#large crane fly

[onenicebugperday]

Have you seen how big crane fly larvae are??? Wow

They can be quite large, yeah! Here's a large crane fly larva (Tipulidae):

More importantly though some of them have little "faces." Here's a tiger crane fly larva:

Lol. That's actually his butt I think.

Photos by lumenal and marcello

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Giant Crane Fly - Tipula metacomet

In the world of Crane Flies, it is expected that most of them would be sizable, at least when considering their legspan. For today's specimen however, she has a trifecta of a long body, long wings and a long reach with its legs! She's so grand in fact, that I nearly convinced myself that this insect might've been a Hangingfly (a type of Scorpionfly). While Crane Flies and Hangingflies can appear similar due to their size and spindly legs, Crane Flies possess only one pair of wings (with balancing halteres in place of a second pair) and their legs are also designed to detach when necessary. Hangingfly legs appear more sturdy and seem better designed to wrap around an object (to hang off of it) rather than grasp it like a Fly would, just like this individual is doing along the screen door and its frame. Another possible conclusion is a fearful one, as Crane Flies resemble large Mosquitoes! And if a Mosquito would be this large, imagine how much blood she would need for her eggs! As for proper identification of this palm-sized, spindly Crane Fly, the first thing to consider is the size. This individual is so large (overall), that she would comfortably fit in my palm for observation. The next place to examine is the thorax and confirm the presence of black markings. Confirmed, they're there! Following that, the identification markers for this branch of Crane Flies become more complicated (especially the patterned wings)

A closer look of the insect is needed, otherwise this insect could be mistaken for a relative specie, such as another Giant Crane Fly like T. abdominals. Still a giant, but the wrong giant, and there are only 2 in North America. I nearly labelled this find as the latter specie, but comparing the legs of both Flies held the key! The latter specie has pale markings just before and after the tibia joint on each of its six legs! T. metacomet meanwhile has uniformly colored dark legs, and also has a solid color on the first segment of its abdomen. A glimpse of it can be seen in the small gap above where the folded wings rest. While the brownish color may seem somewhat drab, a bright yellow decorates the middle section of the abdomen. You can see a little of that color through the wings, but you'll be able to see the color in full when this insect is in flight, trying to dash towards the light on the other side of the screen door. You may have some luck drawing them to lights during their nocturnal flights. They can have multiple generations over a year, so the timeframe to find them is wide, but remember not to intimidated by their size when they suddenly fly in. Startled maybe, but never intimidated. Finally, as you observe, take note of the abdomen's tip. If you see a spiked end - like today's find - you have a female specimen. Males have a rear appendage akin to a tri-clasper, and they also tend to be small than the females.

Pictures were taken on September 16, 2024 with a Google Pixel 4. Seeing this large, beautifully-winged specimen so close to autumn has gotten me nostalgic suddenly for Spring Fishflies, another insect (of an entirely different insect order) that seems intimidating at first, but is actually harmless.

[michaelnordeman]

Life around a small pond: Southern Hawker/blågrön mosaikslända, Large Marsh Grasshopper/kärrgräshoppa, a very young Common Toad/vanlig padda and Marsh Crane Fly/kärrharkrank. Sätraskogen Nature Reserve in Stockholm, Sweden (August 30, 2013).

[fantabulisticity]

Some Friends I've seen recently!

[caterpillarinacave]

Nervously you finagle your way onto the creatures back, careful not to pull hairs or cause injury, once you're settled and the basket of berries you carry is well placed, you both sit there in silence, the beast seems confused, you are certainly confused, eventually the creature begins to move, you aren't really sure where to, it feels fairly directionless, while your steed wanders you cast your gaze about, curious of this world, the trees are darker in color than at home and shorter you think, though thicker, the leaves are in autumn colors, but they glisten as though wet, as the creature reaches a stream you see long legged thin spidery things walking around the edges of the water, the beast ignores them stepping through the water and the water seems to glimmer and glow with each movement, eventually the forest begins to thin out and you can see a hut of some sort that you are headed towards, the creature picks up the pace, once you get closer a person holding a broom (you think) opens the door, as soon as they see you they start making loud noises, they seem to be yelling at you, they want you off their not-horse, the creature starts to become agitated so you hop off and back away apologetically, you try to let the know you meant no harm, the person stares at you in confusion as you speak then turns away, yelling out, obviously not to you, punctuating their words with a loud chirp, an older, taller person comes around the corner, the two speak, looking over at you with hostility (the younger broom wielder) and curiously (the older newcomer). You try for a non-threatening demeanor and wait, finally the younger takes the creature away the older person steps forward and waves,

"Taco!"

You stare befuddled and the person tries again with no success, they then point to a tree.

"Tree?"

You nod and agree, that is a tree, more importantly, taco? Well, no, more importantly, you can understand them! Unfortunately, they doen't seem to know much of the language, the little bit they know is enough to answer very simple questions, though sometimes the words they use are inaccurate (taco?), and you are at a great disadvantage not knowing any of the language they speak, but you do decipher this: you are in not your world, someone else came before you (they taught them the language), they left through the door, this happened a long time ago (or perhaps far away?), you need a key for the door (when you showed them your key they did not seem to think it was the correct one), they really enjoy the berries you picked. Actually, they really, really enjoy your berries, they gesture to them with chirps and words you can't understand, curious you pick one up and try it, expecting the same good berries as always, but they taste amazing, like the best berry off the bush, and you feel far better than before, less tired, this didn't happen when you ate the berries here earlier, but these ones were from your world, they passed through with you, you have a whole basket of them, noting this interesting information you pack away the berries for now, the person doesn't seem to mind and you ask them if they know where to find the key you need but either they don't know or they don't understand. Eventually the person leaves, they and the younger one look as though they are getting ready to go into town, they have the creature from before out, the younger one riding it, and another, lighter colored creature, they offer to take you with them, do you go?

Yes

[targaryen-dynasty]

DRAGON DREAMS.

Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Monthly nightmares have already plagued you way before your wedding, even though your grandfather has always addressed them as dragon dreams rather than nightmares. But you and your husband both know you’re not gifted with such abilities.

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), nightmares, slight angst, fluff

WORDS: 625

NOTES: this was requested by @marthawrites. Hope you still like it! 💕

It’s impossible for you to run.

Your feet are firmly planted on the ground, not moving regardless of you tugging and pulling at them to lift them and escape the brown dragon in front of you. Even your voice catches in your throat, unable to scream when the large mouth of Sheepstealer snaps towards you, the sharp teeth appearing even more intimidating with the light of the moon reflecting from them.

You stir awake, beads of sweat forming along your hairline and in the valley between your breasts. A hand on your mouth is meant to stifle your screams and sobs, not wanting to wake up your husband. Your breathing is heavy, and it takes you a few moments to adjust to the darkness of your chambers as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Still half asleep, Aemond rolls onto his side and snakes his arm around your waist to pull you into his embrace, your head resting against his chest as his nose nuzzles into your hair.

“Bad dream?” It’s more a statement than a question, because your husband knows the answer. Monthly nightmares have already plagued you way before your wedding, even though your grandfather has always addressed them as dragon dreams rather than nightmares.

But you and Aemond know you’re not gifted with such abilities, it’s just that your mind has a lot to process with the rising tension between both sides of your family.

His presence always works wonders, the warmth radiating off his body and his scent slowing your panicked breathing and the turmoil inside of your mind, allowing you to melt into him.

While Aemond’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers apply just a bit of pressure to your stiff muscles in order to release the pent up tension, and you find yourself being able to speak again.

“I—It‘s…,” you stammer, your breathing still causing you to stutter through a sentence. “Sheep…Sheepstealer,” you sigh, “he… he...”

A gentle nod reassures you to continue as you crane your neck to look up at him.

“We wanted to fly to Dragonstone,” you sniff, panic settling in your bones again at just remembering what has happened. “Vhagar was already high up in the sky, when… and when I wanted to mount him, h… he…”

Aemond brings his hand to the back of your head and holds you against his body to calm you down. “He ate you?” he finishes the sentence for you, and you just nod hurriedly, mumbling a ‘yes‘ against his chest.

Most people, including your parents, perceive Aemond as cold and ignorant, and the gods know he can be like that. You have thought that too for the longest time, or rather from the moment he has lost his eye to the moment your courtship has been made official, but you have learned to see the genuine intent behind the things he does, hear the subtle changes in his voice, and suddenly he was just as attentive as any other man around, if not even a bit more.

Aemond kisses the crown of your head before speaking, “Your bond is strong, my love, and you know he would never do that.” And he is right. Even before you’ve bonded with Sheepstealer, the dragon never showed any ill-will toward you. He always was curious, despite the many failed attempts of claiming him other people had tried before.

“Avy jorrāelan,” you mumble. I love you.

“Avy jorrāelan,” comes the reply.

That Aemond’s grip doesn’t loosen around you makes it easier to find sleep again, and while your soft snores already fill his ears, he nuzzles his nose into your hair to take in your scent, thinking about a way to put this misery to an end.

Aemond taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @odairtrqsh @mfedits

[mariahcarreyyy]

love ur writing, so deserved!!! ‘shush, we can’t have anyone hearing this,’ + max or oscar… maybe with some overstim?

# prompt no.9, "shush, we can't have anyone hearing this." nsfw 18+ content under beware ⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

The tricky thing with traveling to Australia with your boyfriend to meet his family for two weeks is not having neither the privacy nor time to fuck for two weeks. To shed off each other's clothes, kiss lovingly while Osc pounds into you, heaving breaths flowing out of his mouth when your pussy clenches around his dick like he'd ever fucking pull out now.

So, prior to entering the thick atmosphere of the plane, you and Oscar had devised a plan: you could go down on each other, but actual sex, even quickies, would probably wake up the entire Piastri house and therefore not be allowed. And both of you followed it.

For an impressive total of three days.

To be fair, what were you supposed to do when he sauntered out of the back door in those swim shorts, thigh muscles spilling out and all? Not promptly fly out of the lounge chair by the pool, clasp a tight hand around his pale forearm, and shove him inside the vacant kitchen?

"Y/n, what are you doi—oh," Oscar breathes out as your fingers curl around the hem of his shorts, tugging them down with one swift motion and housing your bottom lip between your teeth when your hand barely covers the base of his half-hard dick. "Oh, fuck, baby, turn 'round f'me, can't be the only one naked, hm? Lemme see you."

Hips swerving, you bend down to rest your forearms on the cool surface of the kitchen counters. Oscar's hand is heavy, cupping the swell of your ass, spreading the cheeks apart, and squeezing the soft flesh; the anticipation thrums loudly in your veins and sends the arousal in your stomach to stir.

You whimper when he pushes your bikini to the side, cupping your drenched pussy, and you can't help yourself when your hips desperately hump against his digits and moan loudly. "Osc, please—fuck, just."

"Shush," Oscar leans, his heated back flush against yours as he mumurs. "Can't have anyone hearing us, can we?"

A pout graces itself on your face; you crane your neck to look at your boyfriend's family, all outside, laughing and chatting livelyly through the large opening on the kitchen wall. Not quite large enough to show what Osc was doing to you, but to allow the obscene sounds to flow through it and into his relatives ears.

He shoves his fingers inside your hot walls, unphased, when your loud yelp catches the attention of one of his aunts, who merely furrows her brow and turns back to her company. "Can. We?" he grits out, each word punctuated with a sharp thrust.

"N-no, no—fuckfuckfuckk, Osc," you cry, burying your head in your hands to unsuccessfully muffle your moans, far too loud for your liking, but the curl of Oscar's lips trailing down your neck tells you he feels otherwise.

"Hm," he says, placing a sweet kiss on your shoulder and trailing his hand up to your lips, nudging two fingers against the soft flesh and grinding his dick against your ass. "But y'can't even do that. D'you want m'cock or not?"

You splutter when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, just enough for you to reply. "Yes, yesyesyes, 'do I do, miss y'cock so bad, Osc, fuck," you grind back against his fingers and squirm when the coil in your stomach is so close to bursting.

Oscar sucked in a breath when your desperate movements had you consequently humping his dick. Had you two really been foolish enough to believe you could resist each other for two weeks?

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Everywhere is good but home is..." - Mihawk x Reader

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess wondered why Mihawk doesn't quite get along with his mother-in-law and who am I to keep such secrets to myself?

SUMMARY: Mihawk is not exactly fond of his in-laws. Nevertheless, he compliantly tags along whenever you pay your parents a visit. If it makes you happy, he's willing to bite his tongue. For a day, at least.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Imagine, if you will, an angry boar. A large, stout boar with birse as dark as the night sky. As boars do, it will gore with its tusks to let out the frustration and get rid of whatever it was that made the animal seethe. Now, if you take away its tusks, what can it do? Angrily dig for truffles? 

Or maybe stand beside you, a scowl on his face and a begrudging “I am fine” every time you ask about the bitter expression?

Mihawk doesn’t like visiting your parents. It’s the sickeningly sweet familial atmosphere that suffocates him. Don’t misunderstand - he’s fond of the thought of having a family with you but the aura of your childhood home is a little too… overwhelming for him. A little too picture-perfect. But being the man he is, Mihawk has never outright talked about his dislike because he’s aware of how much that would hurt you. Still, you know your husband a little too well to disregard his sighs and frowns. This piece of secret knowledge always makes you love him more - he’s willing to suffer for a day or two just to make you happy. If it’s not love, what else could it be?

The farmhouse looks different than it did last year when you visited: the roof tiles have been changed, the outside of the building has been repainted and even some of the fence surrounding the land is new. Clearly, your parents have been busy with their retirement.

Despite the irate expression on his face, Mihawk silently overtakes you and opens the shabby wicket gate to let you enter first. He gives you a questioning look when you suddenly stop.

“It’s going to be fine, Mihawk,” you reassure him.

“So you’ve been saying, darling.”

Comforting warmth spreads inside his chest as you smile at him and kiss his cheek. He turns his head, hoping to catch your lips but you’re already on your way to the older man raking leaves in the distance. Mihawk clenches his jaw and lets out an exasperated sigh. With a loud bang, he closes the gate behind him. He follows you in slow steps, naively putting off the fateful moment of meeting your family.

Walking down the path leading to the farmhouse and the fields behind it, Mihawk looks around the desolate landscape. It’s quaint, he thinks to himself. Tall trees sway on the chilly, autumn wind. Right above their peaks, although far away, are mountains with their tops covered in snow. Uncut grass brushes against his clothes. A flock of cranes flies high in the sky, disappearing and reappearing as they fly through grey clouds. Their key is directed south, towards warmth that will shield them from winter snow. The area is a bit too colourful and bright for his liking but with a nice “please” from you, Mihawk could see himself settling down in a place like this.

Dracule just comes into earshot and has the displeasure of hearing your father yelling:

“Pumpkin!” The older man’s voice is filled with excitement. He lets go of the rake, letting it fall on the ground. Despite his age and clear exhaustion from the work, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you almost to death. “Honey, come out!” he shouts towards the farmhouse. “It’s Pumpkin!”

Mihawk almost can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. You’re a grown woman, married at that, and they still call you by a nickname they had come up with while you were still in diapers. ‘When I asked where children came from, they told me that they found me between pumpkins in their field,’ you once explained to him.

The door to the building flies open. Soon enough, your mother is running to you. Her greying hair is braided into a plait. She’s wearing an apron with traditional patterns hand-stitched into it. Half of the motif had been done by a skilled hand, stitched with precision and perfection. The other part, however, is a lot more crooked and amateurish, probably done by a child’s hand. Your hand.

Tears glisten in your mother's eyes. Despite her older age, there’s vigour and youth inside those irises - a certain love for life that you’ve taken after her. She quickly wipes her hands on the apron and hugs you.

“Oh, Pumpkin!” A stray tear leaves her eye. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You could have said you’re visiting.”

“You’ve always loved surprises, mum.”

She lets go of you and redirects her attention to Mihawk. Her face lights up as though he’s her own son, beaming with love and pride. To his absolute horror, your mother puts her hands on the sides of his face. He almost pulls away to avoid the unwanted affections.

“Sweetie, you look handsome as ever!” she exclaims. Her expression falls as she looks him up and down. “But you’re a bit thin, aren’t you? And that open shirt, tsk. Winter is coming, sweetheart, you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t cover up.”

“Delighted to see you again, ma’am,” Mihawk lies through his teeth. To some degree, you’re impressed with how honest he sounds.

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you to just call me mum!” She laughs. “We're family now."

You can see the relief in Mihawk’s eyes as your mother lets go of him. Some part of you wants to burst with laughter as you recall countless moments when you’re the one cradling his face and Dracule is more than overjoyed with the tender touch. It feels like there’s something beyond special about you, that he welcomes such intimate things. Although, truth be told, when it’s your hands on his face, you usually lean in to kiss him and that’s definitely not something he wants to think about while standing in front of your mother.

“He’s a grown man, honey.” Your father nags at his wife. He waves his hand in a dismissing manner. “Leave him be.” Mihawk’s terror returns when a heavy hand reaches for his shoulder. “Come, son, you’ll chop some wood for the night. I’m too old for this. The last time I tried chopping firewood, I got sciatica.”

“Pleased to help,” Dracule drones his words. He gives you a glance like a silent plead ‘Look what I do for you’. Then, he follows your father further into the garden.

You feel your mother put her arm around your shoulder. “Boys are off to have fun and we have a dinner to make.”

Something inside you stirs with excitement - cooking and baking used to be your bonding activities with your mum. Since you’ve married Mihawk, you’re not allowed to do any housework. Everything is taken care of by servants. You find that you’ve grown to miss the rhythm of mundane life, although it would be a lie if you said that you dislike the life you have with Mihawk. It’s just… different.

The sound of pots, pans and knives hitting the cutting boards is like a symphony to your ears. An aria to your childhood. If you closed your eyes, you could almost see the world as it used to be, your eyes right below the level of the countertops, always standing on a stool to help your mother.

But the thoughts of your younger years dissipate as you stare out of the kitchen window. You have the perfect view of your husband chopping firewood with your father raking leaves in the back. Mihawk’s skin glistens in the afternoon, autumn sun. There’s not a bead of sweat on his torso. He appears completely relaxed as he swings the axe with one hand. Some logs are already cracked or particularly dry and those he rips apart with his bare hands. Those same hands that tear pieces of wood into matches have caressed your skin with almost fearful softness; the arms that bring destruction have tirelessly shielded you from the dangers of the world. 

Your dad looks over his shoulder at the pile of firewood with a nod of awe. If Mihawk keeps up his tempo, he’ll prepare enough fuel for the next week.

“You remind me of your dad and me when we were younger.” Your mother’s face shakes you awake from your thoughts. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be helping her, you look down at the awfully chopped carrots. At least you didn’t cut off your finger. “Always stealing glances as though we weren’t already married.”

A sigh of yearning leaves your lips. What did you do in your past life to deserve a man like him?

“Dad still looks at you in an uncomfortably intense way,” you answer, a smile on your lips.

Your mother’s laughter brightens up the small, crowded kitchen. It’s not hard to correctly guess what your dad saw in her that made him want to spend his life with that woman. “He does the same when you’re not looking,” she says while vaguely pointing at Mihawk.

Her words make you blush. A deep shade of red covers your cheeks, making your whole face hot to the touch. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with sympathy. “I saw it the day you introduced him to us. And each time you come over, he seems to be a little worse in his affliction, staring at you like you’re the one who hung stars in the sky. It made your grandma remind her of grandad so much, that she cried at your wedding.”

Listening to her, your longing gaze returns to Mihawk who appears oblivious to your undivided interest in him. “Mum, does it ever get boring?” you ask without looking away. “The sense of calm when you’re around him. Like everything could be ruined but it’s fine because he’s there.”

“It’s the only thing in the world that never gets tiring.” A flustered, juvenile smile decorates her face. Even with wrinkles and greying hair, she looks barely older than you at the moment, reliving the flame of love inside her that has never dwindled. “Now, let’s finish with the sentiments and stuff the duck, eh?”

Mihawk is reaching for another log when something makes him momentarily freeze. There, in front of the stump he’s been chopping wood on, sits a dog. It’s clearly a mutt, each feature taken from a different breed. The fur is an amalgamation of markings in different colours: orange, grey, white and black. As the dog notices Mihawk’s interest, it gets up, restlessly stomping in place or rather hopping as the pet is missing one of its hind legs.

“Gulliver,” Dracule recalls the name of the mutt you’ve told him so much about. Your first and only friend growing up in the countryside.

The name is taken as an invite and so the dog places a drool-covered, chewed-out ball next to the piece of firewood. The pet sits again, tail wagging as fast as it can.

For a moment, Mihawk is torn. He wants the dog to leave him be but that would mean he has to put his hand on the slimy toy. Then again, the pet is sure to continue disturbing him now that he has acknowledged its existence.

Cringing at the wet and warm sensation of the ball, Dracule picks it up, only furthering Gulliver’s excitement.

"This means nothing," he drones his words and throws the toy so far it almost disappears from sight. The dog, overjoyed, runs after the ball. 

Considering that your dad’s throw has gotten weaker with age, Mihawk might have dug his own grave with the distance he made the ball fly. Gulliver will probably want another run. Or ten.

For a moment, Mihawk goes back to the fantasy of settling down with you in a mountainous wonderland. Maybe you could have a dog too? Not a mutt but a hunting hound? They look very noble.

But he shakes those thoughts away and continues chopping wood.

The dinner went well. Homemade food, family you haven’t seen in a year, the cosy and sentimental atmosphere of your childhood home… And Mihawk didn’t look as miserable as he probably felt. Although you’re enjoying this little family reunion, you seize the opportunity for solitude when it arises:

Your parents go to the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes, plate the dessert and brew some tea. Tugging on Mihawk’s arm, you pull him outside the house.

The old flooring of the porch creaks under your weight. A bright, melodic tune is carried by the wind as it brushes against the chimes hanging under the roof. The sun has recently set and the sky is still in a lovely, indigo shade. Birds croak in the distance, announcing nightfall.

His warm hand rests on your lower back. The touch makes you momentarily take a deep, relaxing breath. Your thoughts become both orderly and fuzzy as though Mihawk’s presence turned all of your wandering, useless ideas into static you can easily ignore. How can a person have so much control over you? 

Mihawk is towering over you. He tilts his head downwards to look at you. Something about his looming aura makes you feel not only protected but also well-cared-for, as though you could give yourself up to him completely and you’d still live like a queen in a castle.

“If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that,” you say to him.

Mihawk’s expression relaxes at the mere mention of his visibly bitter mood. Or maybe it softens because he’s looking at you. “I was under the impression that you’re rather fond of my face.”

“And you’d be correct. But I do have to say that seeing you tear wood apart was much better.”

You lean closer to him as you put your arms around his neck. He welcomes the gesture, allowing his hands to travel an inch or two downwards, a little too low for when one is in the vicinity of others. Especially someone’s parents.

“So my wife likes to see me do manual labour,” he states, his warm breath brushing against your cold cheeks. There’s no surprise in his voice and there shouldn’t be. He’s noticed the way you look at him when he wields a sword and Mihawk would be an awful liar if he said he doesn’t enjoy those glances.

“I like seeing you, full stop. Chopping wood is just a nice variation to the scenario. Strong arms and all that.”

The said arms pull you by your hips into a kiss. Although he’s spent only a day in this part of the region, he already smells like fresh mountain air and pine needles. Mihawk groans, feeling the curves of your body against his. He will never get enough of this. Enough of you.

“Tea is served!”

Your mother’s exclamation makes you pull away from Mihawk. He instinctively chases after your lips before letting out an annoyed sigh. A chuckle rumbles in your chest. Dracule rolls his eyes but lets you thread your fingers with his and pull him back inside the farmhouse. There, you interrupt an interesting conversation:

“Darling, when’s the cake tasting again?” your father asks while flipping through the calendar, a pencil in his hand.

“On the 25th, honey,” she answers. The dining room is immediately filled with the aroma of bergamot as your mother pours the tea. “At 6 in the afternoon.”

“Cake tasting?” you repeat in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Our golden wedding, of course!” the older woman beams with joy. “We’ve yet to send out the invitations, though, so don’t tell anyone. Especially your aunt. Gods know she runs her mouth like it’s a marathon.”

As though you’re thinking the same thing, Mihawk and you glance at each other. The miserable, irate expression in his eyes elicits a burst of bright laughter from you. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

[elliesbambi]

requestttt maybe u could do outbreak!joelmiller with a controversial age gap maybe they meet in jackson btw love ur writing girly 🎀

⭑.ᐟ all american

꒰ pairing. joel miller x fem reader

꒰ warnings. farm hand!joel, farmer’s daughter!reader, post outbreak, large age gap (joel is mid-fifties, reader is nineteen), sneaking around, reader is a tease, pervy joel, smut/porn with plot (unprotected p in v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, doing it in public places, brief mentions of rough sex like choking and slapping)

꒰ wc. 2.3k

꒰ dni. minors

joel miller had settled into life at jackson city more comfortably than he ever expected to. after everything he’s been through over the years from the moment the cordyceps flipped the world upside down, jackson is a much-needed escape from it all. it’s peaceful, organized, and a small semblance of the life joel used to know. he’s grateful for it, grateful for the people who have taken him in, grateful for ellie to finally have a safe place to grow up in.

he started working at your daddy’s farm about a month after he arrived at jackson, and soon enough, he found himself at the farm almost every day for the past few months, helping mend a broken fence here; stacking the barrels of hay there.

after a bad fall during the winter of last year following your mother’s death — bless her — your daddy needed help running the place. joel didn’t hesitate to lend a hand. he admires your daddy; the man is kind, patient, and more generous than what joel is used to. plus, your farm provides for much of jackson, so to him, it’s no problem.

the one problem there is, though, is you.

nineteen years old and far too smart-mouthed for your own good, you seem to take great pleasure in getting under joel’s skin. from the first day he arrived at the farm to help, you’d been there. hanging around the barn, fluttering your lashes, wearing little summer dresses that left very little to the imagination.

joel, being a man of discipline and restraint, had done his best to ignore it at the start — your obvious flirting — but you made that a difficult task.

every day, you seem to find new ways to tease him. if you’re not flaunting around in one of your short dresses, you’re leaving your panties hanging on the washing line where you know joel will be working nearby or bending over right in his line of view on a windy day, purposefully making your dress fly up just enough to give him a glimpse of what he can look at but not touch.

joel grits his teeth, clenches his fists and keeps his eyes focused on whatever task your daddy gives him, but he can’t deny that it’s affecting him. the way you talk, the way you smile at him from under those thick lashes, the way your backside ‘accidentally’ grazes the noticeable bulge in his pants as you pass by. all of it is enough to drive any man insane.

and joel is a man. he’s not blind to the fact that you’re a beautiful girl, and your constant teasing stirs something inside him that he hasn’t felt in years…

so he’s really not to blame for how he starts responding. stealing your panties off the washing line when no one is around, tucking them into his pocket for safe keeping. he can’t help himself; they smell too much like you, your intoxicating scent. and he gets lonely in that big, empty house of his; he needs something to get him through the long nights.

craning his neck to get a better look up your dress when you’re bent over a berry bush or collecting the chickens’ eggs. you’ve caught him staring quite a few times, but you never flinch or try to cover up; you just pursue your lips and give him that same teasing smile of yours that never fails to make his stomach flip. you know exactly what you’re doing.

even going so far as to sneak into your bedroom and pounding you into the mattress when your daddy is out. your daddy likes joel well enough, but at the same time, he’s a stern, protective man and still doesn’t like the idea of his daughter, his angel, you, with men. especially not men thrice your age. he would put joel’s head on a spike if he ever found out about this.

joel gets where he’s coming from. joel himself knows it’s wrong. a man his age shouldn’t be focused on a sweet, young thing like you. the age gap is far too big — controversial, even. when he first brought it up to you one afternoon while he was watering the crops, telling you, “i’m old enough to be your father,” you’d responded with a giggle and a simple “so? even better.” joel had raised his eyebrows, amused, and said “really, sweetheart?”

from that moment on, he stopped caring about the age gap, and soon, things escalated from simply just sneaking into your bedroom. joel fucked you in practically every area of the house; on the dinner table, in the shower, over the armrest of your daddy’s favorite rocking chair. he’d have to clamp a large, calloused hand over your mouth to muffle your screams, or press your face into a pillow, and he never stopped until your legs were shaking, your core was aching, and you were stuffed nice and full with his seed.

your rendezvous aren’t just limited to the house, though. other days, you’ll fuck in the barnyard too. joel will have you bouncing up and down on his cock, your slick, puffy folds swallowing every inch he has to offer, grass in your hair and over his shirt, loud grunts and breathy moans echoing around the loft — though you always pull off with a teasing grin just when joel is about to cum, wanting to see how long he lasts before he snaps. and when he finally decides he’s had enough of your teasing, he flips you over, pressing you into the hay-strewn ground, and rails you, your thighs either pushed up to your chest or coiled tight around his torso, ankles digging into his lower back, pressing him deeper and harder into you.

he’s a talker too. whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he blows your back out, calling you his princess, his baby girl, his little doll. other days he can be mean with it, which you know is to be expected. joel is a hardened, brutal man, rough around the edges with a past loaded full of trauma. he needs some sort of outlet for all that. he’ll deliver a light smack to your face to jolt you back to the present, maybe apply a bit of pressure to your throat, but nothing ever too rough. he’d never want to harm something so precious to him; like a porcelain doll he’s too scared of breaking.

and of course, it all remains a secret. your daddy isn’t the only one who would disapprove. the people of jackson, as understanding and caring as they are, would definitely frown upon a relationship with such a large age gap. not to mention the difference in personalities. you, the sweet, gentle farmer’s daughter, and joel, the hard-as-nails ex-raider.

even tommy, as much as he jokes about finding you attractive and calling you a ‘little fox,’ would never let joel hear the end of it if he found out.

so it stays like that between you and joel. constantly sneaking around the farm, sneaking kisses and subtle flirtations behind your daddy’s back, fucking as soon as you can get your hands on each other. some nights he’ll spend with his face buried between your legs, tongue rolling over your sensitive clit, the bud swollen and red from how long joel’s been at it. other days you’ll give him a quick blowjob behind the shed to help him release some of the stress that’s been pent-up since he saw your cleavage in your tight shirt earlier that day.

to your daddy, joel is simply just the farmhand. the trustworthy farmhand who minds his own business and keeps his focus on his work. but behind closed doors… well, that’s a different story.

one morning, joel is out by the barn, working on repairing the broken sheep gate that’s come loose from its hinges. the sound of hammer hitting wood and the cows grazing in the paddock is the only thing that fills the air.

you’re there, lingering nearby as always, pretending to hang washing but really just watching joel. your dress today is shorter than usual, the hem barely even brushing your thighs, so tiny that if you were to lean forward or stand on your tippy toes, your entire ass would be out. it’s light and airy, perfect for the summer heat yet entirely inappropriate for a farm — though joel suspects that’s the point.

he tries to ignore you, focusing on the task at hand, but he can feel your eyes on him, can see the way you’re stretching and bending and shifting a little closer each time to purposefully rile him up, soft giggles of satisfaction escaping your lips every time he glances over at you with dark, longing eyes.

eventually, he sighs and turns to face you, wiping the sweat from his brow with a huff. “(name),” he mutters, voice low and firm. “quit it. your father’s gonna see us.”

your smile widens and you reply, “daddy’s all the way up at the house, joel-y.” joel-y. a nickname you’d given him at some point when he started working here. “he can’t see anything.”

joel shakes his head, but he can’t help the way his gaze drifts down your legs before quickly snapping back up to your face. “you’re gonna get us caught,” he warns you, his voice lacking the conviction he wishes it had.

you giggle again, clearly not taking him seriously. pushing yourself away from the washing line with a twirl, you saunter closer, hips swaying with each step, making joel’s heart rate quicken despite himself.

“i like the risk,” you whisper as you come to a stop in front of him, reaching out to stroke a hand down his chest. you’re close now, too close for joel’s liking. especially with your daddy only a few feet away.

joel chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to hold onto the last remnants of his self-control. “i’m serious, girl—”

but before he can finish his sentence, your hand dips lower. your fingers brush past the waistband of his worn jeans and easily unbuckle his belt in a matter of seconds. joel sucks in a breath. he knows he should stop you, knows that this is reckless, downright stupid even. but as soon as your hand slips inside his boxers and wraps around his hardening cock, all thoughts of self-control fly out the window.

he groans loudly when you give him an experimental squeeze, droplets of precum oozing from his tip and gathering on your fingers. then your hand wraps all the way around his shaft and you begin to stroke him. slowly at first, then faster the louder he gets, grunting your name like it’s a prayer on his lips.

“you’re always so tense, joel-y,” you whisper to him, nipping his ear. “i can help you with that…”

he doesn’t even register the words. all he knows is that you’re here, so close, smelling of roses and strawberries, your soft breasts pressed against his arm, your dainty hand down his pants, and he’s so so close...

and it’s then that a voice rings out from the house, ruining the moment completely.

“(name)!”

it’s your daddy.

joel’s stomach drops. he stiffens immediately, instinctively going to push you away despite that being the very last thing he wants to do. thankfully from where your daddy is standing on the porch, the washing line and the nearby willow tree provide enough cover for the hand you have shoved down joel’s pants to be hidden from his view. still, it isn’t exactly a comfort either, considering your daddy could come wandering over at any second now if he felt like it, and see for himself what’s going on.

“come inside, honey,” your daddy calls out again, his tone stern but not questioning. he doesn’t suspect anything. “leave joel alone while he’s working. i need that fence fixed today.”

without missing a beat, you step back casually. you give joel’s cock another quick squeeze before you pull away completely, subtly wiping your hand clean on his jeans. he swallows and shoots you a look which you return with a wink.

then, you turn to your daddy, chirp a sweet “coming, daddy!” and skip up the pathway to your house. joel doesn’t miss the way you tug your dress a little higher up to flash him a hint of the lacy panties you’re wearing beneath — his favorite pair, the same ones he’s snatched off the washing line and used to jerk off to numerous times before.

then, just before you disappear into your house, you glance over your shoulder and give joel a look that clearly says ‘we’ll pick this up later.’

he swallows hard, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. his jeans are now way too tight and uncomfortably sticky, and his face is flushed and hot. he feels like a damn teenager again, getting so affected by a bit of touching from a pretty girl. but you’re different. you’re not just any pretty girl. you have a way about you, a way of making joel forget any common sense, a way of making him forget about anything other than that he wants you.

with a grunt, he returns to his work, his hands slightly shakier now as he continues hammering nails into the splintered wood of the sheep gate. “damn girl will be the death of me.”

but he gets back at you for your teasing later, when he fucks you in the stables until your throat is raw from screaming so much, your hips are covered in bruises, and the skin of your neck is barely even visible beneath all the hickey’s joel leaves there.

and the next morning when your daddy asks you why you didn’t come down for dinner last night or for breakfast, how can you possibly explain to him that it’s because you physically can’t walk anymore?

please do not steal, copy, translate or repost anywhere else ♡

[saintmuses]

❝𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙣❞

Pairing:

Jonathan Crane x Innocent!Reader

Summary:

They were best friends since high school then he broke her when she became his Patient X.

Warning(s): Dub-con. Pervert/depraved!Jonathan. Implied corruption. Implied abduction. Power imbalance. Naivety. Nudity. He struggled with his feelings for her. This is dark due to mental health and toxin usage. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 1.5k

“The mind can only take so much.” He had once said that to one of his minions, and he knew that it was true when he was accosted by his own toxin. He had seen things, the things he wished he hadn’t seen. His best friend dying over and over. The only person he’d ever cared about.

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, he threw his scarecrow burlap mask to the side table in the foyer carelessly. 

Something was different tonight, and he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Jon?” A voice murmured from the end of the hallway, making him inhale sharply.

He exhaled softly before turning to her, “it’s time to go to bed, my dear.” He murmured; his eyes raked over her figure to ensure nothing was out of place.

He used his creation to experiment on her phobia, and after so many trials and tribulations, he had broken her. Not in the way he had imagined, but he broke her, nevertheless.

She went from one of the smartest people he had ever got to known with fire that could scorch everything, reverting to an innocent docile person that he had to take care of. Obviously after what happened, he couldn’t give her back to her family, but it had been five years since he took her in. Of course, he had to implant a farce where she was abducted and declared she was dead.

Something was different tonight, and he did not understand what it was.

He sat down on the edge of her mattress, fingers brushing against the hem of her t-shirt, his touch lingering as he slowly lifted them. She was delicate in his hands, and he couldn't help but feel protective and possessive over her this time. To him the feeling felt foreign.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the shirt over her head, revealing the smooth skin beneath. Her breathing quickened, and Jonathan could tell she was nervous. He shushed her gently, assuring her as he did every night. "It's okay.” He cooed softly, she was his best friend and only she got to see the side of him that no one else would ever get.

He traced his fingers along the waistband of her pants,  and with a subtle tug, they slid down her legs, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her bra and underwear.

He could see right through the bundle of energy she was radiating. "Y/N, you don't have to be afraid of me," he assured her once again as he gently tugged at her bra strap, loosening it. "I'd never hurt you."

You broke her. His mind whispered, almost viciously teetering on victorious as if he was proud that he broke his best friend.

“I know you won’t.” she murmured shyly. Her voice was soft and sweet.

"That's my good girl," he said softly, his warm breath brushing against her arm. With gentle fingers, he unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, taking in the sight of her perfect breasts. His possessiveness spiked once more.

He had never once looked at her breasts or anywhere on her body when he would help her to change clothes.

After what happened in the Arkham Asylum, being sprayed in the face with his toxin, and seeing what he had saw, it shifted something inside of him.

Perhaps there was a reason why he kept her like a singing docile bird in a gilded cage. The one that did not fly too far, always circling around him.

He turned to the side slightly on the bed and grabbed a large t-shirt from beside him.

She looked at it, confusion flitted her curious gaze. “Is that my shirt?”

"No, this shirt is for you to sleep in tonight," he explained gently, guiding her to slip it over her head. It was huge on her, dwarfing her frame, but it was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

He could feel the heat emanating from her body as he slid his hands up her thighs, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was gentle yet strangely possessive as he reached for her underwear under the shirt, slowly sliding them down her legs. "There we go.”

As soon as his fingers enclosed the underwear that she had stepped out of, he froze when he felt something damp on the fabric.

“Jonny?”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her sweet, innocent voice calling him "Jonny". He couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions - protectiveness, possessiveness, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He could feel her looking at him. “Are you okay?”

Clearing his throat "I'm fine, my dear," he said reassuringly, forcing a smile as his fingers tightened on the fabric. "Now, how about we get you into bed?”

He watched her climb onto the bed, his eyes never leaving her. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as she turned away from him. It was then that he brought the underwear to his face, inhaling deeply. He couldn't help but inhale her scent, memorizing every detail of it. It was intoxicating, like a drug to him. As she turned her face to him, he quickly tucked the underwear away in the pocket of his dress pants, trying to regain his composure.

She looked concerned, “Jonny?”

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice more shaky than he would have liked. "Now, why don't you snuggle under these covers and get warm?"

When he was helping her lifting the comforter up, the long t-shirt ridden high on her thighs while she accidentally spread her legs while trying to get underneath the comforter.

He couldn't help but notice how her legs spread, revealing more of her soft skin of her thighs. His possessiveness flared once more, and he couldn't resist reaching out to gently pull the shirt down further, covering her thighs completely.

He noticed the slight blush on her cheeks and knew she was embarrassed. He chuckled softly, brushing off her impending apology. "Don't worry about it."

His heart melted at the sight of her sweet smile, and he couldn't resist leaning over to gently press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, my dear."

The next morning, she was still sleeping soundly as he opened the door to check on her while wiping down his glasses with a soft cloth before placing it back on his face.

Jonathan couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked, all warm and snuggled under the covers. He strode over to her bed, “wake up, Y/N.”

A groan of protest emitted from her throat as she burrowed into the pillow.

He chuckled softly, knowing she wasn't a morning person. He was comforted to know despite breaking her, she still inhibited some pieces of her old self. "Come on, it's time to start your day." He gently pulled the covers off of her, revealing her body under the t-shirt which so happened to ride up on where her thighs met her ass, revealing a sliver of her bare pussy. He swallowed hard.

He couldn't believe how innocent she looked. The sight of her exposed pussy under the fabric of the t-shirt that rode up under where her thighs were was driving him crazy.

He couldn't resist any longer. With a trembling hand, he pulled the t-shirt up further, exposing her entire pussy to his hungry gaze. It was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

He couldn't help but to release an inaudible groan as he looked at her pretty pussy. It was the most erotic sight he had ever seen. He continued to shake her gently, "wake up, darling." His voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “It’s time to get dressed.”

He watched her carefully, noticing the way she stood by the bed. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on it, spreading his legs apart. "Come here." His voice was soft but commanding.

His heart raced as she stood between his legs. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything but how much he wanted her. "We’re going to do something a bit different today," he murmured, “turn around.”

He watched her turn around despite her confusion, revealing her back to him. He then laid a hand on the middle of her back, telling her to bend over.

The t-shirt ridden up to her upper thighs as she bent over, and he bit down his bottom lip as he lifted the hem of the t-shirt to reveal her pussy again.

“Aren’t you supposed to put an underwear on me first before you do anything else?” she asked quietly.

He smirked softly, "Not this time." He leaned in closer to her, his warm breath brushing against her skin. He could feel himself trembling as he looked at her exposed pussy.

He leaned in as close as he could towards her pussy without touching her and then he inhaled deeply, smelling her pussy then his eyes rolled back in pleasure, feeling the familiar sensation of his cock swelling in his dress pants. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweet, feminine scent that bombarded his senses.

“Jonny?” His eyes refocused when he heard her sweet voice.

"Shh, darling.” He whispered. "I was just making sure everything is fine," he lied as he inhaled deeply again, his eyes closing.

Something was different last night, and it showed when he saw her differently.

[turnnblurb]

only angel - harry styles

pairing - bob floyd x pilot!reader

warning - 18+ only, smut, oral (fem receiving), talks of p in v, mutual pining, bob comes in his pants, bob fucks.

this is bob’s song for pilot!reader. it’s all he hears watching you flaunt around in your flight suit, tied at the waist to sport the tight white tank underneath. skin tanned and spotted from days spent flying too close to the sun. watching you maneuver your F/A-18 through windy skies as if you were born for the one thing and that thing alone.

i’m just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth, and there’s nothing i can do about it

he sees you through the window before you actually make way into the confined hard deck. off-white sundress barely brushing your lower thighs. he has to flex the muscles in his neck to keep his head from rolling back. grips his bottle too hard in order to refrain from piercing skin with his own nails. chastised himself for being like every other man in the room, you didn’t want his attention nor anyones.

but, you did. so desperately.

he misses the way you automatically look for him when you step into the bar. misses the way your cheeks blush when his eyes follow down your figure unintentionally. he’s downright blind to how your eyes only shimmer when you’re speaking with him.

bob is an honorable man. he open’s doors, tips well, lets people through in traffic. he’s a good man. there’s nothing good about fighting off the urge to sit you on the pool table and eat you out in front of every patron of the hard deck.

when the pool pit fills up you find yourself backed into a corner against him. his chest to the backs of your shoulders. it’s innocent, the way you crane your neck to the right to smile at him to make sure he saw hangman’s failure of a shot. your smile faltering when you see that his eyes were already on you, his face devoid of any readable emotion. you take a step forward with a small ‘sorry’, figuring that you had largely invaded his personal space due to your lack of comfortability in standing next to anyone else in the crowded area.

“oh.”

his hand is the one pulling you back into him from your front, not pushing you away. you hear a barely audible groan pull from the back of his throat. you’re closer now. much closer.

he looks around to make sure your privacy is sealed before he leans down and brushes his lips to your ear.

“i know this isn’t like me, but if i have to spend ‘nother second here with you not being mine, i might as well have myself honorably discharged from the navy.” his voice had deepened with the low tone of his voice. he takes a shaky breath into your ear. he’s missed a lot, but he doesn’t miss how you slightly shiver more into him. “you ruin me.”

“well, i won’t have you losing your career over me. that wouldn’t be very kind.” ever so considerate you were. you feel a hand squeeze tightly at your waist, unaware that it had been there the whole time.

it takes five minutes for him to break and quite obviously pull you out the front doors of the hard deck.

i must admit i thought id like to make you mine

the ride turns torturous when you accept that you have to wait exactly thirteen minutes to get your hands on him. he’s clenched jawed and laser focused on the stop lights ahead, but his twitching grip on your thigh tells you all you need to know.

“how long?” it breaks you from your trance, and despite his lack for better word you know exactly what he’s asking.

“ever since we met at the hard deck.” your confession has no power behind it. it’s a breathless response. he lets his foot fall heavier onto the petal. he fights the urge to pull into an abandoned lot just so he can kiss you more wordless than both of you already are.

when the thirteen minute mark passes he’s placing his truck in park outside of his one bedroom townhouse. you swallow your spit when he’s outside of the truck, power walking to the passenger door. he pulls it open, reaches over to unbuckle your seatbelt, and offers you his hand to step down. there’s no use for words when you both know.

there is a use for them when you both are inside and he has your back pressed against his front door. hand releasing yours to find home on the side your neck, the large warmth of his stretching to the nape of it.

“do you know how in love with you i am?” he’s scared to ask it. scared of a laugh that will never come from your lips. his forehead falls to yours. “my ma told me once that i’d never be able to love a woman until i truly knew one inside and out. but, i knew you the moment i laid my eyes on you.”

“bobby..” a sigh falls from his lips at the call of his name. a call of his name from you. “if the feeling wasn’t mutual, i don’t think i would’ve worn this dress tonight.”

“god, honey. that fuckin’ dress.” his laugh comes more strangled then he planned it to be. “your thighs. your laugh. the way you crinkle your damn nose.”

“bobby.” his eyes meet yours and through the shaded light of the lamp you can see the blue of his eyes fade into black. “kiss me. please”

he does. one to your forehead. your chin. left cheek, right. he marks a cross on your face with his lips before softly pressing them to your own. his grip on the back of your neck tightening. for all things holy, he was about to worship.

the soft press of his lips was enough for your knees to weaken. the growing fire behind them was enough to make you fully moan into his mouth, egging him on as if he needed it. his tongue simmered into yours because it was meant to be there.

she’s an angel, my only angel

he had you pressed against the door for a good thirty minutes before you made just the right noise when his thigh met between your legs. he pulled back, having to gasp for the air in his lungs.

“how much do you want?” he slurred through his accent, head drunk with you. if he left his hands on you any longer they might stick there, he wouldn’t mind.

“all of it. how much do you want?” you hold him with two hands on the sides of his head, fingers threading with the strands of his now mused hair.

“everything.”

he guided you by the small of your back through his hallway, having to take an intermission every now and again to press you back up against the wall.

his bedroom was simple, but it was him. a plaid brown comforter on the bed. two books sat on his side table. an antique dresser topped with more books and a death star lego set. you didn’t have the chance to notice anything else before he was pressed against your back, hands taking their rightful place on your waist.

“when you walked into the hard deck today there was only one thought in my head.” he pressed kisses to your neck between words, moving your hair to make room for his love. “and it’s still on my mind.”

“hmm?” his answer is silent as he moves you to the edge of his own bed. your mouth is agape when he sinks to his knees. the whimper you let out has him in a battle with his tightening pants.

he takes his precious time, eyes never leaving yours. he reaches a hand to the smooth expanse of your calf, trailing down so he can remove your shoes. your dress is still on, and he plans to keep it that way for now. he does allow himself to push the hem of it further up your thighs, and he thinks maybe that wasn’t such a good idea because he is surely going to spill a load into his pants.

he pulls himself closer to you where his hands are still wrapped around your calves. nudging his head between your shaking knees until he’s right where he wants to be. he stays there for a moment, breathing hard enough so that you can feel it on your clothed heat. nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his mouth on you. he kisses you there, before spreading his tongue wide against the fabric.

“bobby.” you whine futilely, he already has his teeth tight on the white material, pulling it down your legs. his hands smooth over your legs before they pull the underwear all the way down and off your body.

“honey..” his eyebrows are furrowed and serious as he looks you in the eyes. “if it gets to much stop me, i just want to make you feel good. are you gonna let me make you feel good?”

you nod probably too much, he lets out an airy laugh.

“words, honey. wanna hear you.” his hand has traveled farther up your leg, pushing your dress up further.

“please, please make me feel good.” it’s all he needs, laying a wet kiss on your thigh before meeting you back at where your want is melting off of you and onto his clean bed.

he’s steady and first. immediately drawling attention to your clit, tonguing it slowly in tight circles. when you move your own hands to lift your dress from his head he pulls them to his hair. it’s all the leverage you need for when he becomes ravenous.

his mouth expands over your whole center, licking one long line before his tongue finds your entrance. it’s quick work when you hear and feel his moan into you, his hips bucking at the taste of you on his lips and the sound of you on his ears.

“oh— s’feels so good please—” your words fall on understanding ears, before you can process the ecstasy of it all two of his fingers are slipping onto your tongue and pulling right back out. they find their way back to your clit, rubbing hot and fast at the nerve.

within three minutes, bob floyd has you coming on his mouth. for the first time.

his ministrations don’t stop there. he’s insatiable now that he’s got you. now that you’re his, and this is his. he’s always aimed to please. whether that be in school, in the air, or in between the most perfect thighs he had ever seen.

he feels the grip on his hair tighten and encourages it with a loud groan that shakes you to your core. he pushes himself impossibly further into you, the attention his hands were once paying you long forgotten, as they now squeeze roughly into the meat of your hips. he has you with just his mouth.

his heels are lifting off the ground and he’s pushing you further into his bed with the foundation of the second orgasm he gives you. he detaches for a moment.

“so pretty like this, angel. taste so good.” he squeezes your hip tighter. “all mine.”

when you come again, he’s matching your moans and whimpers. hips now furiously bucking into nothing except the tight constraint of his slacks. he doesn’t even give himself a moment to feel embarrassed, because what does he have to be embarrassed of? the fact that he made you come undone in approximately seven minutes with only his mouth not once, but twice? he feels his seed warm his front when you whine his name once more.

he’s pulling you through it, but slower this time. a post sign that he’s taken what he wanted, for now. he pulls off of you with a sickeningly sweet kiss to your clit. taking his own breaths with his head resting on your thigh.

“can i..” he hears you softly ask, he chuckles at himself and not at you.

“problem took care of itself, sweet girl.” he smiles at you from where his head still lays on your thigh. “i’ll take care of both of us later.”

that has your cheeks and stomach burning again.

he lifts himself from the floor with his hands on either side of you, from between your legs he leans down and kisses you softly.

“let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe after a shower i’ll be able to look at you without ruining my pants.”

[the-kr8tor]

Carnival date with Hobie! Going on the arcades (that are definitely rigged) enjoying cotton candy together and the Ferraris wheel!

- 💗

Thank you for the lovely prompt, angel! 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller though), cw food mentions, Fluff

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You take a giant bite of your cotton candy, the sugar bursts into your mouth like fireworks. The bright neon lights make your eyes shine, all the beeps and boops from arcade machines are reminiscent of the time when you were younger. It's cold out, an evening breeze passes by, fluttering your lashes in the wind. It's freezing but Hobie's arm around your shoulders warms you through your bones.

“Don't eat it all, give me some.” His breath fans your cheeks, it tickles you a bit. “Oi, stop gettin’ distracted. Ahhh” he opens his mouth for you, waiting for you to feed him like a baby chick.

“Get those pinchers out of my face.” You giggle, quickly feeding a dollop of the sweet treat before he chomps down on your fingers. You've learned your lesson.

“Thanks.” He says through a mouthful. You wipe the corner of his lips clean of candy. He sticks his tongue out to the side with the intention to lick your finger.

“Nope, too slow!” you quickly move your hand away to his dismay.

“I will bite your hand off, you'll see.” Hobie says with a smirk.

���Uh huh, sure. If you can catch me”

“You better start running then”

Before you could sprint through the crowd, Hobie's arms are already around your middle, lifting you a few inches off the ground effortlessly. You giggle, trying to not get a lot of attention from the public.

You blame the candy for making Hobie more hyper than he already is.

“Give me your fuckin' hand” he cranes his neck down to try and catch your it, you cross your arms on your chest, tucking your hands inside.

“Nu uh!” Hobie squeezes you, continuing to walk like he's not carrying you. “So you're just gonna manhandle me the entire night?”

“No, I'll throw you in one of those duck ponds.” He laughs loudly as you wiggle your elbow right on his abdomen. You didn't know he's ticklish there, you are definitely gonna use that information in the future.

Your eyes light up, looking at the gigantic patchwork teddy bear hanging on to one of the arcade booths. “Look at that one!”

“D’you want that? I'll get that for you, yeah?”

“No, it's fine, it's probably rigged anyway.”

He nuzzles your neck, “I'll bet you a kiss that I can win that ugly bear”

“Deal.” You kick your legs out to try to walk on your own but he doesn't let go so you let him carry you the entire way to the booth, laying your entire weight on him.

He stops in front of the milk bottle tossing booth, an old man with large glasses mans the it, he picks up fallen balls, placing them neatly inside a small bucket.

“How much, bossman?” Hobie asks, his arms still carrying you.

“Five pounds per bucket. Looks like you've won a much better prize though” he chuckles.

“Yeah, ‘m lookin' for a replacement though” he points at the bear with his chin. His comment doesn't fly over you though, you huff, kneading his stomach with your elbow. Hobie yelps, letting you go. “See that, bossman? Need that bear more than ever.”

You make a mocking face, Hobie suddenly has an intense urge to pinch your nose. But he doesn't, maybe he'll do it once you two get home.

He hands the old man the bills in exchange for the bucket.

“You've got four tries to bring the three pyramids down. You do that and you get the bear.” The old man explains.

“That easy?” Hobie says smugly.

The man chuckles, the same smug smile on his lips. “That easy. Good luck.”

Hobie turns to you as he's weighing the baseball in his hand. “Kiss for good luck?”

“I thought that was for after winning my prize?” despite you declining, you lean to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good luck and don't overdo it or you might give the man a heart attack.” You whisper close to his ear.

“And here I was preparing my arm to rocket this ball out of here” he chases your face, capturing your forehead in a quick but tender kiss.

You poke his side, smiling as he takes aim. His arm extended like he's a professional, his muscles tensing through his shirt. You'd be lying if you said you weren't ogling him. Before Hobie throws the ball, he winks at you all suave, waking the butterflies in your stomach.

Clang!

The first pyramid bottle falls loudly. Hobie looks at you with a mischievous smirk, wordlessly saying. ‘I've got this’

He takes another ball, preparing to launch it. As you predicted, he turns his head towards you again but you're prepared this time, winking at him sweetly before he could do it.

He almost misses the bottles.

You tamp down your laugh when he looks back at you with a ‘how dare you’ face. You look at him innocently, fluttering your lashes.

After all that though, one after the other the bottles fall easily, the old man shifts uncomfortably, scratching his head. He surrenders, handing Hobie the bear.

“Told you I'll win it for you” the bear gets squished in the middle as Hobie tries his best to embrace you with the fluffy wall in between.

“I knew you had it,” you lean up so he could claim his prize. “You have super strength, cheater.” you say against his lips, he could only get a fraction of a second of your lips before you pulled away. He blinks, shaking his head.

“Thought we had a deal?”

“Claim it in the ferris wheel?”

“You cheeky fucker”

—

After lining up for the ride and numerous bites of a shared funnel cake, you and Hobie hop on to the pod, the capsule shakes as he pushes in the bear to fit inside. The worker manning the ride sighs exasperatedly.

Hobie sits it across from you, scooching to make way for him, he sighs, all tired out from the labour.

The worker closes the door, the ferris wheel starts up, slowly moving your pod up.

“Your bear is on thin ice” He glares at the toy, the fluffy head tilting comedically. You laugh while Hobie casually snakes his arm around your shoulders, bringing you Impossibly closer to the already small space.

You don't mind it though, laying your head on his shoulder, reaching blindly for his hand, he half hugs you, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“You good?” his voice muffled by your skin.

“Better than good. Happy” you inhale his cologne, relaxing your muscles. You swear you're melting on the spot. “You?”

“You already know the answer, lovie” he cranes his neck closer to you, ignoring the ache in his nape. Hobie then presses a handful of kisses on your temple, each one sweeter than the last. He holds off with his joke about pushing the bear off the ride.

The ferris wheel halts to a stop when your pod reaches the top, you cling tighter to Hobie. The view takes your breath away, the shining lights below look like stars, the skyline looms on your right, just seeing it makes you crave web swinging with Hobie. Maybe you'll ask him about it later.

The ride starts back up again with a sudden lunge, a mechanical whirring in the background. You yelp, Hobie grips your shoulder, circling his thumb over your skin comfortably.

“I've got you.” He reassures.

“I know you do” You squeeze him, moving his face downward by his chin, guiding him closer to your lips.

[beansprean]

@blakbonnet @saltpepperbeard Your post has come to fruition…this comic hurt my teeth with its sweetness!! I should apologize for how long it is but...I won't.

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of Stede and Ed standing in an 80s grocery store. Ed, wearing a black tee shirt tucked into lightwash jeans, black boots, a light blue handkerchief in his back left pocket, and his hair in a high ponytail, is standing with an empty grocery cart with both hands on the handle and one foot up on the bottom basket. He glances from the empty cart and then to Stede, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Stede, wearing a retro-patterned teal and purple short sleeved button up tucked into pleated khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, and a gold watch, his hair swept back in a big feathered quiff, holds his hands up defensively with a nervous smile. He says, “Oh- Darling, no. No, no, I’m too big!”

2a. Ed begins to stalk towards Stede with a mischievous grin, arms out in a grabbing motion. Stede backs up, smile growing even as his eyes narrow in warning and his hands try to bat him away. “Ed.” he says shortly. 2b. Ed darts forward and grabs Stede around the waist, scooping him up over his shoulder. Stede bursts into laughter, face going red, and yells “Ed! Put me down, you’ll hurt yourself!” 2c. Ed walks back toward their cart with Stede flopped over his shoulder and sings, “Nonsense, love!” In the background, there is a young brown woman wearing a patterned jumpsuit with long dark feathered hair facing the shelves as she browses cereal. There is a baby over her shoulder wearing teal overalls who catches Stede’s eye as they pass and reaches out a chubby little hand to wave at him in solidarity. Stede waves back automatically, clearly embarrassed but unable to stop smiling.

3a. Ed half-falls into the cart with a punched-out “Oof!” as he flops Stede down into it butt-first, his face buried in Stede’s chest and Stede’s legs flying up around him. 3b. Ed lifts himself up with his arms braced on either side of Stede, nose-to-nose with his husband who has sat up in the cart with a silly grin, one leg thrown over the side. Ed continues the previous conversation with a soft smile, “It’s like holding a couple of grapes.” 3c. Ed closes the last inch between them to smack a kiss on the tip of Stede’s nose. Stede reddens and snorts out a laugh.

4. Close up on the woman in their aisle as she chooses a cereal called “Matey Puffs” featuring a white cartoon Blackbeard with a hook hand. She glances over in confusion at Ed and Stede as they zoom away, Stede tucked in the cart and Ed driving, both giggling uncontrollably. The baby continues to wave after them.

5. Text reading “Later…”

6a. Stede and Ed waiting in line at the checkout. Stede is still in the cart, knees pulled to his chest, now surrounded by piles of groceries including a bottle of L&P soda, a bag of shredded cheese, a head of romaine lettuce, a bottle of wine, a few packs of meat, a bag of apples, a bag of Twisties, a loaf of bread, a bag of Roshuns, several packs of spaghetti, and a few miscellaneous cartons and jars. Ed, one hand on the cart handle, suddenly smacks the heel of his other hand against his forehead with a “duh!” expression. He exclaims, “Oh, shit! We forgot the oranges!” Stede turns his head around shoot him an annoyed look and replies, “What?? That’s the whole reason we came!” 6b. Ed runs off in a cloud of dust, shouting behind him, “BRB, Baby! Kiss kiss!” Stede cranes his neck after him in panic, unable to move from his grocery prison, calling, “Wai- Ed! Ed!!” 6c. Stede turns back around, red faced, sweating with nerves, and now a middle aged man alone in a full grocery cart. In front of him in queue is a bald man resembling Black Pete in a white suit with the sleeves rolled up, pushing his own cart. Behind him are an older dark-skinned woman with short gray hair wearing a puff sleeve shirt, long pink skirt, and pearls, holding a full basket with both hands and a large Māori man resembling Fang in a pink polo shirt and pleated khakis with a bag of dog food under one arm. They both step forward automatically to fill Ed’s vacated space.

7a. The older woman leans forward toward Stede with a small smile, saying, “You and your husband are very sweet.” Stede cranes his neck around to smile at her nervously, replying, “Oh! Thank you…” 7b. The woman loosens one hand from her basket to place it on Stede’s cart, continuing, “Let me push you forward, the queue is moving.” Stede drops his chin to his chest in relief, breathing out a much more genuine “Thank you.”

8a. Text at the top reads “9 minutes later”; Stede has reached the front of the line. The employee, who resembles Izzy, is wearing a blue striped button up and red bow tie under a yellow apron and stands, one hand hovering over the register as he stares down silently at Stede. Stede, looking small and scared, barely able to peek over the edge of the counter, stares back sweatily with wide eyes and says, “Ummm…” 8b. The employee startles as Stede cracks his head back and screams at the top of his lungs, “Ed!! Darling, where are you?? We have a problem!!”

9a. Ed suddenly zooms into view holding a bag of oranges, sliding smoothly between Stede and the register with a grin and a wink. He says, “Never fear, my love! I’m here!” Stede smiles hugely at him, full of relief and love. Behind them, the Izzy-like employee just glares at them, looking extremely tired, revealing he is wearing a large anachronistic button that says “service with a smile”. Stede cries, “You came back!” Ed replies, “Never left.” Both their speech bubbles are filled with pink hearts. 9b. Text in parentheses at the top says “he really didn’t.” We now see Ed from earlier, already holding the bag of oranges, peeking out from behind a shelf with a warm expression. He giggles, one hand to his cheek, as he observes Stede’s predicament from afar. Offscreen, Stede is saying, “Oh- Louise, we’re moving again.” Louise, presumably the older woman behind him in line, responds, “I’ve got you!” Stede continues, “Haha, getting awfully close to the front, aren’t we… I wonder what’s taking Ed so long…” /end ID

[updownlately]

i like shiny things (but i'd marry you with paper rings)

randomly thinking about esme morgan and how she made bracelets for the engwnt during their down time and just picturing a reader x alessia where r does origami when they're anxious or in between games. idk if anyone's written this idea before so mb if it's repetitive (i feel like i read an origami-reader fic before but i believe it was with jessie fleming x r) not a fic, not a blurb, just an idea/storyline :) fun fact: an instagram reel prompted this 😅 | alessia russo x reader

~~~

like imagine the first time alessia walks into your shared hotel room to see a handful of paper cranes of different colours laid across the bed, your tongue poking out slightly, eyebrows furrowed as you had a website open on your phone showing you how to make a dragon.

and you're so concentrated you don't hear alessia come in, you just fiddle with the paper and let out a huff when you realize you have to unwind the folds you just did.

it's only when she clears her throat at you, still standing near the door that you snap out of what you're doing, eyes going wide, the dinosaur that looks more like a worm flying out of your hands.

and you'd look at her with an embarrassed look, quickly gathering the seven or so different paper cranes, bringing them towards your lap in a futile attempt to hide em, as alessia would watch you with a fond smile on her face.

or can we talk about how she'd quietly get you more origami paper the next time she goes out with the girls to explore the city, shyly coming back with a fresh pack of origami sheets, this time in pastel colours, shades you absolutely adored.

the way she'd enter the room anxiously, thumb playing with the ring on her finger as she'd hide the package behind her with her other hand, shoulder's curled in, skittish smile on her face.

how you'd wave her in, a huge smile on her face, not suspecting a thing as you chatted with your mother on the phone.

she'd maybe sit on the edge of the bed, a few feet away from you, the papers still hidden as you'd talk animatedly on the phone for a couple more minutes.

it's during that time that alessia would cast her gaze across the room, taking in how many different little paper creations, varying from flowers to cranes to butterflies to shapes like stars and hearts littered the room, smiling tenderly to herself.

and when you'd finish up the call, looking over at the blonde with a large grin on your face you'd already be excited by her mere presence, your golden retriever personality making itself known.

that grin would only grow wider as she would shuffle closer to you, the origami sheets still miraculously hidden (not hard to do really since all your focus was on alessia, your eyes nearly in the shape of a heart) and she'd give you a gentle kiss on your forehead and then lips, before pulling back shyly, the words quiet as they left her.

'i got you a little something...'

you'd tilt your head in question, a singular eyebrow raising as you'd finally notice how her other arm was somewhat awkwardly positioned behind her.

and you'd kind of tense up into a sitting position, concerned at what it could be.

'relax, it's nothing crazy, just a small little item i've been meaning to grab for you'

the words would be gentle, with a slight teasing lilt.

and she'd carefully present you the origami sheets, placing them on the sheet between you two, biting her lip nervously as she'd wait for a reaction.

your eyebrows would scrunch up immediately, hands reaching out to grab the plastic package, examining it as your jaw would drop in a pleasant mix of shock and joy.

and the way your eyes would widen as you'd read the text on around the item, the words 'origami paper' written clear as day, your heart feeling so full, warmth coursing through your veins as you'd realize that alessia had noticed your stack was running out, even going as far as to get them in colours you loved.

the papers would gently be thrown to the side as everything would click, you launching yourself at the blonde, arms coming to immediately wrap around her shoulders and neck as you'd bury your face in her neck.

your excited 'thank you' would be muffled with how tightly you were hugging her, your grin from earlier returning, only now it was nearly twice the size.

the blonde would chuckle gently at your delighted state, hugging you back with just as much enthusiasm, placing a gentle kiss to your temple just before you'd pull back, nearly shaking with elation.

placing a few loving kisses onto her lips you'd mumble another thank you in between them, pulling away once your couldn't contain your excitement.

and you'd rip into the new packaging, old papers be damned because your girlfriend got you these and they were immediately, undoubtedly the better papers now.

and eventually, as it would become time to check out of the hotel a few days later, alessia would find herself once again standing in the middle of the room, this time the whole room nearly taken over by butterflies, dragons (which you now finally mastered), toads, cranes, rabbits, stars, hearts, chains, and like twenty other things, some in various colours of the rainbow, and more than half of them made of the pastel origami sheets. (it was clear to see you had a favourite, evident by the way nearly half the pastel paper had already been used).

and then can we talk about how maybe you both would be coming back from a really tiring game, the whole engwnt sat on the bus, the two of you choosing to sit closer to the middle-front-ish area, alessia knowing you preferred the peace and quiet as you'd fold paper and calm down from the exhilarating events of the game.

so you'd sit there, a pair of wired earbuds shared between you two as the paper pad would be precariously balancing on your thighs, rattling with every bump and uneven surface of the road.

alessia would be sat beside you, watching you with a lovestruck face as you'd continue to do fold after fold, making something new this time, what it was, alessia didn't know, you wanting to surprise her.

what she did notice however was that you had two pieces of paper out, one that was her favourite colour, and one that was your favourite colour- surely that couldn't be a coincidence, right?

and as teammates saw you back at your usual task, very much accustomed to your tendency to relax by creating little items, they let you be, a few gently requesting you for a rabbit or dragon (stanway nearly begging you to make her dinosaur, pestering you until you had finally agreed with a quiet 'later' with a fond eye roll).

you'd been very much focused since though, head nodding along to the music, the familiar 'furrowed eyebrows' look on your face, tip of your tongue peeking out as you did meticulous fold after fold, tilting your body ever so slightly so alessia couldn't make out exactly what you were creating.

it was only when you were done, two small heart rings resting in the palm of your hand, one each in your and alessia's favourite colour, did you turn around, a bashful smile on your face as you hid the two papers in a loosely closed fist.

quickly scanning to make sure no one was watching, your fear of being teased for your sappiness emerging, your leg shook with nervous energy as you realized the coast was clear.

'i made you- us- i made us paper rings in our favourite colours.'

the words would come out slightly rushed, a soft blush coming to coat your cheeks as alessia's eyes widened in joyful shock,

'i'll get you a proper one eventually, this is just a promise of that in the meantime...'

and alessia would shrug at your words, a lovesick smile crossing her face as she'd examine the heart-shaped ring intently, absolutely adoring the way it rested on her hand, loving it more than any other jewellery she owned simply because it was made by you.

and placing the ring-clad hand up to rest on your cheek, the blonde would nudge you to look at her, bringing your faces close as she'd place a gentle but loving kiss on your lips, pulling back only a few centimetres as sky blue eyes would meet yours, her next words a whispered secret between you, eliciting twin smiles, lovestruck looks crossing both of your faces.

'as long as it's you i'm marrying, i'd happily do it with paper rings.'

[mutant-distraction]

The sarus crane (Antigone antigone) is a large nonmigratory crane found in parts of the Indian subcontinent, Southeast Asia, and northern Australia. The tallest of the flying birds, standing at a height of up to 1.8 m (5 ft 11 in), they are a conspicuous species of open wetlands in South Asia, seasonally flooded Dipterocarpus forests in Southeast Asia, and Eucalyptus-dominated woodlands and grasslands in Australia -Wikipedia

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! <3

Chapter 87: The Other Woman

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 

And yet, he hadn't. 

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 

Was this a test? 

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 

Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 

Aemond had come to straight to you. 

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red. 

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.

You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen. 

For a time. 

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 

And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.

"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 

A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

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