I question softly making Lando laugh a little.

"I mean it would make me feel better after the way I destroy your pussy every chance possible," Lando says smirking making my jaw drop slightly at his crude words. Lando just laughs when he sees my face before pulling into the parking garage of his complex and reverse parking into his spot making my thighs clench together slightly from how hot he looked when he was driving.

When we get into his apartment I make my way into his room where I instantly strip down into nothing but my bra and panties before grabbing one of Lando's shirts and throwing it on just wanting to be comfortable.

"Fuck, I love seeing you in my clothes," Lando says from the door making me turn around towards him flashing a bright smile before walking towards him and pulling him in for a soft kiss.

"Nuh-uh, you have some online shopping to do," Lando says while pulling away making me whine.

"After," I beg making Lando shake his head, before climbing into his bed and patting the spot next to him before pulling his laptop out of his nightstand and handing it to me.

We spent the next hour buying all kinds of things such as new kitchen utensils for Lando's apartment so I could stop bringing stuff from my apartment, new clothes, and Lando's personal favorite was the two grand he insisted he dropped on lingerie that he will surely have me model for him when it arrives.

"No more," I mumble pushing away the computer when I saw that his card went through on the lingerie boutique.

"Are you sure baby?" Lando questions making me nod my head.

"Yes, can you please fuck me now," I ask softly giving him my best puppy dog eyes making me laugh yet he still pulled me in for a heated kiss.

I climb into Lando's lap grinding down on his jeans making both of us moan at the pleasure. I could feel Lando starting to get hard which and me shuffling between his legs so I was on my knees for Lando but still in the bed. I watch as Lando pulls his shirt off as I unbutton his pants and slip his cock through the top of his boxers before I take a small lick at the precum dripping from his tip making him hiss at the stimulation.

"Imagine your father saw you now. On your knees like a proper trained slut for me to use," Lando says with a smirk making me lean down to his thigh and taking a soft bite at it.

"Ya but you trained me to be your slut," I say with a smirk before finally pulling Lando's pants all the way off with his help. He also shuffled his briefs down leaving him bare while I was still in his shirt so I slipped it off leaving me in my matching set. I lean back down and pull Lando back into my mouth while I used my free hand to play with my clit making me moan softly around Lando's cock sending vibrations straight to his tip.

" Fuck you were made just for me huh?" Lando groans out the question when I start deep-throating his cock.

I could tell Lando was getting close which had him pushing me back softly and positioning me on my back before he climbed between my legs and started kissing me.

Lando makes quick work of unclipping my bra and discarding it across the room before trailing soft kisses down my neck and chest before giving a quick soft suck on each nipple before he kisses down my stomach where he pulls my panties down and wastes no time in pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking on it.

"Fuck, Lando," I whine wiggling my hips a bit making Lando grip onto my thighs with his arms and continue licking and sucking on my clit.

"So good," I mumble out making Lando speed up his actions and unwrap one of his arms from my thighs before slipping two fingers into my soaked pussy where he found my G-spot with not trouble and starts teasing it and bringing me close to an orgasm.

When Lando realized how close I was he pulls away making me whine at the lost but quickly shuts me up when he pulls me in for a kiss while slowly pushing his large cock into my pussy.

"Oh my God," I moan loudly when I feel Lando's cock graze my G-spot before he hit my cervix once he was all the way seated into my pussy.

"Lando, too big," I gasp when I feel Lando rocking his hips slightly to stretch me out. Lando and I had issues the first time we slept together cause I couldn't relax myself enough to take him without pain, we quickly learned a few soft circles against my clit will do the job if needed.

"I love stretching this pussy out," Lando groans while staring at the way my pussy was stretching to accommodate his size.

When Lando feels he's stretched me out enough he stops his rocking and instead starts softly thrusting making me gasp when he starts hitting my G-spot each time.

"So good," Im mumble trying to keep my volume down slightly. Lando just picks up his thrusting when he realizes I was holding back slightly.

"Fuck," I moan loudly when he starts hitting my G-spot with a bit more force than before.

"You gonna let me cum in you baby?" Lando questions making me nod my head.

"Please, I need your cum in my," I gasp when Lando starts speeding up his thrusts into a perfect pace.

"Ya? You love feeling my cum fill this pretty pussy up," Lando says while bringing two fingers down to my clit where he rubs soft circles on it bringing me closer to the edge.

"You gonna cum for me pretty girl?" Lando questioned while speeding up his fingers on my clit knowing I was gonna need more than just some soft circles.

"Please, cum with me," I beg before pulling Lando's neck down to my face so I could keep his lips on mine throwing both of us over the edge.

"Fuck baby, I can feel you cumming on my cock," Lando groans into my mouth while still rocking his hips to make sure to ride our orgasms out.

I can feel the way his cum is splashing against the tight walls of my pussy making me gasp. I could tell he was unloading a large load that was sure to leak out of my pussy the rest of the day.

Once Lando and I have both calmed down from our orgasms he slowly slips his cock out of my pussy before laying down next to me and pulling me into his chest.

"Lando, can I ask you something?" I question softly making Lando pick his head up to give me his full attention.

"So I've been thinking, I don't really want to keep this dynamic," I tell him softly making Lando tense next to me.

"I want more," I continue trying to ease Lando's anxiety. I instantly feel his body relax against mine making me relax slightly too.

"I want more too," Lando tells me softly making a smile spread across my face.

"I mean, truthfully we've been more than sex and money this whole time. I mean at least for me. I haven't even looked at another girl the same since you gave me a taste of that pussy," Lando tells me making me laugh at his last comment.

"Well, good thing I haven't looked at another guy since you kinda destroyed me anyways," I joke making a smug smirk spread across Lando's face.

"Ya, I stretched that pussy just for my cock. No one will ever be able to make you cum again," Lando says casually as if it was a normal thing to be proud of.

"You're ridiculous," I laugh before cuddling further into Lando's side.

"So it's official?" Lando questions softly with hope laced in his voice.

"You gonna buy me dinner first?" I joke before nodding my head in agreeance.

"I just dropped 2k to watch you parade around in lingerie, I think that beats dinner. But yes of course I'm gonna take you to dinner and much more," Lando tells me softly making me smile.

[entitled-fangirl]

More wolf.

Cregan Stark x Bracken wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's Bracken wife is full of fire, and it warms his Northern heart. A misunderstanding comes between them, and the tension only grows.

Warnings: talks of death, sparring, attacking, breaking trust, talks of sex

A/n: God, I love this more than I love myself. This is one of my favorites.

Masterlist

.......................................

She didn't take his hand when she dismounted her horse. 

She was too stubborn of a woman, Cregan often thought. 

She was a Bracken, and Brackens were nothing if not stubborn as mules.

The war did nothing to bridge the gap. In fact, it made it only grow.

A Bracken married to the Wolf who fought for the Blacks.

It seemed ridiculous.

Now, married for a few months, nothing had changed. 

Her feet hit the ground, and she smoothed out her dress. "Ready, Lord Husband?" She asked out of politeness and nothing more. 

Cregan let out a soft sigh. 

She was gorgeous, if only she wasn't so stubborn. 

…

The brass woman confused Cregan more and more every day. 

He stepped out into the courtyard at his usual time to spar, but paused. 

She angrily swung her sword at the dummy, the sound of the fabric ripping filling the air.

He cursed under his breath at the sight of her legs now clad in pants. It awoken something in him.

"Good morrow, wife."

She turned, the tip of the sword falling to the ground as she looked at him. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her hair a mess around her face. 

Gods, she was beautiful.

She tipped her head at him as she panted. "Good morrow, husband. Am- Am I in your way? I apologize. I usually train in the afternoon but I find this cooler morning weather quite lovely."

He hummed, trying to stay focused. "As do I. Hence why I spar then. Please, don't let me interrupt you."

"No," she insists as she brushes her forearm across her forehead. "A break will do me well. Perhaps I'll stop here."

She grabbed her things and began to walk away. 

"How is it that I've not seen you training until now, wife? You've been here four months now." He hums, "Strange, don't you think?"

"Not in the slightest," she retorted over her shoulder. "Why would I want my husband to know of my swordsmanship?"

He watched her walk off, trying not to focus too closely on her ass.

…

While Cregan was frustrated at the war, he was no monster. So, he allowed Aeron Bracken, her brother, to write to her often. The only criterion was that Cregan had to read the letters back and forth when sent and received. He was to be the one to break the seal when received and the one to send hers off. It was a fair deal, honestly more than fair.

"His respect for me and my people stopped the moment I declared my army the Queen's. Even after our wedding," he grimaced. He threw the paper down onto the desk. "Has he always spoken of me this way?"

She shook her head. "I fear the war is beginning to drive him mad. He's an angry man, driven by whatever angers our father the most." She leaned back in her chair. "If it eases your mind at all, I often ignore those parts of his letters."

It did ease his mind to hear her small proclamation, no matter how slightly backhanded it seemed. 

"How will you respond?"

She sighed and stood. "I won't."

His mouth opened, but by the time he thought of something to say, she was gone.

…

Cregan stayed in the courtyard the entire next day. He blamed it on his frustration and stress for the upcoming war but in all reality?

He was waiting for her to come train again.

Various men and servants came to him to try to beckon him indoors to deal with urgent matters, but he'd send them away, not wanting to leave for even a moment.

And eventually, she did show. 

But only for a moment.

She stepped out and paused at the sight of Cregan there. She looked around in confusion and a slight bit of frustration, then stomped back indoors. 

That cute fucking furrow in her brow had him beginning to think things a gentleman never would.

…

He decided to try again the next day, hoping that this time, he could catch her before she stomped off. 

But Cregan underestimated the Bracken's intelligence, for she had peeked from various balconies throughout the day to view the courtyard. And seeing that he was still there, she ducked back indoors. 

How infuriating.

…

That night, Cregan stretched from his chair in his solar. The workload was getting to him, especially when he had to complete it all in the night hours due to his daytime activities. 

He brought his hands to his face, as if he could rub away the sleeping hormones that began to control his brain. 

A distance sound made his head perk up.

He moved to his window, daring to peak out into the night.

In the courtyard stood his bride, lit only by torchlight, stabbing away at a sparring dummy.

He wanted to be angry. He really did. How foolish was this woman to be out alone like this?

But it filled him with pride more.

He found himself stepping away from the window and through the doorway, barely grabbing his cloak in time. 

He stepped out into the cold air outdoors, smiling at the sight of his wife. "Bit dark for training, don't you think?"

It startled her enough that she dropped the heavy longsword, trying to ignore the sound of it hitting the ground. She spun around. 

He expected her to laugh at that, or at least find joy in that fact that he noticed her presence out here. But no. She was infuriated.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

He took a step back in shock. "I don't know what you mean."

She huffed, placing a hand on her hip, the other in her hair to rub at her scalp. "Will you not let me have the night either? If this is too unladylike for you, Lord Stark, just say so." She kicked at her sword. "Fucking take it then."

Cregan held his hands up, trying to remain calm despite her outburst. "I meant no harm."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't." She lets out a humorless laugh. "You only occupy the courtyard from dawn until dusk, knowing well that this is the one thing I have here."

Cregan's jaw fell a bit at that. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I only wished-"

"What?" She stepped up to him, though their height difference was much, the anger in her eyes made up for it. "What does the great Wolf of the North wish for?"

"To see you happy," he admits softly before he can stop himself.

Her brows come together, the same look that makes Cregan have to shift his weight to his other leg. 

"I'll go, wife. And I won't bother you again out here. That I swear."

The tension between the two was at a peak as they stared at one another. 

He studied her as if it was the last time, and turned to walk back indoors.

"Cregan."

He immediately paused in his step, not even looking back at her. 

Her voice was soft, something he'd not heard before. "If you want- I'd like a sparring partner."

His face lit up in a bright grin, but he wouldn't dare let her see it. "I'll be there."

And he stepped inside.

…

The next day, Cregan spent outdoors. 

And when she appeared, he was beyond gleeful.

"How good exactly are you, Cregan Stark?" She asked as she reached for her sword.

Was that a tease?

He leaned over her back to grab his own, taking the opportunity to speak into her ear. "Very."

She tried to ignore the shiver that moved down her spine at the northman's husky voice.

She'd taken on larger opponents, but she feared that he was perhaps the best. 

Aeron was good, but he was no Cregan Stark.

"Ready to weep for my mercy?" She further teased when they got into formation.

A genuine laugh came from him as he spun Ice in his hand. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that, my lady."

"You're no Aegon the Conqueror," she jabbed.

He took initiative, stepping forward and swinging the large blade through the air. 

She blocked it easily enough, the sound of the metal scrapping filling their ears. 

He pushed his blade against hers, trying to get the advantage. "I believe I'm more of a Maegor myself."

"More of a Torrhen."

They pulled away from one another, and Cregan's blade dropped a bit. "You mock my ancestor?"

She faltered, her face falling. "I didn't mean-"

Cregan used that to his advantage, using his sword to knock hers out of her hand. The tip of Ice touched her throat. 

The two stared at one another, hers in shock, and his in amusement. 

"Never let your guard down."

She had to manually remember how to shut her mouth, the shock getting to her, and then the small bit of anger came in. "What's the ancient saying? Ah, yes, 'Fuck you'."

Cregan couldn't stop the bright chuckle that erupted from his chest. He tapped the flat end of the blade against the underside of her chin, forcing her head up. "Careful there, or I'll think those words literal. What was it your brother called me? A 'dumb brute'? Perhaps you shouldn't overestimate my intelligence, Bracken."

When he lowered his blade, she felt herself take a small gasp of air, trying to bring oxygen to her heated cheeks. "You're not dumb or a brute," she defended.

"No? What am I, wife?" He asked softly.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She hadn't meant to compliment him so openly, and now her defenses were vulnerable. "You're not… unintelligent."

He grinned, spinning his sword again. "Wow. What a compliment from a pretty girl. I fear I'm flushed."

She tried to ignore the tumble her stomach did when he called her pretty. "Well," she said as she bent down to pick up her sword, "I'm nothing if not honest." She adjusted her grip on it. "Again."

Cregan stared blankly, knowing he was head over heels for this girl.

…

He woke up better than he should have the next morning, beyond ecstatic for his sparring time with his wife.

He groaned and stood, ready to start his day. 

His servant came in and began to help him dress, but there was a certain look to the man's eye. 

"What?" Cregan asked. 

"Hmm?" The man looked up. "Oh, nothing, my lord. Excuse me."

"No," he pushed. "Speak your mind, please. I encourage it."

The servant hesitated. "It's not mine to tell."

"Speak," Cregan ordered a little harsher.

"Your wife, my lord. The lady, she- she's inconsolable."

Cregan paused. "What?"

"There was a letter of some kind…?" He trailed off.

Cregan audibly growled. He dragged his tongue across the top row of his teeth to think carefully about his words. "From House Bracken? She broke the seal without me?"

"So I've been told, my lord."

"Where is she?" He asked a little too calmly.

"In the courtyard, I believe."

Cregan sighed. "Dress me for a spar."

…

Indeed she was outside, repeatedly swinging her sword without pause at the wooden dummy.

She was angry. 

Her arms burned, her legs ached, sweat ran down her face in abundance, but her anger was too much to stop. 

She swung back again only to feel the weight of her blade leave her hands. 

"YOU BROKE MY TRUST," an angry voice sounded from behind her.

She whipped around. 

Cregan stood, his towering frame only more intimidating with his anger. His eyes were set on her like a wolf spotting prey. Her longsword lay in his hand, his grip so tight that his knuckles were four shades lighter than the rest of him. 

With his teeth bared like that, she finally understood all of the Stark/direwolf references. 

"Give me my blade," she shot back. 

He held it out of her reach. "Starks are honest. Noble. Trustworthy. You are no Stark."

She scoffed. "Cause I broke one seal?"

"It's more than that and you know it."

"Give. Me. My. Sword."

When she reached out for it, Cregan took his free hand to grab her jaw tightly. "What was in that letter?" He growled.

"Fuck you."

He pulled her closer, their breaths mixing in the cold air. "Tell me."

She spat in his face, throwing Cregan off. 

Taking a play from his book, she used that to reach out and take her blade. She stepped back and pointed it at him. "Stay away from me."

"So eager to take advantage of my kindness, girl?"

She shook her head. "Kind? You're not kind at all. Hoping to lower my defenses and gain my trust, all while your war waged on in the background? Hardly a gentlemanly thing to do."

Her words made him falter for a moment. "What?"

"Oh, don't act so noble now, Stark." She waved the blade around as she spoke. "Parade me around while I remain clueless. I may be your Stark, but I am no traitor to anyone, much less my family."

"I never said you were," he said through gritted teeth. "Give me your sword. End this foolishness."

"I'd rather die."

Cregan forced himself to take a breath, reaching for Ice. "Don't do something you'll regret, wife."

"What will you do?" She held her arms up. "Kill me too? Just do it already."

"You fucking Bracken!" He yelled. "So caught up in yourself that you-" His head tilted and his voice softened immediately. "Kill you too? What does that mean?"

She shook her head. "Playing innocence? How noble indeed. Maybe you really are just a dumb bru-"

"-Watch your next words carefully, wife," he warned lowly. His patience was wearing thin. 

"Yes, I broke the seal. Yes, I read the letter. Punish me, I don't care!" She almost threw her sword aside but stopped herself. "Would you have even told me?"

"Told you what?" He looked around in anger. "What are you even doing out here? Practicing to spear your husband?"

That was obviously the wrong thing to say, he noticed. Though he wasn't sure why. 

She swung her sword at him in anger, and he retrieved Ice quick enough to block it. 

She growled and let out a series of swings, each driving her a step forward and the Stark a step back. 

Cregan was an expert swordsman, blocking each one. Her attacks were sloppy without a doubt, but the speed caused him to be on edge. 

He soon found himself backed up against the wall of Winterfell where he had to block and push his blade against hers to keep her from getting the upper hand. 

Their faces were close, the only separation being the blades between them. 

Cregan studied her face. The furrowed brow, the soft complexion, the tears in her eyes. 

"If this is how a Stark man consoles a woman in mourning," she whispered, "I want no part of you."

Seeing that her words hurt him more than her blade ever could, she backed away, throwing her sword in the dirt and storming off.

"My father had the decency to tell me since it seems my husband wouldn't," she yelled over her shoulder. 

Cregan stayed against the wall in contemplation. "Your father never writes you," he yelled back.

"Exactly."

…

Aeron Bracken was dead. 

Cregan ran his fingers across the ink over and over again, rereading the letter once he finished it. 

Was he surprised? No. But if there was any noble death to a Bracken, it was challenging a Blackwood. 

"Ashamed I read it without your leering shadow?" A small voice sounded from the door. 

Cregan looked up at her, only seeing now just how distraught she was. Her eyes held a dullness to them now that he'd extinguished the fire in them earlier. Her cheeks seemed sunken in. He wasn't sure how that could even happen from news that was only heard hours before. Her shoulders that once held pride and stubborness were slumped in surrender. Even her dress seemed too heavy for her now.

"My condolences." That was all he knew to say.

She took in a shaky breath as hot tears began to fall down her face without warning. 

Seems there was more to her than the anger she always hid behind. 

"I should have written to him that day," she cried as she looked at Cregan. "Why didn't I write to him when I had the chance?"

Cregan cursed under his breath. 

They both knew the answer. 

Aeron had insulted Cregan. 

He felt so guilty for placing her between two sides. 

Cregan had no words of reassurance. No 'He died a noble death,' for he had died attacking Cregan's ally. No 'He loved you well,' cause he wasn't sure that Aeron did. No 'I'm here,' for the last thing she wanted was his touch. 

"I didn't know," is what he finally settled on.

She sniffled. "What?"

"This," he gestured to the letter. "I didn't know. The Blackwoods have not written to me yet, it seems. For if they did, I would have told you myself."

"Would you?" She questioned lightly.

"Better from me than ink-"

"Forgive me for my actions."

He paused. "Alright."

"I was cruel without reason. I suppose grief can cause the mind to forget a lot of things."

"Forget things?" He asked as he stepped to her. "Like what?"

"The love I have for you," she admitted as she avoided eye contact.

He felt his breath hitch. "Ah."

"Or perhaps," she spoke again, "That attacking a master swordsman is a bad idea."

He laughed. 

How easy she was to converse with, even when the two were so full of emotion. 

"Indeed," he smiled. He tried not to feel too much at the sight of her smile, no matter how teary eyed she was.

"I should have known better than that. Starks are honest and trustworthy. You are," she paused to finally look up at him, speaking each word slowly to show she truly meant it, "honest. And trustworthy."

"You mean that?"

"What? You'd rather me call you a brute again?" She teased. 

Gods, she was so captivating. 

He tilted his head in disbelief. "I don't think you would."

She took a step with each word as her grin only grew. "You mischievous. Little. Bru-"

His lips locked onto hers. 

They hadn't kissed since the wedding. It was so much better than he remembered it. So much sweeter. 

She took a moment to snap to, kissing him back equally. 

The two took in each other, hands wandering like never before. All of this tension had finally snapped, and neither were willing to part now that they'd had a taste. 

"Your house wor-"

She put a finger over his lips. "Who fucking cares?"

He grinned and pulled her hand away to kiss her again. 

Her fingers began to pull on his tunic, and only then did he snap to. He pulled away.

"Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Gods, you're… you're a vision, but I can't. Not like this." He panted lightly as his gaze moved to the longsword he'd thrown on the desk. "Perhaps we do something else with our… stamina."

"Right," she said with a deep breath. "That's noble of you. Sparring will do us well, I'm sure. Just until this passes."

His cheeks heated. "And then?"

"I'm moving into your chambers within the fortnight."

She had said it so matter-of-factly that he wouldn't dare deny it to her. 

"Alright."

"Then I'll jump your bones, Cregan Stark."

His eyebrows shot up and he was sure he was a bright pink color at that point. 

She only smiled and stepped out of the room to dress for their spar.

…

"What was that." Swing. "You were saying." Swing. "About my house words?" Swing. 

He grinned as he blocked and then swung himself. "I was going to say." Swing. "That they might." Block. "Ring true." Swing.

Block. "How so?" Block.

Swing. "I fear you," he teased.

"You don't." Swing.

He chuckled. "You're right." Block. "I don't." Swing.

She managed to sidestep him, causing his momentum to shift with his sword. She took that time to step around and kick at the back of his knee, causing the man to fall to his knees. 

She bent down and tugged on his hair, exposing his neck as her other hand pulled her blade to rest gently against his neck.

He smiled widely. "But I fear for everyone else if they dare test you."

She placed a kiss to the side of his head, stepping away and letting the Wolf stand himself. 

"You're getting better," he commented as he moved to retrieve Ice.

"Or you're getting worse," she snickered. 

He pointed his blade at her with a teasing smirk. "You better watch yourself, Stark."

"Am I not a Bracken anymore?"

"No. No, hardly." He lowered his sword to step to her. He pulled her body against his. "I'm not sure you ever really were."

"How so?" She asked, trying not to get distracted by the proximity of his face to hers. 

"You're much more of a direwolf than a horse, don't you think? You bite much harder than most."

"How would you know that?"

He laughed. "Well, I intend to find out. Perhaps when I finally see you in my chambers."

She turned red. "If you weren't a lord, I'd-"

"-You'd what?" He taunted playfully.

She paused. "I'd take you in this courtyard."

He leaned in. "Who says you can't, Stark?"

............................................

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[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[macfrog]

fucking diabolical | one shot

i don't have a semblance of an explanation for this one. i've fallen off the ledge and i'm never coming back. if you know, you fucking know.

pairing: billy butcher x f!reader summary: you move in across the street. butcher notices. warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, unprotected car sex, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink (one mention of pregnancy), softdom! & soft!billy...? weird. word count: 3.6k

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Six days. He made it six days.

He’s not this weak a man, is he? Is he really? To stand by the living room window, whiskey in hand, white-knuckle grip threatening to shatter the glass. Five minutes. Only five more minutes.

To watch your figure float between rooms, flicking lamps on and flitting blinds closed. A patchwork façade, now become an almost nightly routine. Polite little home on a polite little street, on this polite little evening.

You’ll leave the radio on in the hallway. Your neighbors will never know.

He’s not so weak to feel himself harden at the mere thought: your body bending backwards under his, his every move stealing the sweetest of sighs. Leaden weight in his pants, painful and premature and at the same time – a fucking relief, honestly.

Relief that he’s still alive, somewhere inside himself. Relief that he can feel something other than burning rage, simmering resentment. Relief that he can still spot a right fucking sort when he sees one.

Billy’s not a weak man.

You just might be testing his willpower, is all.

It’s been a month since you moved in. Since you first crossed paths across the street. He was walking Terror, cooling off after another spat with the missus. Never fucking listens, does she, old boy? Never. I ain’t tryna cause a fight, but she makes it so bloody –

Hang about. Who’s this?

You looked too good to be true. Boosting yourself up into the back of the moving truck, dipping into the shadows for the one, two, three steps it took him to reach the curb. He could feel the ricochet of his pulse through every vein in his body.

You resurfaced in the light, nudging a brown box towards the ledge with the heel of your shoe. Skimpy little shorts, Billy noted, your skin glistening with sweat and sun.

When you hopped back down, your breasts – Jesus fuck, your breasts – they bounced so perfectly into place. Full and round and fucking delicious beneath that tank top.

Billy loves a challenge, doesn’t he? Fly little bugger. Didn’t matter to him when your little twat of a husband came scurrying out, scooped up the box and, following your direction, staggered like some pathetic drunkard back inside.

Didn’t matter to him, and didn’t seem like it mattered to you. At least, not when you caught sight of your new neighbor and took one looping glance – from raveled boots to rugged beard, lingering on the Hawaiian shirt in the middle – and then smiled.

Smiled like you knew you were about to ruin his fucking life.

Hi.

Hello, love. Moving day, is it?

You gestured to your feet, then to the Tetris block boxes in the back of the truck. Bit of a shitshow so far.

Looks like it. Need a hand?

He could’ve sworn you were considering it, the way you paused. The way your hands crossed to cover the ring on your third finger.

You rolled your tongue from one cheek to the other. Thanks, you decided, I think we’re good.

And then, just as Billy made to cross the street, you cast another line.

Nice neighborhood?

His mouth twisted into that sick smirk of his. Muscle memory. He had you ensnared already. He glanced over his shoulder. Hm?

I’m not from around here. Is it a nice neighborhood?

He staggered back over, stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘s alright, yeah. Few wronguns, couple curtain-twitchers.

Terror sniffed a trail between the boxes at your feet. His leash wrapped around your bare legs.

You knelt to cup his blocky head, scratch the folds of fur between his ears. Curtain-twitchers, huh? you echoed to the pup. And which category does your daddy fall into?

Billy’s fist locked around the leash. He could already feel it: the rush of blood heading somewhere he knew it fucking shouldn’t.

Neither, he replied. Yet.

You looked up at him. All doe-eyed and innocent. Younger than him by a decent amount, so it looked. A light in your eyes and a fullness in your cheeks that gave you away instantly.

You looked brand new. Lovely little thing; a baby crease between your brows as you ruffled the dog’s snowy fur and stood up, mirroring Billy’s suspicious smirk.

So fucking sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Billy wanted to chew you up and spit you back out. Wanted to see how much of a mess he could make of such a pretty girl.

He’s always known just how to ruin a good thing, hasn’t he?

Well, you cleared your throat, it was nice to meet you, uh…

Butcher, he said, holding a paw of a hand out. Billy Butcher.

Billy Butcher, you echoed. I look forward to seeing where we both turn out.

Forty-five seconds still on the clock, he gives in.

Gives in to the need thrumming through his bones, so electric he can’t stand still. Gives in to his fluttering heart and the way it falters with each sighting of your silhouette.

Gives in to the fucking brick in his pants, the painful ache and the feeling like bruising each time it ruts against his jeans.

Can’t help himself, can he? He’s already bursting at the seams. He hasn’t touched you in – Christ, Billy, it’s only been eighteen hours – but fuck it.

You’re the only good thing about his day. The only relief he gets, the only time he feels like himself.

The only thing Billy has to look forward to these days, is pushing his cock inside someone else’s wife.

Ain’t that a fucking thing? Fuuuckin’ hell.

He thinks, swaggering down his front steps, that he should feel bad about it. He almost wishes he could.

He thinks, watching you mirror him across the street – collar up, head down, the way he’d taught you the first night – that he should call it quits. Tonight, last night, last week. This affair should never have started in the first place.

He thinks, as he sighs into his car and you strut off in the opposite direction, that he should let you go. Tell you to turn around, head back home. Back to your husband, back to your life – unblemished by Billy’s messy, poisoned hands.

He should let you go back to that girl he met on the side of the road. Ring on her finger, dimple in her cheek. A twinkle of innocence as bright as sunlight in her eye.

But you pause at the end of the street. Billy catches it in his rearview. You pause, twirl on your heel, and stare back at the Cadillac. Your arms come up – something of a signal, a prompt. He should have the engine running by now. He should be on his way to the meeting spot.

Billy thinks, if he’s half the man he’s spent his entire life trying to be, that he owes it to himself not to turn the key. To get back out of the car, and never watch for the shadow of you ever again.

He knows he’s not half the man he should be. And why the fuck would he be, anyway? He ain’t exactly got a decent lineup of role models to choose from. A seed planted in shit can grow into as tall a tree as it wants – the roots will always be steeped in shit.

Sod it.

The engine rumbles to life, and so does he.

Billy pulls the Cadillac in to the usual spot. A couple blocks from your street, the place is perpetually deserted – save for a couple stumbling teenagers last week and a meddling raccoon the week before.

You’re loitering beneath the cover of some trees, avoiding the splotches of amber streetlight. Hands in your pockets; shoulders bunched. Almost a month of sneaking around and still, each time, he almost mistakes you for some other ghost on the street.

The door whips open. You sink into the passenger seat.

“Don’t tell me you almost got cold feet.”

His eyebrows quirk. “That sound like me?”

You bite down on a cheeky grin. That dimple of yours makes itself at home. “Thought you were about to bail on me. Car trouble? Couldn’t get it to start?”

“Hm,” Billy pinches your chin, “That don’t sound like me either.”

He could swear he feels you nuzzle into his grasp; could swear your gaze softens just a little. But it’s dark outside, even darker in here, and he’d do well to remember exactly who you are, and exactly who he is.

Selfish, careless, irresponsible. A right cunt. Broken from the inside out, a black chasm which splits the four chambers of his heart. It’s in his bones, in his blood.

The kind of man who flirts with the neighbor, who meets her in a backstreet and fucks her in his car. The kind of man who goes home afterwards and showers her perfume from his skin; who plays with himself until he’s hard all over again just from the memory.

The kind of man whose wife reckons the new couple look happy. Honeymoon phase, she’ll say, and then drift off into some other corner of the house.

Billy lets his hand drop. “Come on, then,” he says, putting the car into park. “Ain’t got all night.”

He’s never bored of it.

Never bored of the smutty smirk on your face, or the way you skip around to the backseat. Never bored of that first touch, the heat on his skin that meets your frozen fingertips. Never bored of the way you melt into him, the need pouring from your body as soon as Billy pulls you into his lap.

There’s a thrill to it. A kind of ecstasy he hasn’t felt in years. For the sliver of night that you share together, he can be exactly who he wants to be.

It just so happens to be who you want, too.

He lifts the tee from your shoulders, teeth dragging between your collarbones. Across red lace and strap, pausing only to suck a delicate mark into the plush of your chest.

You giggle, throwing your head back. “No proof,” you pull his jaw away, “He’ll see that, you know he will.”

Billy nips at your bottom lip. “Tell ‘im he left it.”

“Ha,” you roll your eyes, “Good one.”

He toys with the lace on your hips, slipping a hand between your legs. “Poor baby,” he pouts, “Ain’t got no one to touch her at home.”

Your spine curls when he cups your mound. Tongue pokes at the corner of your mouth, eyes flood black; a wild animal eyeing her next meal.

He swirls his middle finger, teasing your clit over your underwear. “Make a mess in ‘em, sweetheart, just for me.”

“They’re already a mess for you,” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders. You grind into his palm, hips stuttering. “They’re – always – a mess – for you.”

He can feel it – the damp material at his fingertips, the warm wet on the inside of your thighs. You need this as much as he does. And that’s all this is, right? Helping each other out, being neighborly. A favor asked and answered inside of an hour.

Lend me some milk, water my houseplants. Fuck me until I can’t fucking think straight.

His cock strains against his jeans. Any longer and he’ll be making a mess in his own fucking underwear.

He kisses along the ridge of your jaw, sliding a hand up your spine to unhook your bra.

You shake the lingerie from your body, fucking perfect tits jiggling between your arms. Bare on top of him now – nothing but a scrap of lace over your hips and a sinful smile on your lips.

You fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, writhing still with the pressure he’s quickly building between your hips. Grinding into him, hungrier and hungrier.

“Stupid fucking shirt,” you groan, ripping the floral pattern from his shoulders. Your hands find the plain of his chest; solid, dappled with dark hair, chain catching the streetlight and reflecting it in your eyes.

Billy laughs to himself. He pulls his hand from between your legs, sucks the tease of slick from his fingers, and guides your lips down to his. “Come here.”

No, he’s not a weak man. He’s been a fighter his entire life. Fists that have broken bone, words that have crumbled foes to dust. If you ain’t already a cunt, the world will make a cunt of you, yeah?

But here, now, you – undoing his belt, tossing it to the footwell; pushing the denim from his hips. You, giggling when he bucks you up to rid himself of his underwear, and your head hits the roof of the car.

You, taking his stiff cock in both hands, biting down on a moan when you feel the weight of him –

You might just be the thing that breaks him.

He thrusts up into your grip. “Drivin’ me off my head, you are,” he groans, burying his face in your chest when you squeeze.

“Good,” you reply, spitting into your palm. “’s what you do to me, anyway.”

You drag warm saliva over his length, slipping lower to massage his balls. So big and heavy in your hand, though Billy knows you’re being gentle.

Everything about you is gentle. Even while breaking your most solemn vow – the bullshit promises you made to that cunt at the altar – you’re so sweet with it. A favor, sure – but you want to make him feel good. You still want to pretend it’s real.

Only – there’s not enough time. Your husband will be home any minute, Billy’s wife has probably already noticed he’s gone. There are only so many excuses that an hour can allow, and the longer he spends admiring the way you caress his ball sack, the more of those excuses are written off.

For now, the back of his Cadillac behind a dilapidated Burger King will have to do.

“Alright,” Billy croaks, pausing your movements with a light hand on your wrist. “Gotta let me fuck you now, sweetheart. Been waiting all day for it, haven’t I?”

You chew on your lip, guiding his cock to your entrance.

His tip notches at your hole, so warm and snug just for him. He can feel how tight you still are, even after a month of him. Still not used to the size, the way he punches the air straight out of your lungs with that first thrust.

He wonders if you’re still having sex with your husband. Stupid question, maybe, but he does. He wonders whether, when the bloke slips inside, you feel yourself aching around him. Feel your cunt needing more, needing him.

The thought drains his head of any blood and sends it straight to his dick. He leans back against the headrest and pulls your cunt down over him.

The sound you make is almost enough to send him over already. A tiny squeak, a yelp which shatters into the most beautiful sound he’s heard all day. Need. Need and want, laced up and tied into the form of a pretty girl on his cock.

Need and want, which happens to push the word over her tongue just as he goes to ask for it.

“Daddy,” you whine, head rolling across Billy’s shoulder. Your hips are still, split open on top of him as your cunt adjusts to the intrusion.

“There she is,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, smirking. “’s my girl, let Daddy open her up a little.”

So fucking tight, it almost hurts. He can’t remember the last time he was inside someone who gripped him this much. Like you don’t want him to move at all, just stay put between your walls and let you call the shots.

“That feel okay, darlin’?” Billy asks, helping you straighten.

You look down to where your bodies connect – the dark trail of hair on his groin meeting yours. The twist of lace, underwear warped to make room for the width of his cock.

You brace yourself with two hands on his stomach, and push up. Only an inch, barely enough for any relief, but when you drop down on him again, you wince.

“She’ll get there,” he says, slipping a hand around the small of your back. He cradles you in the crook of his arm, kisses the hinge of your jaw. “Just gotta give her a little bit a’ time, don’t we?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you reply, in a bottled voice. You link your own arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.

He lifts his hips, gently bucking until your whimpers quieten. Until the crease between your brow smooths, replaced with creases at the corners of your lips. A smile, a satisfied thing – her daddy always makes her feel better, doesn’t he?

Always blurs the edges of her pain. The relief after a long, shitty day; the escape from a long, shitty marriage. The need met; the want fulfilled. The hunger satiated, until eight p.m. the following night when you pull your hood up and go for another one of your walks.

You chant it to him, like with each syllable you’re turning the pain into pleasure. Daddy Daddy Daddy. Each one higher than the last, each one more desperate.

Your walls squeeze around him. You grind down against the thick hair at his base; clit swollen and soaked with your wet and his.

Billy’s eyes roll closed. He slips his fingers through yours, feels the cold brush of your wedding ring on his skin.

A good man would snap out of it. A good man would glance down at the strip of gold around his own finger, and call the whole thing off. Stuff himself back into his pants, drive the both of you home. Never look the road you’re on again, never look at another woman who isn’t his wife.

But his wife’s not here. Hasn’t been here, for longer than Billy would like to admit.

You’re here. Dove of a girl, soft coos from her lips and little fluttering movements. Good girl, right in his lap, begging him to tear her apart.

And thank fuck he’s not a good man.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching around a pathetic moan. “Daddy’s gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill her right up.”

“Daddy,” you pant, “Daddy, I’m – I’m ovulating, please –”

“Good,” he grunts, slamming in again, “Means you’ll take it all then, won’tcha?”

You slur something of a laugh into his chest. Your thighs clench around his waist, rutting begins to falter. You dig your nails into his shoulders and, with a sobbing moan, you come hard around his cock.

“Oh, my God – Billy,” you gasp, hands grabbing the hair at the base of his skull. You give it a sharp tug and tilt his head skyward.

Billy comes with a guttural moan, a sound that tears from the base of his throat and echoes into your mouth. His cock pulses inside you, emptying into your little cunt.

Nothing has ever felt so fucking right, he realizes, than this cramped backseat. A tight squeeze, all of it – the sweet pinch of your pussy around his cock, the sweat and sex coating the windows in a hazy film.

The stars in his vision spatter, fading into the dull car. He settles back with a sigh.

You giggle, swaying to and fro in his lap. When you slip off, his cock settles heavy and soaked on his groin.

“Hold it,” Billy says, snapping your underwear back into place. “You hold it all in there.”

“Okay,” you smile, wrapping your arms around one of his, “Okay, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he allows himself to fade out of this stifling backseat and to somewhere fresher, cleaner. Unbroken and untainted. No vows or golden rings suffocating either of you.

For a moment, he could almost believe it.

At his side, he hears the ruffling of denim. The flick of a lighter, once, twice, and then the soft crackling of a cigarette burning. The thick stench of tobacco fills the car.

“You wanna know something?”

You ask it quietly, timidly.

Billy snaps back to the Cadillac. His eyes flutter open. “What?”

You twirl the cig between your fingers, watching the snaking smoke bend and twist. “This is all I have. The only time I feel like I’m above the waves. Everything else is just…fucking…”

“…drowning,” he says.

You hum an agreement and lift the cigarette to his lips. “Isn’t that awful? I mean, we’re fucking awful people, aren’t we?”

Billy takes a long drag. The question fills his lungs, sour as smoke. “Not you,” he says, lifting his chin to exhale over your head. “Not you.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “How come you get to be the cunt, and I don’t?”

He answers with an empty shrug, another cloud of smoke obscuring you from his vision.

“What would we do if you got me pregnant?” you ask, wafting the air.

He scoffs. “You’re askin’ if we’d pretend it was his?”

You shrug. “Sure. Would we?”

He rests his chin on your head. “S’pose we’d have to,” he utters, watching the blur of headlights soar by the parking lot. “You want to admit this is what you’re up to every fuckin’ night?”

“No.”

“No,” he repeats.

“It would be a shitstorm, though,” you snicker. The cherry glows again as you suck on the end.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” Billy agrees.

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry [3] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! smut, angst!!!!!!, unedited, infidelity, revenge cheating, oral (m receiving), kinda slightttt dub con if you squint w/ Aegon x reader, Aemond is frustrating, so is reader tbh, slight deviation from canon? again, if you squint, soft!aemond if you also squint. But also---angry Aemond (rahhhhhh), tell me if I've missed any warnings!

Author's note: my APOLOGIES on the wait, y'all. Hopefully this scratches an itch!! it's 11PM here, which is the earliest I've ever posted a fic funnily enough. I also reallyyyyy appreciate the love on this series so far!!! Love you all. As always, please don't hesitate to comment or to interact or hmu in my inbox w/ me bc I LOVE yapping with you guys. Send in feedback or criticism (but like I'll cry if it's super mean) or some headcannons!! or even your best dad joke. Anyways, xoxo kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen was an intelligent man. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been acting as the realm’s largest imbecile. 

Time and time again, Aemond had let his ego and his pride run ahead of his brain, and had failed to think of the effect that his actions had on people other than himself. Sure, he cared for those who were important to him. His sister, his mother, his grandfather, Ser Cole, Aegon (although Aemond may not have realised it) and even to some extent his wife. 

He realised, perhaps too late, that you may as well be a stranger to him. And at one point, Aemond had truly believed that keeping whatever unlucky woman he was to wed at arms length would be for the best. 

The first time he met you was insignificant. It was as per tradition and formality. Aemond’s interactions up until the wedding was mainly with your family, despite the efforts you made to acquaint yourself with him properly. You were much more timid then, shyer than Aemond had expected from the to-be wife of a weaponised prince. But then again, he had only assumed that a Lady like his mother would have been chosen for him; confident, cunning and strong-headed. 

At the time he had begun to understand you better, Aemond had lost track of himself. A sort of descent into darkness where he went from a young prince to a man, eager to prove himself at whatever cost. Satisfied by the control he gained through fear, strength and reputation. Now that he had stopped to think about his marriage, after you had left him hard and desperate in his own bed, Aemond came to realise a few things. 

You were a purity among the wickedness and politics of the Red Keep. An inherently good person and a woman of grace, kindness and compassion. He had already noticed the dwindling of those traits brought on by your new life, confined to the walls of a fortress that was littered with deceit, distrust and gore. Aemond was a far darker entity than you–he had accepted this fact after the first true conversation you shared. 

Corrupting you was both tempting and terrifying. Aemond had always been loveless–deprived of the affection he craved and deserved but also clueless about how to give that affection. And while he wished he could learn how to right himself and how to quell the carelessness of his temperament and the destruction that was left in its wake, Aemond didn’t know how to. 

Perhaps it would come naturally. He was a lot more open to that notion now, despite the fact that most of him was convinced he was incapable of such change. 

Aemond regretted–something he didn’t feel often–how he had pushed you away. Even if he had not intended to. 

Because now, he was starting to see you as you were. A woman who had far more of an influence over his emotions than he realised–a woman who he had begun to crave the affections of in such an intensity that it only served to scare him away from you. At one stage, you had been another stranger among the walls of his home bound to him in nothing but title but, at some point throughout this ridiculous game that he had stupidly encouraged, Aemond had started to see you as his wife. 

The whore that he had let into his bed was not actually a whore. It was a woman Aemond had known–a witch whom he had shared the pleasures of his body with before the two of you had wed. Alys was always eager for him and once, he would have returned it with his own enthusiasm. Not anymore. She was simply an easier option. A whore would never sully the sanctity of his chambers. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had been honest and told you that Alys was not from the Street of Silk. 

To anyone who came asking, including you, Aemond would first admit to taking a whore into his bed than a lowly witch.

He cursed himself for letting his honour fall so short that this is what it took for him to wake up. For him to have tainted his loyalty to you, to have let a woman whom he could barely get it up for shatter the confines of his marriage, for him to have been left unwound with a hard cock, his hand and only the scent of you on his thigh to release the tension that was driving him mad. 

Aemond wished he hadn’t been so short sighted. He would subject himself to whatever punishment he deserved should it be the burn of a whip against his back or the sickening ache of starvation if you were to demand it. 

All of a sudden, in the days that had passed since your encounter on his bed, Aemond found himself looking for you throughout his day. He hoped you’d cross each other in the halls, cursed the world for keeping him too busy to spend an afternoon with you in the gardens, sworn at the war that was raging for binding him to his duties and keeping you apart. 

So at the first opportunity he had to take time for himself and for the first time in your short marriage, Aemond had called upon you to join him for afternoon tea.You stared at the young servant who had been sent to retrieve you, half wondering if you had heard the boy incorrectly. Had he called you simply one moon ago, you would have dropped everything you were doing to meet your husband for tea with a grin and a skip in your step at the prospect of finally spending time with him on his own accord. 

But now? It both excited you and infuriated you. 

You gave the boy a soft smile, holding your reserve together when his face dropped at your refusal. “You may tell my husband that I am otherwise attended to for my tea.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had important plans for the afternoon with the other Targaryen son. 

The servant stood still for a moment. “Yes, my Lady.”

“The rest of my afternoon is already engaged with the King,” you purposefully added, a mixture of adrenaline and excitement beginning to simmer in your belly. “Tell him I will take tea with him another time.”

You were walking away from your chambers before the servant had turned to leave. A part of you felt bad for him. Anyone would be wary of delivering rejection to a prince. It felt as if you were sending him to his death in a way, knowing that the seemingly innocent excuse was balancing on a wire that was already frayed. If the young servant had known of your sly plan for revenge, he would have spoiled his breeches. 

There was a chance Aemond would catch on straight away. There was a chance that he would take a little longer. 

Either way, so long as he caught on, everything would unfold in your favor.

Aegon had been waiting for you, a mischievous smile on his lips at the sight of you eagerly rushing towards him. He was an immature and distracted King, and he was definitely not without his flaws, but he had never been bad to you. Sometimes, you even appreciated Aegon’s efforts to involve you in conversation or to pull a smile out of you when you had clearly been distressed. Nonetheless, he was still an infuriating cad and you had often considered giving in to violent urges at the way he treated Helaena. 

Helaena. 

A stab of guilt in your gut at the thought of her. Sure, she had confided in you on numerous occasions and you knew she felt little care for Aegon’s outwards ventures with women but you knew she was saddened by the state of her marriage. And here you were, as wretched as the whore that Aemond had bedded. It was no different; you were doing the same thing as her. Only it wasn’t your job; you weren’t doing it for the money. 

The satisfaction of bringing Aemond down to the same level he had brought you to was all the motivation you needed. It would be treading a thin line but it would be worth it. 

“I had wondered how long it would take you to find yourself in my chambers, Princess,” Aegon’s voice held that boyish shrill he had never grown out of. The way he had stepped aside to let you pass, eyes holding yours through his lashes as he dipped his head with a grin. “For a cup of tea, of course.”

Comparing Aegon’s chambers to Aemond’s was instinctual. It was brighter here, messier and there was an unkempt feel to the furniture despite the servant’s having kept things relatively put together. A King’s chambers, it was; grand and large and adorned with all sorts of artistry. Aemond’s chambers had held a darker tone; presumably because Aemond was sensitive to light on his blind eye and somehow even the glow of light from the lamps were deeper and warmer. 

You liked Aemond’s chambers better. 

“It has been overdue, Your Grace,” you weren’t sure of that. “Thank you for indulging me this afternoon. I wager a King such as yourself is no short of duties to tend to.” 

Aegon scoffed, pouring himself a cup of wine as he watched you take a seat at the small settee from the corner of his eye. “My family seems to be taking care of my duties on my behalf. I am a king in nought but title, you see.”

There was nothing you could say at his unbridled honesty. Aegon was different to most of the people who presided here in that way. He cared little to hide behind a facade of false indifference and stoicism. 

He fell to the cushion beside you, close enough so you could smell the drink he balanced in his hand. Aegon laid back lazily, resting on his elbows and watching you as you sat pin-straight and brought the piping tea to your lips. “‘Tis not a concern. I would much prefer to have more comely company than those clueless cunts who sit on my counsel.”

“I do not doubt that, Your Grace,” you coughed lightly, growing alarmingly aware of the fact that you hadn’t thought about how this was going to play out. There was absolutely nothing that you knew about seducing a king. No less, a king with Aegon’s track record. “I beli-”

“You have been different,” He cut you off. Swiftly pushing himself up so that his face was beside yours, breath tickling the strands of your hair that had fallen loose across your cheek. Aegon’s lips were gently turned up as his eyes traced every curve of your face. 

Swallowing thickly, you will yourself to meet his eye with confidence. The curiosity in his familiar violet eyes was paired with an immature lust and you wondered if he had any idea how easy it could be to use his forward thinking cock against him were you a woman of cunning ambitions. You didn’t miss how his gaze flickered across your throat and towards the curve of your chest. 

But something in the way that Aegon looked at you in that moment, like you were a woman of such beauty that he would risk whatever consequences were sent his way just to feel your touch sent a slither of saddened longing across your chest. Not even your husband had made you feel as if you were so captivating. 

It made the knowledge of how ever long you’d be alone with him far easier to stomach.

“I do not know of what you mean, Your Grace.”

Aegon laughed, bringing his face so close to yours that the point of his nose touched against your cheek. His hand fell to rest flat just above your belly, brazenly close to where your dress tucked underneath the curve of your breasts. 

“I know well when a Lady is not…” he dragged his nose across your soft skin, eyes carefully watching your reaction. “Sufficiently satisfied by her husband.”

Your breath hitched at how quickly Aegon had set his target. “If you mean to-”

“Does my dear brother forego his duties for the comfort of whores, perhaps?”

Pursing your lips, you gently turned your face so that your lips were centimetres away from his, Aegon’s fringe brushing across your forehead. There was a ringing in your ears, a nervousness about how you were so close to betraying your husband and how you were unsure that you could handle the fallout of what was definitely about to happen. Things are much different for women; infidelity and adultery would be grounds for far worse than simply an annulment. This world was not so kind to a lady who partakes in the same treachery as a lord.

Above all, you were conflicted.

“It seems my husband is no different to any other man who does not hunger for his wife.”

“I hunger for his wife,” Aegon all but moaned at the way your lips nudged closer to his. He cocked his head to the side and pressed his fingers into your flesh. “But I am no fool, my Lady. Aemond has always been the sole object of your gaze. You are here for more sinister reasons, I suspect.”

You blinked. Why did these Targaryen princes so often seem to be one step ahead?

It was a relief that he had not moved away from your closeness. In fact, Aegon leaned further into it. His smile never faltered and he waited patiently for you, watching as you thought of your next moves. There was a flush of embarrassment that prettied your skin and it was clear that your facade was close to crumbling. Aegon was not a man you desired in such a way. Merely a means to an end. 

So you sighed, resigning to the fact that being honest with Aegon would be best. 

“You are right,” you muttered. He shook with a silent laugh at your bravery and the way your chin remained turned up. “I-I believe you are aware of my intentions, Your Grace. Will you have me dragged back to Prince Aemond’s feet or will you allow my scheme?”

Aegon was in front of you in a matter of seconds, bending down so that he met your height as you stayed seated. “I would risk meeting the wrath of a man whose temperament and pride are unchained.”

“Teach me how to make it worth it then, my King,” you held strong in forcing the tremble out of your voice. You didn’t want to bed him entirely–absolutely not. Just what you had seen through the gap in Aemond’s door would be more than enough and there was a bubbling gratification in your stomach knowing that Aemond would not be able handle what he had so easily served out. 

His hand held the back of your neck and he jerked forward to catch your lips, grunting when you turned your head from him. You couldn’t kiss him. You weren’t interested in kissing him–only fulfilling the steady thrum of excitement at the need to both experience what you had been teased with and show your husband that he should be sorry. 

In fact, and you were loathsome to even rationalise it, you felt sick at the thought of kissing him. And you felt a little drop in your gut at the thought of taking him in any kind of way but it was different. Less frightening than kissing a man you were trying so hard to convince yourself was sexy enough.

There was no man for your body’s desires aside from Aemond Targaryen-–

A deep breath and you looked at Aegon through your lashes, bringing your fingers to feel the softness of his lips. “I do not want you to fuck me, Your Grace. But show me how I may give you pleasure with my mouth. And how a man can satisfy me with his.”

Aegon became excited at your use of such foul language, his hand remaining behind your neck as he straightened and guided you roughly to his hips, groaning as your hands instinctively found his thighs and moved upwards. He was painfully hard in his breeches–he had been since the first moment you looked at him with that stubborn intent and purpose. 

There was a strong urge to push him away but you fought through it. 

“I am sure your husband is already searching for his brazen little vixen,” Aegon watched as you breathed heavily, your chest heaving and your soft breasts pressing against the tightly laced corset of your dress. “And I am sure you wish for him to find us. Very cunning of you, I must say.” 

His touch didn’t pull that feeling from you. The feeling of Aemond’s touch that had made you feel as if you were floating in lava and drowning in a molten heat that could only be quelled by him. But it made your blood rush down, growing sensitive between your thighs at the prospect of pleasuring a man who openly lusted for you and had no care for hiding it. 

Aegon didn’t care for games that shattered your self-worth. He didn’t care to make you feel lesser than a whore for your curiosity of how it felt to have a man tremble from your mouth. All he wanted was to feed his appetite for you–the beautiful Lady who he had envied his brother for having to himself.

“I want to learn how to do it,” you whispered, melting into Aegon’s guidance as he hastily fiddled with the embellishments on his tunic to undo half of it and push the velvet fabric out of the way. The laced belt at his waist was discarded in seconds and you took little time to pull him out of the confines of his breeches. “So I can–so I can show him.”

There was a certain light headed nervousness that you felt when you realised that you don’t actually know how to do what you wished to. It seemed easy enough when you watched how that woman had given Aemond her mouth but now that you were faced with trying it out yourself, you worried how you would fare. Aegon triggered a natural response from you, one that you had learned was instinctual of human bodies, but you just could not find him desirable. 

Momentarily, you doubted you could find it in you to disregard your aversion to the King. An aversion that suddenly became more pressing an issue than it was merely seconds ago.

Aegon must have noticed your apprehension because he guided you forward, the hardened length of his cock brushing against your face. He was breathing heavily when he spoke. “Lick it. Use your tongue first and then-fuck, that’s right-” you hesitantly followed his instructions, dragging the tip of your tongue across the sides of him, gentle flicks down to the base and then a long stripe up to the top. It was an invigorating thrill when you felt him throb against your mouth. His hips jerked when you hesitantly wrapped your lips around him. 

It was slightly uncomfortable but it was not a bad feeling. Aegon tasted musky and salty, and a little bit sweaty. You took a moment to find the best way to stop your teeth from grazing against him and started to move along him, watching as he threw his head back, eyes shut tightly. 

The image of your husband stayed ingrained in your head. Would Aemond taste the same? Would he feel the same on your tongue? Would his cock react to you in such a way? Would you enjoy taking him in your mouth more than whatever this was?

Shamefully or not, you let yourself pretend that Aegon was not the man standing above you. That it was Aemond instead, enjoying what you were keen to give him and praising you for being so eager to taste him. 

You wished so hard that it was Aemond instead, that for a moment, when you gazed upwards it was him looking down at you with his hair falling perfectly and his eyepatch discarded. Alas, it was King Aegon, who revelled in staring at you with an amusement coupled with bliss that only felt belittling. 

It did set your body into a light rush of arousal but you couldn’t stop the doubts that flooded your mind. Were you dishonouring the sanctity of your body out of spite? Were you betraying the man you almost loved just to have a jab at him? Guilty tickles grew in your ribcage but you distracted yourself from it, focusing on the way that Aegon steered your movements. 

“Shit,” he hissed. Aegon’s hand found the back of your head and he adjusted your pace how he preferred. “Use your hand. What doesn’t fit–hold it.”

It became slightly easier once you found your rhythm, following each instruction that Aegon gave, drinking in the way his thigh trembled under your hand that rested against it, holding yourself stable as you hollowed your cheeks. Whatever you did, it almost came naturally and Aegon seemed to be enjoying it far more than you had expected. 

But it quickly became too much–Aegon started thrusting in a way that didn’t match your movements and you gagged, eyes burning at the ache of him hitting the top of your throat. You made a noise, pulling off and gasping for air, whining as he tugged your mouth back to him and chuckling. Lungs burning, you tried to meet whatever pace Aegon was moving at in an attempt to make things more comfortable. 

You reminded yourself of why you were here. The image of Aemond, head thrown back and groans slipping past his lips as he let that woman take him in his mouth. The image of Aemond, head buried between her legs, the skin on his chin glistening as he smirked at you while pleasure another woman. 

The feeling when your courtly acquaintances who you once thought of as friends would slyly belittle you for failing to give your husband an heir, belittling you because word of his infidelity had reached their gossiping mouths, belittling you because the Prince who they loathed you for having was hardly yours after all. The looks that they had given you, the way that they snickered and sneered at your failures as his wife. Whispers you had overheard from Lords alike; that for such a pretty thing, you must have been dreadfully dull in the ways of pleasure if Prince Aemond of all men had resorted to whores. 

That was how they all saw you; a failure. Because it was never a man’s fault but always his wife’s. 

You loathe to think that Aemond harboured the same thoughts. But you would show him how mistaken he was and make him feel what you had felt so that he would regret it all. 

“Fuck-” Aegon let out a drawn out groan as he pushed your head down, pushing himself as far down your throat as he could. You struggled to breath and you gagged twice but let him move you as he pleased, a satisfactory moan vibrating against his sensitive skin when he threw his head back and grumbled about spilling himself down your throat. 

It was a chaotic moment. 

The protest of the kingsguard through the wall and the bang of the door slamming open and you didn’t even need to turn and look. Aemond was seething, barely given the chance to put the pieces together before Aegon simultaneously groaned and laughed, the salty taste of his seed gliding past a sensitive part of your throat and pulling another gag from you as you yanked yourself away from Aegon. 

Everything seemed to pause for a moment. And despite the obnoxious laughter coming from the King as he tucked himself back into his breeches, the heavy breathing of your husband and your gasps for air, everything felt silent. 

Your blood ran hot at the way Aemond looked between you and Aegon. Nonetheless you met his eye, holding your chin up and wiping a bead of Aegon’s peak from your lip. 

It felt good. Watching as Aemond forced himself back into his stoic resolve; only bothering to subdue the way his eye filled with the same betrayal you still felt in your gut at the thought of the whore who had been on her knees for him in an almost identical way. 

Stoicism and slow, simmering, silent rage. 

The air around you turned hot enough to light a candle. Aemond’s presence alone had proven to be enough to send you spiralling from the heat he encased you in whenever he was in the same room but this? You were choking, sick to your stomach and doing your best to keep your knees from buckling at his intensity. 

Aemond heard Aegon ramble out some hideous insult, watched how you frowned at him and heard the echoes of his cackle. But the ringing in his ears overwhelmed it all and he had no clue what his brother had taunted him with before his fist met Aegon’s cheek with a loud crack.

He didn’t bother sparing his brother a second glance. Aemond was stood in front of you and despite his obvious anger, he pulled you up from where you were seated with a gentleness which had your mind reeling. 

There was a threat hidden in his voice. “Come with me. Now.”

Perhaps you had made a mistake. The gentle fury in Aemond was terrifying and even though you knew he would never raise a hand at you the way he thoughtlessly did at Aegon, there were so many ways that a Prince could ruin you. 

You felt a pit of regret now that it was over and the curtain of lust had lifted. It was easy to see how simple it is to get lost in the touch of another but it was easier to see how simple it is to avoid it. 

There was satisfaction. And you felt it simultaneously with the adrenaline of being caught and the doubts of your actions. Princes and Princesses and Kings and Queens were so unaware of their hypocrisy until it was spat back into their faces. 

Aemond would never in a million years have understood what he was doing to you if you had just been a submissive little wife and forgiven him. But now? Now he would know. And now things would be balanced and your desire to hurt him as he had done you has been fulfilled. And now you could see how this marriage would really stand against such tests.

And now, you may finally know whether Aemond truly did not care for you. Because if Aemond did not care for you–or even in part; love you–then he would not be hurt and he would not be feeling such betrayal.

Right now, as Aemond silently walked you towards his chambers, hands fisted, jaw clenched tightly and his gaze fixed ahead, you were fearful of how things would fare. As strong as you wished for your resolve to stay, Aemond’s disappointment was showing you a new weakness. And his words, you knew, if they were used as weapons then you would stand little chance against them. There was a heavy weight against your lower back where his hand sat, pushing you gently so that you glided through the halls faster. 

It wasn’t a long journey back to Aemond’s quarters. But it felt like hours to the Prince, the nausea in his gut silencing him the entire way. He felt like a child again, presented with a pig instead of a dragon, the shrill laughs of his cousins and his brother striking him with flashes of humiliation. 

Again and again and again, Aegon would do whatever he could to see Aemond crumble. Aegon would always take Aemond’s dignity, his honour, his crown. And now he just had to take his wife? 

Aemond shut the doors to his chambers roughly and you were quick to put some distance between the two of you. There was a hollow ball of guilt and fear that caught in your throat but you couldn’t deny the elation at the mixture of emotions in Aemond’s eye as he turned to face you. 

It was a reflection of how you had felt upon finding Aemond in bed with another. He would finally understand. 

Only Aemond was worlds away from the damned arousal you had felt and instead it was replaced with a youthful dread, a panic that you had never seen from him before now. 

There was hardly a moment for you to register the harshness of Aemond’s grip on your bicep as he pulled you toward the bowl that was kept by his bath, filled with clean water and accompanied by a tray of freshening oils. He lightly shoved you toward it as he let you go, unfazed by the sound of shock that you could not hold back. 

“Wash your mouth,” he spat. Although your back was to him, you could feel how he suppressed the extent of his rage as he was ever so good at doing. “And then we will talk.”

You bit your tongue and did as he said, wincing at the ice in his words and the angry strain of his voice. There was a lot that you wanted to say, to scream at him. He was angry–and to some extent he had every right to be–but how could Aemond have expected you to be okay with something that he clearly could not take on the chin?

But the way he had held you, the tone of his voice and the harshness in his glare had you wondering if revenge was worth whatever comes next. Because, amongst the whirlwind of fear and guilt and regret was gratification and fulfilment. 

The prickle of Aemond’s glare had disappeared before you were ready to dry your mouth with a towel. Quiet as ever, he had snuck away and by the time you had realised, the sound of the door shutting and the click of the lock had notified you of his absence. 

Aemond had locked you in. When you had swiftly tried to push the doors open, unaware of where you would go and truthfully not intending to leave in the first place, it didn’t budge. And when you called for the kingsguard who stood at the other side of the door, you went unanswered aside from a curt reply that he had been ordered not to let you leave. 

So you had resigned yourself to sitting atop Aemond’s bed rather than the seating arrangements scattered around the rest of the quarters. It smelled strongly of lavender, leather and Aemond’s very own scent–the one that always had you on the verge of drooling. But it only sent your nerves into overdrive, afraid that the consequences of your vengefulness, no matter how satisfying it was initially, may be too dire to recover from. 

The thought of whatever Aemond had planned for Aegon was not nice. You were correct in assuming that your tryst with Aegon would only cut your husband deeper because it was Aegon. The depth of whatever issues these brothers shared was far beyond you but you had only assumed that all second born princes would be affected in such a way. And Targaryen’s were full of complexities, each believing that they were better than everyone. Even their own siblings. 

Aegon had known that his younger brother would become nothing short of murderous. But he had never been a man to avoid even the slightest of temptations. Both the idea of indulging in you and inflaming the ever unresponsive Aemond were far more than slightly tempting. It would be worth the bloodied nose, the split lip and the sick that he’d spewed over his shoes when Aemond had returned to grace him with an inhumanly strong hit to his balls. Somehow, Aemond had made that act of violence seem like child’s play with the threats that he had rained down upon Aegon. 

King Aegon, who simply did not know when to keep his mouth shut and had all but asked for it with the way he taunted Aemond with a sentence he never had the chance to complete. “Seeing as you cannot satisfy even your own wife-”

He wasn’t there long. Aemond’s angry mind was racing and he couldn’t think past the red of his rage. But Aemond still knew better than to stay where he would surely commit a treason he would regret. 

Whatever fury Aemond had unleashed upon Aegon in the short time he was away had seemed to calm him down. He was still clearly angry when he stepped back into his quarters but there was a far less frightening storm brewing in his eye. 

At his return, you had stood from the bed. The air was sucked right out of the room when Aemond stood right in front of you, so close that you could count the creases in the leather of his eyepatch. There was a tense silence in which he stared at you, waiting for you to fold but you only held your head high and met his gaze stubbornly. 

Minutes had passed before Aemond spoke. His voice was far softer than you had expected and he seemed to have settled down a bit as he dragged his knuckles across your cheek, only to grip your chin so that you could not look away from him. Aemond held you tightly but not tight enough that it hurt.

“Enough of this,” It was an order, stern and unrelenting. “No more. This was a step too far-”

You scoffed in his face. “A step too far? Had you not done the same thing?”

Aemond had never in his life apologised for anything. He never felt sorry. And he never wished to admit to his mistakes. But here he was, face to face with the effects of one of the biggest mistakes he had made. If there were anything he could have done aside from apologise, he would have done it. But it was the only thing that would ease the mess of guilt that had arisen inside of him. For what he had done with the whore and for everything he hadn’t done for your marriage. 

“It was a mistake. If I could undo it, I would,” I’m sorry. “This was childish of you. Vengefulness is unbecoming.”

There was a beastly disgust that Aemond felt when he thought of another man even looking at you. The image of Aegon’s cock in your mouth, his seed leaking from your lips made him want to burn the entire realm to ashes. Aemond’s eye trailed along your jaw, to your neck and then down past your stomach. Did Aegon touch you where only he was to touch you?

Fuck treason. Aemond would feed Aegon to Vhagar if he had indulged in your body. 

“It is more than vengeance. You would not have understood what I felt. How I suffered because of you and your whore,” you tried your best to keep your voice stable. The lump in your throat and the tears that blurred your vision forced you to pull out of Aemond’s grip and turn your back to him. “You promised me you would never do that. You dishonoured me. You insulted me. You hurt me–Aemond, do you have any idea the things that they say about me?”

Aemond frowned and you could not see how he reached for you, only to drop his hand back to his side. “I–”

“That I am a failure. That I am-that I am so repulsive and so dull that you cannot even lay with me to produce an heir,” you couldn’t help the sob that escaped you. “And I saw what she was doing to you, what you were doing to her. I could never even have imagined the existence of such an act that had given you so much pleasure-”

“There was no true pleasure with her.” Aemond mumbled. Pathetically. 

Pathetic was exactly the word. Aemond may have been good with a sword, in a fight, with his dragon and when strategizing wars. But he was a pathetic husband–a pathetic partner, a pathetic lover. And he had the urge to take out his good eye for being so mindless and so ignorant. 

Hindsight was his worst enemy, it seemed. Because in hindsight, Aemond would have done everything differently, right from the moment you were introduced to him.

“Lie. It was clear, Aemond. They are all right, are they not?” You felt him step into you, his warm chest against your back. Leather and lavender and him. “I have failed. My womb is still empty. The last time you visited my bed was moons ago. I know you do not love me, my Prince, but I have love for you. Men are not the only ones who need intimacies of the body–I needed that and you have never given me anything. Yet you gave it to her. I wished to hurt you as you had hurt me.”

There were no words that Aemond could find. So he settled for shaking his head and watching you as you sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands on your lap. You were so wrong in your perception of him but he couldn’t find the words to explain that. But Aemond decided in that moment that he would show you, one way or another. He hesitated before sitting beside you. 

You couldn’t meet his eye if you tried. It was as if your body was telling you to stop talking, that these thoughts were too painful to share, feelings too abstract and tender to put into words. 

“It is wretched, I know–to have turned to Aegon,” you felt him tense beside you and against your better judgement, you placed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to give him some comfort. “I wished to hurt you but I also wished to learn. I thought maybe if I knew how to-how to do things that would make you feel good so that maybe you would feel for me as I have for you. Aegon said he could show me. It is ridiculous, I understand that now.”

Aemond took your hand in his, the heat of your skin against his was fierce for such an insignificant action. He hated that it was easier for you to turn to Aegon than it was to turn to him. “I could have shown you. I can show you so much more. If only we had been honest with each other from the beginning.”

“I thought you do not want me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. It would be less painful to drive his own dagger through his heart. “I crave for you, my love. I was just too stubborn to admit it and too afraid of what it means. And I did not know how to show you how badly I burn for you.”

The sight of tears had never fazed him until they were yours. Aemond was not particularly pious, he prayed simply because his mother had raised him to pray, but he would be on his knees every hour of every day if it meant that he could take these feelings away from you. If it meant that he could take it all back and start over. 

“I am sorry. No more of this,” you said. “No more seeking out the touch of anyone else in place of each other.”

“I will be a better husband,” Aemond stated, as if he were telling it to himself as much as he was to you. “I will try for our marriage and our duty. And for you.”

“Your promises haven’t proven to mean much to me. All is not forgiven just because we have talked,” You sighed, but gave him a weak smile, turning to look at him. 

He gazed down at you with determination, his jaw tight and his eye glistening with tears that wouldn’t fall. There was no attempt to push you away when you reached up to take off the leather that covered his bad eye. You wanted to see him as he was, even if only for a moment.

Gods, he was beautiful. 

As you stood you forced your smile to turn lighthearted as you teased him through your heavy hearts. “Jealousy motivates you well, my Prince. I shall remember that.”

Aemond hummed, mostly serious as his hands tightly grabbed your hips. “Do not jest like that. I will not be able to look at Aegon without dreaming of murdering him for defiling you how only I should. I cannot afford such treasonous fantasies.”

There was a silent threat in his words. Nonetheless, you leaned down to his ear, gasping gently at the harshness of his fingers squeezing the flesh of your hips. Just his hands on your body alone set you alight. 

“Perhaps my husband should leave the door to his bedchambers open tonight,” you let out a small laugh at the way that he pulled you to straddle his lap so suddenly, gently nipping the skin of his earlobe. You weren’t quite done messing with him. 

“Is that so?” He smiled and you thought that it made him all the more beautiful. 

“Yes,” you smirked, when he groaned frustratedly at your next words, softly throwing you onto the bed. “I may wish to show you exactly what I have learned.”

[writing-until-i-drop]

First Time | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 2,226

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! Oral (fem receiving), unprotect p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, mentions of rough oral (male receiving), lmk if I missed anything

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You picked at your nail beds, anxiously waiting for the familiar blue Bronco to pull into the parking lot. You had been on a blind date from hell, arranged by one of your well-meaning co-workers. The guy had been late, flirted with the waitress, had ordered for you, and worst of all, had gotten your name wrong twice. Well, maybe that wasn’t the worst part but after the rest of the night, it had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

You had excused yourself to the bathroom once the bill came out and called Bradley, begging him to come get you. Now, you were behind the restaurant, hoping your date didn’t come looking for you. 

“Thank God,” You sighed, rushing to the Bronco. Bradley scolded you for not waiting until he was in park but his whining stopped when you launched yourself across the bench seat at him. He gathered you in his arms without hesitation. 

“I've got you, honey,” Bradley whispered into your hair. You thought you felt him press a kiss to your temple but the feeling was so fleeting you couldn't be sure.

“I'm never going on a blind date ever again,” You whined. Bradley chuckled, rubbing your back. He hadn't been too keen on you going out with a stranger in the first place, making his displeasure known but also acknowledging that you were a grown woman who could do as you pleased. It annoyed a part of you that he didn't try harder to stop you. 

“You know I hate to see you sad, honey. What can I do to make tonight better?” Fuck me? Your first thought was not a viable response and you knew it. You and Bradley were destined to be really good friends, the type of friends others looked at and assumed there was something more. You would and had denied it in the past but secretly…secretly you were in love with your best friend. 

How could you not be? He was handsome, kind, attentive, and his mustache? You had cried the time Jake and Javy had convinced him to shave it and were inconsolable until it grew back a few months later. 

“Can we have a movie night at your place? And get pizza?” 

“Food wasn't good?” Bradley reached around you, buckling the middle seat belt over your lap. He normally insisted that you sit in the passenger seat, since it had the cross-body seat belt, going on and on about your safety.

But tonight, he didn't mention it, he also didn't mention what he was thinking when he draped his arm over your shoulders after switching into gear. Not willing to look a gifted horse in the mouth, you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“He ordered for me without even asking and it was awful, Lee.” His fingers, which had been tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your arm, froze when you used the nickname.

Normally you just called him by his first name and occasionally his callsign. The one time you had addressed him by rank and he fell down Mav’s front porch steps, which had given you enough reason to never do that again. Even if Bradley had promised that the two incidents were unrelated. 

“I'm sorry, honey.” 

“No you're not,” You rolled your eyes. “You didn't even want me to go on this date in the first place.” Bradley sighed. 

“Was I happy that you were meeting a strange man? No. But I also would never wish for you to have a bad night, so, yes, honey. I'm sorry.”

“God, I wish I could clone you,” You mumbled softly. 

“What was that, honey?” 

“Nothing.” 

When you got back to Bradley’s place the first order of business was getting out of your dress and heels. 

“I’ll order the pizza,” Bradley said, offering you a pair of sweats and one of his tee shirts.

“I thought we went over how ordering for a woman is a bad thing,” You teased and Bradley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well unlike that douchebag, I know exactly what you like.” This time, it was impossible to miss the kiss on the temple that turned your cheeks pink. “There’s makeup remover in the bathroom.” 

“Pick a movie, I’ll be down in a minute,” You squeezed his forearm, moving past him into the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet was your brand of makeup remover and it made your stomach twist with butterflies, of course Bradley had your brand, he must have seen it when he visited your apartment. But why was it in his medicine cabinet and not stored away? It was like he was expecting you to be there, looking through his cabinets for it.

Once changed, you went downstairs. Bradley was sprawled out on his sofa, sipping on a beer, your favorite drink was waiting for you on the coffee table. You paused at the base of the stairs, taking in the sight before you. It was everything you wanted but didn’t think you could have. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, honey?” Bradley held out a hand, beckoning your forwards. You moved without thinking, letting him pull you on the couch beside him.

“Just thinking,” You answered noncommittally. Rooster chuckled, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“What are you thinking?”  Did you take a chance? Did you run this risk of ruining the relationship that meant the most to you?

“Nothing,” You muttered, moving out from his immediate grasp. Bradley didn’t let you get far though, pulling you back to his side. “Bradley.” 

“Does this have something to do with you wanting to clone me?” So he had heard that, you groaned, which was answer enough for him. “What about me isn’t enough that you want two of me?” 

“That you don’t want to sleep with me,” The answer tumbled out before you could stop it. You went to pull away again but Bradley stopped you, moving you onto his lap, reminding you just how strong he was. “Lee, I-” 

“You don’t need a clone to have that,” Bradley’s eyes were molten, staring into yours with an intensity that you had never experienced before. His grip on your hips tightened when you didn’t say anything, “I’ve been crazy about you for a long time. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

You closed the gap, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss. Bradley didn’t waste time, kissing you back with a desperate need, one hand slipping beneath your shirt, pressing against your back gently.

You arched into him, letting him deepen the kiss. Kissing Bradley was like having a roman candle explode inside your chest. Explosions and excitement shooting through you as he buried his other hand in your hair.

You tugged at his hair, relishing the loud moan he gave. Your hips ground down, feeling exactly why they called him Rooster. Bradley pulled back, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pulling moans and whines from you.

“Still think you need a clone to get the job done?” He nipped at your pulse, “All you have to do is ask, I’ll give you anything you want.” You tugged at his shirt, Bradley chuckled. “Talk to me, honey.” 

“I want you to fuck me, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” You saw the moment when Bradley’s brain stopped working. He blinked a few times, swollen lips parting in surprise. “Then I want you to tell me how you know what makeup remover I use.”  

“Can you say that again for me, baby?” You giggled, pulling off your shirt.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, I want you to fuck me.” Bradley groaned, pulling you in for another kiss. This time it was harsh, all teeth and tongues, noses knocking against each other. He shifted you onto your back, settling between your legs. “Lee,” You moaned as he palmed your breasts roughly.

“Love it when you call me that,” Bradley pulled at your sweats and you lifted your hips to help. You giggled as they went flying across the room, “No one else calls me that.” 

“Good,” You moaned, hands threading into his hair as he kissed down your chest.

“How attached are you to your bra?” He asked, tugging at the flimsy straps.

“The bra’s expensive,” You undid the clasp yourself, tossing it towards your sweats. “Panties aren’t.” The sound of ripping fabric filled the room but your protests were non-existent as he began lavishing your breasts with attention, licking, sucking, and biting both of them until you were a squirming mess.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” He kissed his way down your stomach. “And all mine. All fucking mine.”

“Lee,” You cried out when he licked you without hesitation. Bradley ate your pussy like a dying man, his mustache brushing against your sensitive clit. “If you ever,” You grunted as he slid a thick finger into you. “Shave your mustache again, I’ll key your Bronco.”

Bradley’s response was to double his efforts, adding a second finger, scissoring them to open you up for him. You felt your orgasm building, the coil in your stomach tightening painfully so.

“Come for me, baby.” He sucked your clit hard, the coil snapping as the orgasm washed over you. 

“Lee,” You moaned, vision going fuzzy. Your legs tightened around his head but Bradley didn’t slow down, elongating your orgasm until another one caught you off guard. 

“All fucking mine, baby.” Bradley gave you one last lick then kissed you, giving you a taste for yourself that had you moaning into his mouth. You barely heard the loud knock at the door, Bradley grabbed a blanket and covered you. “Stay covered, I don’t share.” 

“Noted,” You sighed, exhausted from two back-to-back orgasms.

Bradley quickly paid the man and abandoned the pizza in the kitchen, he scooped you into his arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Following orders,” Bradley grunted, squeezing your ass. He kicked his bedroom door shut behind you, placing you on the bed. “You think you’re ready for me, baby?” 

“If you don’t fuck me, Lee, I’m calling Hangman.” Bradley growled, pulling off his sweats and boxers in one go. You gulped, he was huge. 

“What did I just say about sharing?” 

“You might have to remind me,” Bradley was on you in an instant, kissing you hard until you were dying for air. “Bradley,” You scratched his back.

“What don’t I do, baby?” 

“Fuck me, apparently,” He bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pulling a load moan from you.

“Keep it up with, baby, one of these days I’ll fuck your mouth until you pass out.” Your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of it, “Now, who’s the only one who gets to touch you like this.” 

“You,” You pulled him in for a kiss. “Now, please, please, please, fuck me, Lee.” 

“Condom?” You shook your head,

“Clean and on birth control. You?” 

“I’m clean,” You felt him notch himself at your entrance. “Ready?” You shifted your hips upwards, urging him to hurry up. “Words, baby.”

“‘Ready.” He pushed forward, his thick cock stretching you out until you were gasping and whining his name with every inch he gave you.

“Halfway there, baby.” Halfway? You groaned, digging your fingers into the sheets.

“Fuck, Lee, you’re huge,” Bradley chuckled, distracting you from the pain by playing with your nipples. He stilled when he bottomed out, giving you time to adjust. You felt so full of him and of pleasure, you knew it would only get better once he started to move.

“How do you want this to go, honey? You’re in control here,” You settled your hands on his broad shoulders, squeezing his strong muscles.

“Ruin me, Lee. We can do it slow and sweet after dinner,” He gave you a peck on the lips.

“Whatever you want.” He pulled back then snapped his hips forward, hitting a spot that had you crying out. He pace was relentless and exactly what you wanted, Bradley fucked you into the bed like a man possessed. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Squeezing my cock like a good girl,” You squeezed around him. “You like that, huh? You like being my good girl? Words, baby.”

“Yes, shit,” You scratched your nails down his back. “I’m your good girl, just don’t stop.” 

“Give me one more, baby,” His calloused fingers set a quick pace, rubbing your abused clit until you were screaming. “That’s it, come for me.” Your third orgasm hit you harder than the two before it, incoherent babbles spilling from your lips. “Think you can give me another?”

“No, no, no,” You whined but when he pulled his hand back you forced it back down. Bradley chuckled, happily working you up again.

“We’re going to have to work on your communication skills, baby,” You kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip. Bradley’s thrusts became erratic, he was close. “Come on my cock while I fill you up, baby.” That was all it took, you came and Bradley followed right behind you, spilling inside of you. 

“I think,” You panted as Bradley all but collapsed on top of you, “I think you broke me.” He chuckled, kissing your face all over as he shifted off of you, pulling you both onto your sides.

“How does a bath sound?” 

“Pizza first.” His stomach rumbled in agreement,

“Whatever you want, baby.”

a/n: this fic got away with me, it was supposed to stop when the pizza got there

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[evie-sturns]

𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘥 - 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

summary: when you and matt first started dating, you made a rule, that you two would never go to sleep mad at each other, but tonight a heated argument breaks that rule.

warnings: arguing, angst?, crying, swearing, fluff.

------------------⋆ ★⋆ ★⋆ ★⋆ ★⋆ ★--------------———

me and matt don't fight often, in our 4 months of being together we've only bickered, aside from the odd big argument. we always make up by the end of the day because of our rule. never fall asleep angry with each other.

9:48pm

"matt i promise, i didn't mean to." i sigh, i'm exhausted after our arguing, which has been going on for 45 minutes.

"you didn't mean to search my phone, im sure." he scoffs, grabbing his phone and checking the time.

"i fucking didn't matt, your phone was being spammed every 2 seconds so i picked it up, then you came in, its not my fault it looked different from how it actually was."

i say, my voice raising as i go to walk away, but matt grabs my wrist, yanking me back towards him. "so all the other apps that had been opened weren't you hm?"

he says glaring down at me, matt never loosens his painful grip, i don't think he even realises he's hurting me. his rings leave red marks on my arm.

"im going to sleep matthew." i say, my voice barely audible and wobbling.

matt's grip softens, allowing me to pull away.

i run upstairs, slamming the door to the bedroom behind me as i hold back my tears.

i rarely cry, matt's only seen me cry a handful of times meaning its a shock for him each time i do.

i strip down to just a tank top and panties before crawling into bed, shutting my eyes, hoping to sleep off the built-up frustration inside me.

just as i feel myself drifting to sleep the door swings open, followed by matt's angry stomps. he rips down the covers and plops himself in, before yanking them back up.

after a few minutes i roll over, matts back is facing me. i reach out a hand to grab his, he pushes me off. "dude don't fucking touch me?" matt says, somehow moving further away from me.

that'll do it.

i climb out of bed, grabbing my pillow as i walk over to the small basket in the corner of our room, filled with blankets from our previous movie nights. i pull up a blanket into my arms as tears fill my waterline. matt flicks on the lamp which rests on our bedside table, a warm yellow light fills the room.

"what the fuck are you doing this time." matt says, squinting his eyes.

i erupt into sobs, my face scrunching as tears soak my face. through my blurred vision, i can partially see concern and worry painted across matts face. i have a pillow under my arm, a blanket in my other and im clutching matts pug stuffed animal, which we share now.

i walk out of the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind me before sprinting downstairs, i place my pillow down on the small couch, and lay down, pulling the grey blanket over me and cuddling the pug to my chest, which shortly gets damp from my tears.

11:34pm

i dont know how long ive been asleep, or even where i am, but i'm woken up from matts arms around me, holding me in a bridal position. "matt..?" i say, looking up at him through my swollen eyes.

"i know gorgeous, theres no heating down here its too cold for you sweetheart." matt says, his voice soft and quiet.

my eyebrows furrow, did we even fight? or did i dream it? i look down at my wrist, which is red from where matt grabbed me earlier,

we fought.

matt carries me upstairs, his grip on me is so gentle i cant even comprehend how I'm being held up right now.

he opens our bedroom door with his elbow, the room is pristine, cleaner than I've ever seen it. "why is it so tidy in here.." i squeeze out, my voice raspy. matt clears his throat "oh-.. uh couldn't sleep so i cleaned.."

he pulls back the covers, readjusting the pillow with one hand before laying me down. "do you want me to come in the bed with you or are you happy by yourself.." matt says, his voice timid.

"you can come in.." i say, wide awake now and fully aware of everything thats happened in the past 3 hours.

matt lies down next to me, his body tense.

"im really sorry, i feel so guilty." matt says, tilting his head to look over at me. i nod, "it was my fault too." i say, fidgeting with my nails.

"no its not, i overreacted so much i don't even know what went over me, i regret it so much." matts voice shakes.

"i feel like shit for even touching you." matt says, "and i'm sorry for waking you up but i didnt want to break our rule.."

"huh?" i say, looking over at him, our eyes making eye contact.

"no going to bed angry with eachother.." he says with a small laugh.

i roll over to face him, a wide smile spread across my face. "oh matt.." i say, climbing ontop of him and laying down, burying my face on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around, underneath him.

he hugs me back with a sigh of relief, but somethings different,

"matt! where are your rings?" i say, sitting up on his torso and grabbing his hand.

"i couldn't even look at them without feeling guilty, i know they dug into your arm.."

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i love this i was in such a writey mood

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Nothing But Your T-Shirt | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One Shot 1.7k

Natasha dares you to steal one of Bucky's shirts during a drunken sleepover. Natasha is definitely up to something, but maybe revealing your secrets isn't such a bad idea...

Warnings: 18+ for language, sleepover antics, fluff, kissing and suggestive situations. Rated F for fluff and T for tower fic.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Wanda opened the door of the penthouse with a squeal of excitement.

"Oh my god, you came! Yay! Come in, come in!" She ushered you inside enthusiastically, a large pina colada in one hand, your fingers in the other.

"Hey," Natasha waved from the comfort of the conversation pit, pillows and blankets draped about.

Pepper emerged from behind the bar with a tray of glasses, snacks and a huge smile. "Hi, how are you? Come and get comfortable."

You'd been an Agent level member of the Avengers for a month now. Accompanying them on a few missions and attending briefings. So when Tony declared it was 'boys night' and he was taking the male contingent to a new restaurant, Pepper had rolled her eyes and insisted that you, Wanda and Natasha join her for cocktails in the penthouse.

You were shocked at being included, but Wanda and Natasha had been so welcoming when you'd joined them for a mission the week before that you managed to tamp down your nerves enough to say yes.

Pepper handed out the drinks and insisted of getting your specific order for both pizza and desert before sitting down and finally looking you over. She was a constant presence when you were in the New York Avengers Tower, powerful and confident, always smartly turned out in heels that rivaled the tower itself in height. And you'd always been too nervous to talk to her.

Suddenly you felt hot under the over sized floor lamps.

"So," Pepper grinned, an uncharacteristic move that had you even further on edge. "Natasha tells me you have a crush on Barnes."

You choked on your drink.

"What?"

"Don't play coy," Natasha purred, I've seen the way you look at him, she winked and you couldn't help but laugh.

Wanda giggled around her straw, nodding in agreement. "You do, you're always fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"I do not!"

"Fine, fine," Pepper held her hands up, "if you're not ready to spill, lets do something else. I got my aesthetician to send me some new facial samples, want to try?"

Natasha looked pointedly over the rim of her glass, "this isn't like the egg thing is it because I don't want to put anything up my-"

"Natasha! No!" Pepper cut her off as she crossed the vast room, "behave, I'll be back soon."

Four more pina coladas and a face mask later, you were a lot more relaxed. Lying on one side of the sofa with your arms behind your head, eyes drifting closed until a foot poked you in the side.

"You sleeping?" Wanda whispered with a giggle.

"I think so," your own giggle bubbled up, inhibitions lowered by the drinks.

"Did you bring pyjamas? I have three guest rooms or we can sleep out here." Pepper's voice was excited, higher pitched than you'd ever heard it, the professional edge gone.

The others had already changed before you arrived, but you'd had to travel across town from your apartment and hadn't exactly wanted to get a cab in your nightwear. Looking at them now they were all so similar, matching even in their differences. All in over sized t-shirts. Pepper's had a joke on about electrons. Wanda's was deep red with 'Avengers Tech Institute' printed on the left side. And you were fairly sure Natasha's belonged to Steve, it fell on her shoulders in such a graceful way, showing off her collarbone. They all looked so effortlessly beautiful and, despite the fact you were over dressed, you wilted again.

It'd been so nice to be included and now you felt different again, outside. They all had their partner's shirts on, and you had…red plaid with a tea stain on.

The silence was loud until Natasha sat up, a cheeky grin appearing as she said, "I dare you to get one of James' t-shirts."

"Nat, no, come on." You could feel embarrassment heating you again. Hadn't they decided to ignore this line of questioning?

"Yes! Do it, do it!" Wanda agreed, jumping up and clapping her hands together.

"Officially I feel like I need to put a stop to this, I can't have you breaking in to someone's private rooms."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and glared at Pepper who rolled her eyes in return.

"But unofficially I'm going to go to the bar and whatever you three do while I'm not looking, isn't my fault." She held her hands up and pointedly turned away while Natasha and Wanda fixed you in their sights.

"I couldn't!"

"You know you want to, you likeeee himmm." Wanda sang obnoxiously, poking you again.

"You can, I'll help you." Natasha said, very seriously, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the elevator and leaving you with no choice.

You should probably have been concerned over just how quickly Natasha managed to break into Barnes' rooms. You couldn't think of him as Bucky, or even James as Natasha called him. Not when you were stood looking at his unmade bed, the clothes on the back of the chair and the wobbling stack of books on his bedside table.

He'd left a cookie and a half drunk cup of coffee on the other side where the pillows were propped up against the headboard and a well worn copy of Lord of the Rings was face down in the sheets.

You'd only been close to Barnes a few times, but he always smelt so wonderful, a heady mix of clean vanilla and spice. Soft and welcoming with some deeper thread that made you want to press your nose into the soft crook of his neck and just inhale.

"Quick, pick something he won't notice is gone." Wanda whispered, pulling drawers open in the dark.

"No, no, this!" Natasha held up Barnes' signature henley, ox blood red and so soft. It had frayed around the neck from wear and the cotton was slightly stretched. He wore it almost constantly, despite Steve buying his a petrol blue one for Christmas.

Natasha closed the lid of his laundry basket again and chucked it over to you.

It had that same vanilla scent and, though it also had a hint of sweat, you couldn't help the urge to press it to your face.

"Come on, put it on." Natasha urged, pulling on your tank top to lift it over your head.

The henley was as soft as it looked and, in the brief moment it covered your face, you allowed yourself the inhale that you craved. Bucky, all Bucky.

Getting it over your boobs proved a slight struggle. But once it was settled it hugged them snuggly, allowing your cleavage to peep through the unbuttoned front. It stretched at the hips too and was oddly flattering when you looked into the mirror by the door.

"That actually really suits you."

Natasha nodded in agreement and then paused, completely still.

"Fuck, quick." She ran for the balcony, dragging Wanda with her and you turned in confusion only to be met with light in the hallway and one Sergeant James Barnes, stood stock still in the doorway of his own bedroom, staring at you.

"Sergeant Barnes I -" you struggled to find an excuse, was there really ever an excuse to break into someones bedroom and try on their clothes? Instead you looked away, wondering whether to rip the henley off and try to find your top instead, or whether to try and escape past him.

He licked his lips and paused, carefully choosing his next words, but your name slipped out, unbidden.

Your eyes snapped up to his.

"That shirt looks good on you," his voice was rough when he spoke, like he was holding something back and your body flushed with heat.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, Natasha -"

He gave a low, dark, laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure it's entirely her fault. But you - " He took a step forward and your breath caught in your throat.

"I'll give it back -"

"Please, keep it on." He approached slowly, as if trying to befriend a wild animal that could run at any time.

"I'm sorry -"

He was right in front of you now, still in the suit Tony had insisted he wear, although his bow tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and the first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, showing a flash of his skin underneath.

"Is Natasha right?" He asked, slowly backing you towards the wall. Each step was calculated. When you staggered back, his left hand curled around your waist to steady you.

"Uhm-" your eyes flicked down to his parted lips and back to his eyes.

"She said she knew a secret, she shared it with me," he watched your every move, carefully leaning you back against his bedroom wall. The hand on your waist tightened, the other toyed with his shirt, still wrapped so closely around your body.

You heaved in a breath and his eyes dropped to your cleavage before lifting to your face. "I'm glad I came back, been dying to see you. Imagine my surprise when I find you all wrapped up in my bedroom like a present."

"Sergeant Barnes," you whimpered and his leg slid between yours, pushing up against you. "What did Natasha tell you?"

"Always so formal, it's okay, I know, you can relax." He bent forwards, nose brushing against your cheek, lips at the shell of your ear.

You let out a shaky breath.

"She told me you have a little crush on me."

It's exactly what you'd imagined she'd said, and yet, the embarrassment was so acute already you thought you might pass out.

"Don't worry," his breath tickled the soft skin behind your ear making goosebumps rise along your arms. "I have a little crush on you too."

You could feel his smile on your cheek when he pressed a kiss there and then his lips were on yours, rough in their excitement, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down towards you, fingers in his hair.

"You can keep the t-shirt," he mumbled against your lips, "but can we lose the pjs?"

You giggled, nodding and broke away only when Wanda and Natasha started banging on the glass, cheering and whooping while you and Bucky smiled, with only eyes for each other.

[reidsdimples]

Can you do an angst Spencer and reader where they have an argument about their friends with benefits situation just before he goes to play baseball with Morgan and he is devastated when you don’t show but at the last minute he sees you in the crowd with a ‘Reid’ jersey on 😭😭

Situationship

My response to this request <3

"Because, maybe I'm not ready for that step in this... situationship," you frown as you hold Spencer's face between your hands.

You're straddling him, only wearing his shirt which is open after the two of you essentially attacked each other for the last few hours. You were sore between your legs but still so turned on as you tugged on the ends of his hair. He looked up at you through thick eyelashes and doe eyes.

"It's not like that for me. I'm serious about you. I would never do what he did," he eases you off of him gently and stands. His dark jeans are open and your eyes follow his happy trail down until it disappears behind the waistband of his black boxers.

"I'm not saying you will..." you start. Your last friends with benefits situation ended in disaster.

"You can't keep comparing me to him. I think I've more than proven that my feelings for you go beyond superficial or sexual," he shakes his head and sighs.

"Spencer," you reach for him. He pulls away from your grip and enters his walk in closet.

You and Spencer had been friends for two years before one night, three months ago, things changed and... well it seemed the two of you had wanted each other for a while.

But before... you were friends with Finn for five years, a year of that was spent as a friend with benefits. Except he only led you to believe he wanted more in order to keep you in his bed. Things went south when he got some other girl pregnant. The friendship couldn't be saved after that. And in his own words, he didn't see you as worth anything more than sex.

You had to keep this line drawn with Spencer, you couldn't hope for more because what if he doesn't actually want you that way? What if he just thinks he does? Truthfully you didn't want your heart broken again and you didn't want to lose another friend.

He emerged from his closet with a lilac button up hanging over his brown jeans as his nimble fingers worked the buttons.

"You don't want more with me, I promise you," you plead with him. You pull your leggings on.

"How do you know?" Pain spread across his features in the form of furrowed eyes and puppy dog eyes that clenched your heart.

You didn't want to say you thought he was too good to be true. You didn't want to say he deserved better, because he did.

"That's what I thought," he sassed. "I know where your boundaries lie. I won't invite you to things with my team moving forward."

You could tell that the words were painful for him to say. His team was his family. You hadn't hung out with them before- for this reason.

"I want to support you, I just can't..." you knew your fear was controlling you.

"It's fine. Lock the door when you leave," he pulled on his FBI baseball cap and exited his apartment.

His words and abrupt exit felt like more of a goodbye than just him going to the game. You swallowed hard.

--

Spencer wiped sweat from his forehead. The game had been rough and he couldn't stop questioning why he agreed to participate. You weighed heavy on his mind.

He wrapped his hands around the bat, practicing his swing as he scanned the crowd. JJ and Garcia wave at him and he smiles. Suddenly his eyes spot a familiar head of hair, hair that had been curled in his hands hours before as you moaned beneath him.

You came.

You were sitting two bleachers behind his team with a big iced coffee and what appeared to be a baseball jersey. His baseball jersey. He hadn't worn it obviously as it was a gag gift from Derek.

But you wore it over your signature leggings and were smiling at him like you had resolved yourself to the reality of him affections.

Derek ushered him to the home plate where evidently the team depended on him to win the game. Wonderful.

He remembered his form that Derek taught him and squinted against the sun as he heard you cheering him on. His heart seized when he heard you cheering for him. the ball flew towards him and... miss.

"This guy's got nothing," one of the other team mates taunted.

"Come on baby!" You cheer, unyielding in claiming him. He took a deep breath and focused on the next pitch.

This time he swung just in time, sending the ball through the air with such force it took him a moment to remember what to do next.

"Run!" The team yelled.

"To first base baby!" Your voice broke through the noise. He dropped the bat and took off.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He couldn't believe he was still running between the bases, the thought of scooping you into his arms spurning him forward. His eyes locked on the opposing teammate who was about to hurl the ball to first base as he picked up speed.

Derek ushered him in and there was nothing else to do but what he saw on TV- jump. So he did, a sliding jump sent him to home base before the catcher caught that ball.

Cheers erupted and he knew that he got the winning home run. Derek pulled him off the ground and hugged him as adrenaline pumped to his head. He was laughing and smiling as he met your eyes over Derek's shoulder.

You gave him a small wave and a bright smile.

"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet," he told his team and gestured towards you.

A sense of resolve settled within you as you moved to meet the people he called family. Maybe Spencer really was different. He pulled you under his arm and held you close as you all spoke amongst yourselves.

You knew when he left that apartment it was time to call the sexual stuff quits or take a chance and dive head first into him. You were glad you took a chance as he lazily circled his thumb over your hand while your fingers were interlocked.

[inkskinned]

sometimes we just need someone to pay enough attention.

for the longest time i had been trying to read The Lord of The Rings. everyone had sung the praises for it, over and over. i'd seen clips of the movie and it seemed like it could be fun, but actually reading it was fucking horrible.

my parents had the omnibus - all the books squished into one big tome - and in the 4th grade i started sort of an annual tradition: i would start trying to read TLR and get frustrated after about a month and put it back down. at first i figured i was just too young for it, and that it would eventually make sense.

but every time i came back to it, i would find myself having the exact same experience: it was confusing, weird, and dry as a fucking bone. i couldn't figure it out. how had everyone else on earth read this book and enjoyed it? how had they made movies out of this thing? it was, like, barely coherent. i would see it on "classics" list and on every fantasy/sci-fi list and everyone said i should read it; but i figured that it was like my opinion of great expectations - just because it's a classic doesn't mean i'm going to like experiencing it.

at 20, i began the process of forcing myself through it. if i had to treat the experience like a self-inflicted textbook, i would - but i was going to read it.

my mom came across me taking notes at our kitchen table. i was on the last few pages of the first book in the omnibus, and i was dreading moving on to the next. she smiled down at me. only you would take notes on creative writing. then she sat down and her brow wrinkled. wait. why are you taking notes on this?

i said the thing i always said - it's boring, and i forget what's happening in it because it's so weird, and dense. and strange.

she nodded a little, and started to stand up. and then sat back down and said - wait, will you show me the book?

i was happy to hand it over, annoyed with the fact i'd barely made a dent in the monster of a thing. she pulled it to herself, pushing her glasses up so she could read the tiny writing. for a moment, she was silent, and then she let out a cackle. she wouldn't stop laughing. oh my god. i cannot wait to tell your father.

i was immediately defensive. okay, maybe i'm stupid but i've been trying to read this since the 4th grade and -

she shook her head. raquel, this is the Silmarillion. you've been reading the Silmarillion, not the lord of the rings.

anyway, it turns out that the hobbit and lord of the rings series are all super good and i understand why they're recommended reading. but good lord (of the rings), i wish somebody had just asked - wait. this kind of thing is right up your alley. you love fantasy. it sounds like something might be wrong. why do you think it's so boring?

[evermore-fashion]

Did I make a mistake?

As you're all well aware of I said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr thinking my decision was final. However after reading all your wonderful messages I started to have doubts about my decision. So for the last few weeks I've been trying to pinpoint why I thought I had fallen out of love with high end fashion as well as Tumblr itself and the answer has been in front of my face for the best part of four years. A broken down friendship that has been plaguing my mental health… until recently and I'm going to finally explain why. I had a best friend for the best part of 15 years that went downhill both slowly and unexpectedly. We met on a forum back in 2005 and hit it off instantly. We then met up and went on various holidays, attended concerts together, did mini weekend breaks away and got to know each other's families really well. More importantly they were the only person in my life who knew about this blog and shared my love for high end fashion. Like most friendships though it had its ups and downs but no matter what we always gravitated back towards one another, until March 2020. A week or so before COVID and lockdown took hold of our lives they told me they had met someone. I was genuinely happy for them, except for the fact they had let slip that I was the last person to know. This broke my heart and their trust as they continued to let slip more details that indicated that I was being pushed out in favour of a new crowd (aka university friends who they had told me they disliked a few months beforehand) alongside their new partner. They stayed with their partner on and off throughout COVID and I was either pushed out the door or let back in depending on their relationship status. The relationship came to an end for good towards the end of 2022 and as always I was let back into their life with plans for 2023 being made. However I held back knowing the hurt it would cause me if things suddenly changed again. This was also my breaking point with them as I wanted to protect my heart from anymore hurt, and I believe this is where my love for creativity began to faulter. Whilst I found my love for gaming I felt this mental block around Evermore-Fashion and Evermore-Grimoire which I thought was down to my passions changing. I was clearly wrong. The friendship was up and down for another six months, until last summer. They had got back in contact with me despite the fact they had started acting cold towards me which manifested in a crap Christmas and Birthday. Yet I was still willing to hear their side of the story, but it never came as they ghosted me and I haven't spoken to them since which hasn't been fun to deal with both mentally and emotionally. Although I now fully believe this is what was killing my spirit and everything I had loved for so long. Anyway fast forward to January 2024, I've said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr when lo and behold I come across a social media post that changed everything. The ex friend had written something personal that contradicted everything they had told me (over their relationship break up) which not only angered me but it lit a fire under my butt to stop stewing in the "what ifs?" as well as holding on to a small bit of hope that they'd finally apologise for treating me like a piece of shit on the back of their shoe for so long. Not only that but I started to miss why I enjoyed being online in the first place. I checked out Vogue to see what was occurring during Paris Fashion Week and I yearned to share the Spring 2024 Couture collections on Tumblr (even though I still think it's still a toxic cesspit). Yes I could easily start this up on Wordpress or Instagram but let's face it, Tumblr is still the easiest place to start blogging creatively. So here I am. The fog surrounding my love for fashion has lifted alongside the mental and emotional baggage I've been holding on to for far too long. There's just one thing I'm still wondering though… do you guys forgive me (as I feel like I've messed you all around ) and is it okay to come back? 🥹