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Discovery

Summary: Miguel tries to fix the damage of his obsession for you, only to discover a secret you’ve been keeping that will change everything…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 3k

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Inexperienced/In*ocent/V*rgin reader. Mast*rbation. Voye*rism (have to thank this anon).

Part 1 (if you’re just starting out) - Previous Part

Miguel O’Hara took pride in being able to keep his emotions at check.

For the most part, at least.

But when it came to you, he constantly found his reason at war with his feelings.

The way you were eyeing him expectantly, made his stomach flip.

“Is there something wrong?”

Many things.

For once, he didn’t want to lie to you. However, he dreaded what might happen in case he told you the truth.

Shaking his head, he took your pad in his hands, and glanced over at his watch.

100%

He wanted to just open the file and finally know who this Tom individual was, but he could see a faint frown settle on your face.

“Why can’t I have access to the settings?” you asked, coming to stand by his side to glare at the lit up screen.

He really didn’t want to lie.

“I needed to adjust the prototype first, before giving you full access,” he managed to say.

Great, Miguel.

Your eyes moved to glare at him. “You could have informed me of that.”

He could only nod, he tapped and scrolled through the interface, overriding the block he had placed on it a couple of days ago.

You didn’t seem upset in the slightest. If anything, it you seemed… tired? Sleepy?

“It’s done,” Miguel said, handing the pad back to you. “The interference was probably a mic, by the way.”

As you fought back a yawn, your face twisted into confusion. “A mic?”

Miguel was trying to play it casually, hoping that it would be enough to deflect this issue altogether.

But you… you were not easily detracted.

“Why is there a mic in my suit?”

His heart rate had nearly doubled, and he felt his sweat grow cold as your gaze intensified.

Then, he saw you straighten up as if hit by a sudden realisation.

“You… don’t trust me?” your voice was but a whisper and you started backing away from him. “You’re spying on me?”

Somehow, the conclusion you had drawn was almost as appalling as the truth.

“No! That is not why.”

“Then why?”

Miguel pressed his lips together, and you took his silence as an answer.

“Oh… you really don’t trust me, do you?” you went on, tears welling in your eyes. “I mean… Jessica did tell me you were against me joining Spider Society… I just… thought she wasn’t being serious…”

Miguel stepped closer, feeling a surge of indignation. “That was before I realised your potential!”

You blinked your tears away angrily. “You’re not even denying it.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I had my doubts at first, yes. Your inexperience, for example. But Jess quickly convinced me to take you in,” he continued, knowing that he sounded desperate at this point. “You are a very talented spider, and I realised that nearly right away.”

Then your eyes widened all of a sudden as if you had just realised something daunting.

Miguel felt his stomach flip, already anticipating more something much worse.

“Oh… oh… you — you sent Jessica to my dimension because of Tom…” you said, visibly shaken. “He’s subject A. You… you… woah!”

Miguel felt control slip through his fingers with each accusation you threw at him.

There was no point denying it, and he didn’t want to lie to you. If anything, he only sought to do damage control.

But your usual calm and sweet demeanor had long vanished.

“Who do you think Tom is?” you said between gritted teeth, clenching your fists at your sides. “Some… some secret weapon against Spider Society? Is that it?”

It was evident from your reaction that he clearly wasn’t that.

“Listen, I d-”

But you immediately cut him off, tears streaking down your face. “You want to know who he really is? Do you?”

In truth, he did. However, not at the expense of your emotional stability. Not like this. Everything was going sideways and he felt petrified.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll tell you!” you spat, hurt swelling in your voice. “Three days after I got bitten by that spider, I was struggling to get the hang of all the changes.” You began pacing nervously around the room, no longer looking at him. “I was heading toward a robbery site and… Tom was there… the criminals had dynamite and were threatening to blow up the building,” your voice cracked momentarily and you took a deep breath before continuing. “In an effort to get him out of there, I shot my web at his chest, but lost control and balance, and sent him flying across the street as the explosives went off…”

Miguel could only stare from a distance, feeling the frustration in your words.

You halted and glared at him, lips quivering and more tears spilling. “Tom broke his arm and suffered a serious concussion. Because of me.”

He opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but decided not to interrupt.

“I grew up with Tom. He is — was my best friend,” you sniffled, lowering you gaze. “I even had feelings for him at one point, which was ridiculous… he was too good for me, anyway.”

Miguel took a few steps in your direction, wanting to convince you otherwise, but you immediately retreated away from him.

“Thankfully, he managed to fully recover. No one found out it had been me who caused it in the first place… everyone just assumed it happened because of the explosion…” you mumbled, before crossing your arms and hugging yourself, showing him you had done this multiple times before in search for comfort. “And I was a coward… I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth… so I removed myself from his life.”

A tense silence followed.

Nothing could have prepared Miguel for this revelation, and he couldn’t help but to feel a wave of sympathy for you wash down on him.

You then eyed him. “I don’t want your pity. I deserve this. I was never a decent spider-woman and-”

He quickly stopped you. “That is absolutely not true and you are not a coward.”

“Oh, but I am. When Jessica approached me with the offer to join you, I didn’t even think twice,” you confessed. “I’d do anything to spend as much time away from my dimension as possible.”

“You still perform your duties, as far as I know,” he pointed out rationally.

You let out a pained groan. “Because I have to! I’d much rather stay in the lab, piecing things together and be useful in other ways.”

“You could have told me.”

This time, you frowned and Miguel realised such expression didn’t suit you. At all.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to. This is something I’m ashamed of.” You then pointed at his watch. “Your file won’t tell you any of this, and I really wish you hadn’t gotten involved, because this was my story to tell.”

Your words pierced through him like sharp knives, and he realised he had not only gone too far, but had also managed to hurt you in the process.

“If there is anyone here who understands what you are going through, it’s me,” he began carefully. “I know how it feels to want to do the right thing, only for the consequences to be disastrous.”

He watched your face soften ever so slightly, and you didn’t flinch away from him when he came to stand right in front of you.

“I’m really sorry that I overstepped the line,” he said softly. “I really care about you. That is the reason why I had the mic in your suit and why Jessica went looking for Tom.”

A half-truth, he figured. He couldn’t flat out say the actual reason. How would he even explain that he was obsessed with you? How could that justify any of this?

Simply put, it couldn’t.

And you would resent him.

So, he settled for a half-truth. He did care about you. Immensely. More than he could possibly reason with. But he just couldn’t have you know how much he wanted you to be with him to the point of extreme obsession.

Especially not after discovering this secret of yours.

He had to win you over.

“There is no one who can understand how hou feel better than me,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands, tilting it enough to have your eyes meet his.

“But… you’re the Miguel O’Hara… you’re so… ” your voiced trailed off.

“Spider Society exists because of my mistake. Many people died at my hands, even if it was unintentional,” said with a sigh. “That is a burden I’ll carry forever with me. What you see here came at a price.”

You swallowed.

“But you don’t have to go through this.”

“How so?”

He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. “You get a chance set things straight. Tom is still alive. I don’t get to have that.”

He would never have Gabriella back. Ever. That was the ultimate price he had to pay.

Your gaze dropped and he saw a couple of tears streaming down your face. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not, but it’s still an open door. A choice you have.”

He felt your hands grip his wrists for support, as silence took over you.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he whispered, closing his eyes and planting a kiss to your forehead. “I would have been here for you sooner.”

The effect of his words coupled with the gesture were enough to have you break into a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks, as Miguel held your face with both hands.

This was painful to witness.

He knew all too well how it felt to feel powerless and thinking that you’ve run out of options.

He knew you now. He understood you. Better than anyone ever could.

“I’m… s-sorry…” you mumbled, trying to keep yourself from crying. “You’re… getting all w-wet…”

Miguel couldn’t help but to smile endearingly at your concern, as your tears began to roll down his hands.

“Do not apologise,” he said firmly. “You can cry. I’m here for you.”

Nodding, you opened your eyes again and tilted your had back to stare at him.

“Please s-stay…” you said in between sobs, your hands gripping him tightly. “Please…”

You were killing him.

Little by little.

Miguel would give you everything.

He nodded and you stepped back and let go of him, running the back of your hands across your cheeks to dry them.

Then you went to sit on your couch, removing the clutter of wires and boxes that were in the way.

Miguel spotted a blanket nearby and came to sit by your side, draping it over your shoulders.

You leaned against the backrest, and he followed suit, feeling your head drop to his shoulder.

“Please remove the mic… and delete that file…” you mumbled.

“I will.”

He swung his arm across your from you, to pull you closer to him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and Miguel closed his eyes, relieved that he had managed to somehow control the damage he had caused. Unfortunately, it had come at the expense of you having to open up to him, and he felt guilty for that…

He knew he had to prove himself to you, and was grateful that you hadn’t chosen to shut him out completely.

“Somehow… this was sort of cathartic?” your voice was suddenly heard.

Miguel squeezed your arm tenderly.

“I had… never told this to anyone…”

Guilt hit him at once. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be… I think I needed to let it out,” you mused against him.

He couldn’t help but to feel an intense wave of compassion for you. There was no way around it: Miguel was in too deep when it came to you. Everything about you pulled him in and gripped him.

You would always be his sweet girl.

His devotion was yours.

Just yours.

“Hey, Miguel?”

He felt you shift beside him and he looked down to meet your sleepy eyes. “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your words didn’t register at first, and he thought he had misheard you.

“What?”

You slipped your feet under you, before leaning slowly into him, face drawing near. “Can I kiss you?”

Denial hit him. “You’re just sleepy.”

But you didn’t back down. “No… I just…” your eyes darted down. “Can I?”

His heart went into a frenzy and he was left speechless. Your eyes were set on his lips and he somehow found the strength to nod.

It took you a couple of seconds to adjust yourself, and once you did, you closed the the gap, parting your lips slightly.

Miguel was left perplexed.

Weeks of yearning and obsession were finally being vindicated.

“Pretty eyes,” you whispered, breath fanning his lips. “So pretty…”

Your noses brushed together and he fought the urge to pull you into his lap at once.

“You’re the pretty one…” he said truthfully.

A smile curved your lips even through your sleepiness. “I’m going to kiss you now, Miguel O’Hara…”

And you did.

The moment your lips met his, Miguel felt his body react. It didn’t take long for the blood to rush down to his cock, slowly stirring it.

He could taste the inexperience on your lips as you kept breaking the kiss to gasp for air. It was blatantly obvious you needed some help figuring out what do next, so he happily obliged.

With one hand he managed to shift your leg to swing across his, and with the other he propped you onto his lap.

You broke the kiss, adjusting yourself and lacing your arms behind his neck and taking his lips again.

This time, he pressed his thumb to your chin, parting your lips, so he could deepen the kiss with his tongue. You immediately complied, and allowed him in with a soft whimper.

Miguel finally tasted you.

His sweet girl.

You came down to press your crotch against his painfully hard cock, and he immediately had to still your hips and lift you slightly.

You broke the kiss again, confusion in your eyes. “What…”

He didn’t dare confess it to you.

Instead, he pressed on your lower back so you would lean into him again with a kiss.

He wanted to taste you, but he couldn’t have you sit on his cock like that… he would absolutely burst.

His sweet girl sounded so sweet and receptive…

He felt you trying to defy his hold on your hips, surely wanting that friction, but he couldn’t afford that.

As much as he wanted to feel you grinding on him, he would be too embarrassed to cum so soon, and that thought was what ultimately prevented him from reaching the point of no return.

He brought one hand to grip your wrist, allowing the top half of his digital suit to disintegrate, so he could place the palm of your hand on his chest, revelling in your heated skin against his.

Suddenly, you parted from him with a gasp. “Wait… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow in confusion and watched as you snaked your arm in between you two, sliding your hand down your sweatpants.

Miguel’s eyes widened and he was about to lose it until he realised what was really happening.

You slowly removed your hand and glared at it. “Oh.”

Your fingers were drenched in your wetness.

You were soaked.

For him.

He carefully looped his fingers around your wrist, wanting to taste you, but that sent you into an immediate frenzy, and you fumbled to get up from his lap, nearly falling back if not for his incredible reflexes.

“Easy…” he cooed, caressing his thumb along your pulse point. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”

You tumbled to the side and he let go of you, watching you sit back against the cushioned backrest and looking startled like a deer in headlights.

Just how inexperienced were you?

“Thanks…” you mumbled, chest heaving erratically. “I’m… yeah… and sorry…”

Miguel sat up straighter and arched a brow. “You don’t have to apologise.”

You nodded, your eyes falling to his bulge. “I mean… for that…”

Only you would ever apologise for giving him a raging boner.

His sweet girl…

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, feeling his heartbeat slow down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes…”

He offered a warm smile. “Good.”

Miguel didn’t even know where to begin. He couldn’t quite grasp the events of tonight, and it almost felt like a fever dream.

He was so used to getting hard from just the thought of you, that he couldn’t believe he was now hard because of you.

Still, the way you had reacted when you realised how wet you were for him led him to believe that maybe you were far more inexperienced than he had anticipated.

And he would respectfully give you all the time and space.

He would wait for you to ask him for more.

He could wait. His throbbing cock not so much, but he had other ways of dealing with that.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, adjusting himself over his suit.

Your eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Just to ease some of the tension,” he immediately said.

He was desperate to let his cock spring free, and let it calm down until he was back at his apartment.

You then averted your gaze. “Can you… do it here?”

Miguel was utterly and completely taken aback.

“I… I have never…” you went on, quickly pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, and covering your face. “Nevermind…”

Oh.

Now it all made sense.

“Hey… look at me,” Miguel started, reaching out to tug at your wrist. “It’s okay.”

Slowly, you lifted your head to peer at him with evident hesitation. “Is it too… weird?”

“Not at all.”

And he meant it. By this point, he could feel his cock twitching more often, as more and more precum began to drip from the tip.

“Are you sure?” he asked, needing the absolute confirmation.

You promptly nodded, resting your chin on your forearm, eyeing him intensely.

He paused for a moment, expecting to be jolted away from this dream, or to have you backtrack.

“Please…” you whispered.

Swallowing hard, he allowed himself to sink into the backrest, before having the lower half of his suit disintegrating, and his cock finally released from its confinements.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted.

An instant ego boost that caused him to hiss as he wrapped his fingers around it. His body was so ready for you. Almost too ready. It didn’t take long before Migue felt droplets of precum sliding down his hips.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and it only added to the pleasure he felt.

Giving himself a few tentative pumps, he watched closely as you glared at the motion, curiosity splattered all over your face.

The first moans escaped his lips and he nearly slid his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from cumming too quickly.

But he didn’t want to miss out on anything you had to offer.

Miguel soon found a steady rhythm and began to fuck his hands like so many times before. But unlike those other times, he had you as an audience and he knew he wouldn’t last long no matter how hard he tried to muster images of the Vulture to dwindle his impending orgasm.

Then, you shifted closer, your legs dropping, but still pressed together.

He groaned, knowing exactly why you were being so fidgety.

Your hand was clutching at the hem of your shirt as a way to anchor yourself from the visual stimulation.

“You can touch yourself…” Miguel rasped, tightening the grip around himself, precum now flowing down his knuckles.

You pressed your legs tighter together and Miguel had to halt his motion or he would burst.

“…. or not,” he added, not wanting to overstep your line of comfort.

Your eyes darted to his face momentarily and, for the second time, Miguel saw your hand disappear inside your pants. You gasped softly and he could only guess that you must have reached your clit.

You let out the sweetest whimper, and Miguel’s cock twitched immediately.

His chest heaved and he swiped his thumb across the tip of his cock, letting out a groan.

He watched in awe as your arm moved rhythmically, and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me…” he breathed.

You were biting yout lip, but did what he asked.

The urge to replace you hand with his — better yet, his cock — was almost painful and he knew he was heading towards the precipice, having to space out his strokes.

Your gaze fell to his hand. “How’s it so hard?”

He would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire and him being in need of release.

You scooted closer and closer, until your face was mere inches away, while still touching yourself.

For him.

Because of him.

“Why do you think?”

You gasped and he saw your hand slid out of your pants, fingers glistening with your wetness.

“Can… I?”

Miguel was too far gone to deny you of a newfound experience, so he nodded, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

He would burst.

You chewed on your lower lip as if unsure of what to do next, but he wanted you to take your time. A few moments later, you reached down with your soaked hand and he lets go of his cock, welcoming your touch.

He threw his head back and had to muster all of his willpower not to cum right away, as the pads of your fingers tentatively traced the underside of his cock, slowly moving to graze the veins that bulged from under the sensitive skin.

Everything inside him was suddenly burning like wildfire and he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking up.

By the time your thumb reached his tip and grazed slowly, Miguel hissed violently.

“Stop… stop - stop… please-” he begged, but was already being overtaken by the suffocating grip of a powerful orgasm.

You had indeed stopped touching him, but the damage had already been done.

His cock twitched rhythmically as hot spurts of cum began to cover his abs. Witch each roll of his hip, Miguel felt his vision blur and his fangs extend. He groaned your name a couple of times, before his words started to fuse together in a incoherent mess.

The stiffness of his peak shattered after a while and he slumped into the couch, struggling to even out his breathing.

Once he was finally able to open his eyes again, you came into his field of vision, holding a towel in your hands.

“Here,” you said as a smile broke across your face, before sitting by his side and offering it to him.

Even through the haze of an orgasm, Miguel was ablet o feel his heart skip a beat from your tenderness.

He proceeded to clean himself, wiping away the impressive amount of cum that had pooled on his lower abdomen.

“That was…”

His eyes were immediately on you. “Do you want me to…” he trailed off, allowing the not so subtle implication to dangle.

You didn’t catch it at first, but his silent was very telling.

“Oh, no — no, I’m fine, thanks,” you said with a chuckle.

“It’s only fair that I return the favor…”

You shook your head more vehemently this time. “It wasn’t a favor to begin with, Miguel. I was curious and… just wanted to watch you do it,” you mumbled as his digital suit began to cover his body again. “I had never… yeah — I’m still…”

Miguel had his suspicions that you were inexperienced, but he had no ultimate proof of that.

But this… “You’ve never had sex before?”

You settled back on the couch, crossing your legs. “No.”

He wasn’t sure of what to say. Was there even anything he should say?

So, he fell silent, waiting for you to take the lead.

“But… this was an interesting experience,” you eventually went on with a smile. “Do you… regret it?”

“No.”

But he could see doubt already settling on your face. “Maybe it was too much.”

“Not for me,” he said truthfully, straightening up in his seat. “Don’t think that, please.”

You nodded, but Miguel felt a pang of dread spread across his body. The last thing he wanted was for you to regret having opened up to him.

He had been longing for this for far too long to let it all be for nothing.

You were his sweet girl and you had his heart.

“Listen,” he started, set on preventing that from happening. “I can only speak for myself, but that was extremely hot. You are so, so attractive,” he went on, earning a doubting glare from you. “You are. I usually last longer than that.”

Your lips curled into an embarrassed smile, but Miguel could feel his words weren’t exactly reaching you.

Then silence took over.

You kept staring at your hands, head down and humming softly.

“Are you okay?” he shifted closer.

You took a deep breath. “I was thinking about your words earlier…”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He watched you closely. “And what are you thinking?”

“I think you’re right, Miguel,” you drawled out, your voice but a whisper. “I’ve been blaming myself for what happened to Tom for too long.”

A jab of compassion and empathy tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re absolutely right.”

Then, lifting your head, you met his eyes. “I think… I want to meet up with Tom again. Thank you for making me realise that, Miguel,” you finished with a sweet smile.

Part 6 coming soon!

Masterlist

hi! i was wondering if you could write spencer reid with a reader who's hotch's niece? and hotch always tells her that she should meet reid and go out with him instead of all the shitty guys she usually goes out with so when she meets him she's just like "oh! you're the guy my uncle wants me to fall in love with!" and he gets all flustered. thank you, have a good day/night!

You'd already been eyeing up the FBI badge clipped to the man's chest pocket, but when you put together Reid from the laminated card and Spencer when the barista gives him his coffee, you know it's the man, the myth, the legend.

"Oh my gosh," You pipe up from where you'd been waiting for your own drink behind him, "You're Dr. Spencer Reid?"

He doesn't look like he'd been expecting you to speak to him, and he clumsily stops in his tracks, nearly spilling his coffee through the short opening in the plastic lid.

"Um- yes, hi." He blinks bewilderedly at you, "Are you- do I know you?"

"You know my uncle," You grin, turning briefly towards the counter to accept the coffee that the barista slides towards you, "Aaron Hotchner."

Spencer's brows shoot towards his hairline, "You're- oh! You're Hotch's niece?"

"That's me," You nod, shuffling towards the corner of the shop so that you're not in the way of the other patrons, "Y'know, my uncle speaks very highly of you."

Slowly, very slowly, rouge starts spreading over Spencer's cheeks, coloring them close to the salmon accent that the coffee shop has running along its crown moulding.

"Uh, he's- that's good to hear. I try my best."

"Oh he says you're a fantastic agent," You nod, "But I meant more personally. He tells me I should fall in love with you, actually."

All of a sudden salmon is out, and fire-engine red is in.

"You- uh, love?" Spencer splutters, and your heart skips a beat. Maybe you could take your uncle's suggestion.

"He's not a fan of my love life," You laugh, "He'd rather me go for someone nice and, uh- not a criminal."

Spencer's face quirks up in a bashful grin, and he fights through his flustered state to chuckle, "Uh, yeah, that sounds like something he'd want for you."

You delve a hand into your bag, coming out with a ballpoint pen that you uncap, "Listen, Dr. Reid, if you'd ever like to take me out, and- uh, not to your prison cell..." You reach for his hand, and the tense muscles beneath your fingertips relax as you neatly pen your number onto his wrist, "Give me a call, okay?"

"Okay," He nods, and you're sure the word was supposed to come out as a confident agreement, not a breathless whisper. But he finds his voice soon after, clearing his throat, "Um, it was- it was nice meeting you...?"

"Y/N," You smile, heading for the door opposite of where he's heading, "Hey, good luck with work! Don't let my uncle boss you around."

Eddie Munson as Ghostface? With Reader?

Halloween pranks turned into fun time in the bedroom?

Warnings: 18+, mdni!!!!! Everyone is over 18. Knife play! Mentions of murder (no one gets killed) Oral (male recieving), this is pure smut. Plot? I don't know her. P in v sex. Bit mean!Eddie (just a tiny bit). If I missed anything let me know.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hehe my love that is a brilliant idea. And I am honoured to write my first Eddie piece for you😁 you know this was the final push to write that piece we were talking about a few weeks ago🤭 is this my favourite thing ever? Yes. Yes it is😌

Also applications for a boyfriend or girlfriend to do this with me are still open😅

It's a scream baby!

Eddie has been teasing you with his stupid mask all month already. And you were only half way through October. Giving you creepy calls, asking you about your favourite scary movie, which ended in hot telephone sex. Jumping out from behind the fridge, which led to Eddie hitting it from behind over the kitchen counter. Or jumping from behind a door, which ended in sex against the wall. Or jumping out of your wardrobe, which led to sex on your bed. There was no limit for him. Not like he didn't get to scare and kill people. He did. He just loved making you jump.

Of course you knew he was the famous Ghostface killer. It wasn't hard to figure out considering your High School bully wound up dead, a day after you told your boyfriend Eddie about what happened back then. You weren't sorry for them. It's what they deserved. It was also kinda hot and you might or might have not had the best sex after he admitted it. Of course he was wearing the mask, who might still have had some blood on it.

Eddie knew you had a thing for Slashers. The way you always look at them when you two watched a horror movie was a tell tale sign. And he was so excited about the thing he had planned. In his head is was coming together perfectly.

You found a part time volunteer job for the corn maze in Hawkins. The uniform wasn't much, basically just a vest and the rest were your own clothes. It was pretty chill most days. You only had to call someone 4 times yet cause some people got lost.

Today had been a quiet day and it was closing time. Your co worker left you to do the final round alone because he had an important date apparently and it couldn't wait. He was an asshole anyway so you were glad he was gone.

With your fleshlight in hand you went through the maze. You knew every path by now. It wasn't completely dark yet but having the flashlight gave you a bit of safety.

You had a weird feeling going in but it was probably nothing. You were almost finished now, already making your way back and you still couldn't shake that weird feeling. Like your were being watched and followed. Looking behind you, you saw nothing. You were going just a tad quicker just in case.

And then you heard it, a twig snapped behind you and you froze. Someone was definitely behind you. It was darker now but you didn't need your fleshlight to see who was behind you. The white mask reflected the moonlight. Black empty eyes kept looking at you. You let out a breath, fairly certain that it was Eddie. Who else would it be? Though in this town you could never be too sure.

So you said "Fuck Eddie you almost gave me a heartattack!"

Ghostface tilted his head slightly. Fuck those eyes didn't give anything away.

"I am not Eddie." You gulped at the deep modulated voice. You know it was him. 99.99% sure. But to pretend he was just a nameless killer? It kinda rilled you up.

"Oh you wanna play psycho killer? Can I be the helpless victim? Ok let's see. No please don't kill me Mister Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel." You looked at him with fake innocent eyes.

You could hear Eddie snicker and you were relieved you were right.

"You better run fast, princess. If I catch you, it's over for you." That same deep voice spoke again. Your eyes widen, excitement bubbling up.

He came a step towards you, then another and another, before you were darting off, Ghostface right behind you. You knew this maze by heart, so it was definitely on purpose that you ran into a dead end so Eddie would catch you. Of course you didn't let him know that.

You muttered an audible "Fuck" and turned around. You could hear Eddie tsk behind you. He was closer than you initially thought. A surprise gasp leaving you as his leather gloved hand wrapped around the base of your neck lightly. Eddie lightly ran his knife over your cheek. Your heart was beating wildly, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

"Poor thing. Now what to do with you?" It was kind of thrilling that you couldn't see Eddie's face, yet his movements were so telling.

The pointy tip of his knife was under your chin, slowly lifting your head. The fact that it was a real knife and he could cut you with it, the danger of it all, only added to your arousal. You were sure your panties were already drenched.

Eddie slowly dragged the knife down your throat, only adding a tiny bit of pressure so you could feel the weight of the situation.

And you certainly did, it also turned you on immensely.

"Is there any way I can safe my life?" You were batting your eyelashes at him.

"I can think of a few things." Eddie dragged his knife up your thigh and under your skirt, making goosebumps rise on your skin. Then he kept dragging the dull end of the knife against your pussy over your panties, making you moan.

"On your knees Princess." Eddie pulled the knife back and you quickly got onto your knees in fron of him. Lifting his robe and opening his pants to pull Eddie's cock out. He was already hard. So you weren't the only one getting turned on by this.

"It's not gonna suck it self. So if you want your life spared, I suggest you start. And you better make it good." God that voice. Your pussy clenched around nothing.

You licked a long strip from base to top, wrapping your lips around his deep pink tip, licking off some of the precum. You repeated this motion a few times making sure all of his dick got wet with your saliva. Then you wrapped your lips around the tip again, letting your tongue glide over his slit. Eddie kept groaning and moaning the whole time, biting his lip under the mask.

You were enjoying this as much as he was, your juices already ruined your panties. Slowly you went to take more of him into your mouth until you couldn't take it anymore. Breathing through your nose you started to bob your head up and down. Your hand wrapping around what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

Your movements started slow but your pace became quicker by the minute. Occasionally you kept sucking on his sensitive tip. The low moans Eddie made only spurred you on. Drool was running down your chin mixed with his precum. Eddie loved messy blowjobs.

He tried to hold back the urge to fuck into your throat but his self-control was running thin.

"Hands behind your back princess." His voice was even deeper now, even with the changed voice.

You looked up at him with doe eyes, making Eddie twitch in your mouth. You put your arms behind your back and Eddie gripped your hair right as he made his first thrust. It was slow, as if to test you were ok with this. Once he saw you were eager and waiting he didn't hold back anymore. A gargled sound leaving you as he fucked his whole length into you. More drool and precum dribbling out of your mouth, down your chin. Your eyes began to water but you kept the same look on your face to let Eddie know you were enjoying this as much as he was.

Shoving the entirety of his cock down your throat he kept you in place. Your nose touching the soft tufft of his pubic hair. Tears wear running down your face now, completely ruinning your mascara.

You looked all the fucked out little slut Eddie knows you are only for him. That fact almost made him come.

He pulled you back by the hair after a few seconds, letting you take in some much needed air, before he pushed inside again and holding you there.

He repeated this for a while, you looking messier and messier every time he let you come up for air. And he was definitely getting off on this. His pace got quicker, you knew he was close. His cock throbbing in your mouth and with one final push he came. Groaning, he held you there until the last drop, then finally realising you from his grip. You were coughing a little, drool and some of his come on your chin, your mascara all over the place and your hair all tangled up. Eddie loved it.

He put his dick back into his pant and softly helped you stand up. You gave him a reassuring smile. Your knees hurted now but you knew he would take care of you.

"You did so well princess. But I am not done with you yet." With that he dragged you back to his van. Good for him that he knew the maze too. You were stumbling a little and were glad when you finally reached the van.

He opened the back door, and you saw an old mattress and a blanket on top of it. He really did plan this all through.

He pushed you inside and onto the mattress, making you giggle a little. Not bothering to close the door, Eddie got on top of you, still wearing his mask. He took off your vest and your shirt. Your skirt followed suit. Now he made a show out of cutting your bra and panties off. One of his favourite things to do during foreplay. The cold metal of the knife made you shiver.

He circled the tip of the knife around your nipples until they perked, giving a deep, satisfied hum. Slowly he dragged the knife over your stomach down to your pussy. His other gloved hand was running through your wet folds.

"All this shit got you this wet? What a dirty little slut you are. Letting a killer teat you like this and then letting him fuck you. Tsk, pathetic, really." He pulled his hand up to inspect the glove. It was glistening with your arousal in the moonlight that came into the van.

Taking the tip of the knife again he began circling your clit. A whiny moan escaped you as the cold metal came in touch with your heated pussy. But you were enjoying yourself. He didn't keep this teasing up for long and threw his knife to the side. Pulling his robes up he took his pants and boxers off. His dick was already hard again.

He didn't waste more time, spreading your legs he pushed inside of you with one quick push. You threw your head back both in pleasure and pain from the stretch.

"Fuck always the best fucking pussy. Sucking me in so deep." Eddie grit out between his teeth. He could spend hours inside of you if you'd let him. Usually he gave you time to adjust but he was really impatient today and so he didn't give you as much time to adjust to his length and girth. Instead he almost completely pulled out of you and snapped right back into you, knocking the wind out of you.

You let out a choked moan as Eddie kept drilling into you and soon the pain vanished and all that was left was hot pleasure.

You wanted to hold onto him but as quick as lightning he grapped your wrists and pinned them over your head with one hand. Black eyes staring at you. The sorta anonymity made you clench tight around Eddie's dick making him groan.

With every hard thrust the mattress moved but you could care less about that. You were biting your lip to quieten some of your moans but Eddie wasn't having it.

"You better moan as loud as you want, because I want every damn person in this town to know how good I am making you feel." He was almost growling and who were you to say no to him. And so you released every moan and whine and groan you wanted. The squelching sound of your pussy adding to the erotic of this whole situation.

Eddies thrusts became harder, sloppier and erratic. You knew he was getting close again but you also knew he wanted you to come first.

His hand moved between tthe two of you and he started to rub circles against your clit, using the right pressure and pace to match his thrusts.

Like this, it didn't take long for you to tip over the edge. Your ears started to ring and a loud high pitched moan came out of you. Your legs wrapping around Eddie, locking him in, as he too, reached his end, emtpying himself deep inside of you.

Once you've both calmed down Eddie finally took off his mask and the robe as well as his shirt. He pulled out of you, colapsing next to you onto the mattress and pulling you into his arms. He gave you a long and meaningful kiss that made you melt. Your heart was still hammering against your chest.

"Was it everything you dreamt of?" His voice sounded normal again, making you relax instantly.

"No. It was even better." Your voice was hoarse but that was to be expected. You didn't mind.

"I'm glad." Eddie kissed the top of your head. You two kept laying there for a little while longer before driving home and taking a well deserved shower. After another round, consisting of Eddie eating you out you fell asleep exhausted but oh so satisfied. You definitely planned on doing this again.

"A Love Like War" - Ares!Aemond Targaryen x Aphrodite!Reader

Summary: Aemond, the God of War, does his best to woo you, the Goddess of Love, though obstacles meet you at every turn.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, tiddy succin, p in v s*x, blood k*nk if you squint, oral f receiving, violence, blood, gore, character death (not reader or aemond), larys strong is a warning in and of himself

Word Count: 7,000 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

The pantheon of Westerosi gods and goddesses were highly revered, no mortals being allowed to enter their sacred realm of King’s Landing. It was their refuge, where they lived, frozen in time, away from the trials and tribulations of the mortal world, content 

Viserys, the King of the Gods, ruled the skies, commanded thunder and lightning, and was the divine hand of order and justice to mortals and gods alike. His bride, Alicent, was the Queen of the Gods, and served as the goddess of marriage and motherhood. Viserys’ first-born daughter, Rhaenyra, was the Goddess of Wisdom, the product of a union between him and his mortal lover, Lady Aemma, though Rhaenyra was deified shortly after her birth. Viserys’ brother, Daemon, served as King of the Underworld, the God of Death, alongside his wife, Laena, the Goddess of Spring. Corlys and Rhaenys, cousins of the king, served as the God of the Sea and the Goddess of the Harvest respectively, being one of the only truly happy unions among the gods. The king and queen’s eldest son, Aegon, was the God of Wine and Pleasure, a hedonistic figure, always seeking gratification. Their second child, Helaena, served as Goddess of the Hearth, tending to it in the great Red Keep of King’s Landing, their youngest, Daeron, as the God of the Hunt. Rhaenyra’s eldest son, Jacaerys, the God of Wealth and Luck, was quick-witted and fast on his feet, a product of Rhaenyra’s tryst with her lover, Harwin, the sun god. Their second son, Lucerys, served as the god of song. Finally, Harwin’s brother, Larys, served as the god of the forge.

And finally, there was Aemond, the God of War and Courage himself, an angry young man with a lust for violence and bloodshed, known for conquering entire kingdoms, for mounting his dragon and razing entire cities that refused to kneel before him. Aemond lost his eye long ago to young Lucerys, while claiming his dragon, a slight he’s never quite forgiven. Tall, with broad shoulders, well-muscled, his silvery blond hair falling down his back, a scar across his left eye, covered by an eyepatch, his other a brilliant blue, many considered Aemond one of if not the most handsome of the gods.

Aemond is there the day his father creates you, the day you emerge from the seafoam in Blackwater Bay, a fully-formed young woman, your body completely bare before him as you walk forth toward the sand. His remaining eye travels the expanse of your form, taking in every detail, every curve forever burned into his memory, never to be forgotten. Your hair blows in the breeze behind you, the sway of your hips entrancing him with every move you make as you move toward Baela and Rhaena, the two young goddesses set to be your attendants. He watches as they wrap you in silk fabric, concealing your bare skin from his sight, frowning to himself. As you pass by him on your way to greet Viserys, he doesn’t bother looking away from you, nor hiding the lascivious intent in his eye. You meet his gaze as you walk, only looking away when you finally reach Viserys, who begins introducing you, formally, to your brother gods and sister goddesses.

When Aemond’s turn to be introduced to you comes, he’s already gone half mad with desire from the looks you two have been exchanging all evening long. He clenches his fists, his nails drawing crescent shaped marks on his palms from the force of his grip, as he walks over to you. He towers over you, he muses, much as he towers over everyone. He eyes you up and down, admiring every bit of exposed flesh, supple and soft and so very ripe for the taking. He introduces himself as the God of War. And Viserys tells him that you are the Goddess of Love and Beauty and Passion.

An apt role to give you, Aemond thinks, since the fire that burns within him has never burned hotter than since he met you.

He takes your hand as he learns your name, pressing his lips to your soft skin in a show of gentility. Though, judging by the look in your eyes, you see past that, through to his true intentions. His fingers graze over your pulsepoint, and he wonders if his presence is affecting you in the way yours affects him. You gaze up at him, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

And then, he hears you speak for the first time, your voice naturally seductive and sultry with no effort on your part as you question, “The God of War? I’m afraid you’ll find my line of work entirely dull then.”

Aemond smirks, not letting go of your hand, “My goddess, any man, immortal or not, who says they find you dull is either a fool or a liar.”

He feels the flames of desire licking at his stomach when you look up at him through your lashes, those perfect lips of yours upturned in a coy little grin as you continue speaking to him before Viserys ushers you off to meet the others. Aemond swears he can see the outline of your form beneath the flimsy silks you wear, the fabric doing little to hide the curves of your body. The way you move is almost akin to the sirens he’s heard Corlys describe, or the nymphs his brother, Aegon, is known to consort with. But there’s also something so very regal and proud about you. You are the most beautiful being in all creation, and you appear to know the fact full well. You wear your beauty, your sensuality, as a badge of honor, seeing no reason to shy away from it. And Aemond finds that it makes you all the more alluring.

“My goddess,” he calls out, grabbing your hand before you move too far, “Might I ask you a question?”

“You may. However, whether I answer or not is up to me,” you hum.

He can’t help but chuckle slightly at your response, “I see. Well the question I have for you is,” he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Would you like to accompany me to my chambers for a while, beautiful one?”

You seem to mull it over before your airy response comes, “No. I’m enjoying the feast.”

Aemond takes a step closer to you, his voice deeper, with a slight growl to it, as he speaks, “I know you’re enjoying the feast, but let’s be honest. I am far more interesting and far more desirable than the other gods at this feast. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come with me.”

You smirk up at him, “This feast is in my honor, God of War. I intend to enjoy it. Perhaps you should too. Instant gratification is overrated.”

Aemond thinks your resistance to his advances, your flirtatious responses, attract him even more to you than he already is, “Perhaps you are right, beautiful Goddess of Love. But instant gratification is exactly what I desire in this very moment.”

“I’m sure it is,” you say playfully, “But I have more of our brother gods and sister goddesses to meet.”

The God of War clenches his jaw, feeling his breeches tightening at the way you flutter your lashes and speak to him with that naturally sensuous way of yours, desire threatening to take him over before he speaks, “I see. Very well, my goddess.”

As you brush past him, you make sure he feels the softness of your chest against as arm as you make to leave, murmuring softly, “Perhaps we can speak later.”

He nods, feeling a rush of heat circulate through his body as you press yourself against him and leave just as soon, glued to the spot as you walk away. Aemond watches with a scowl as Aegon is introduced to you, the drunkard who only occupies himself with song and drink, his frown deepening when he sees that you seem to be amused, and even charmed, by the fool. And Jacaerys, the flighty, hyper simpleton who he wishes would be shot from the sky on one of his messenger’s errands. Seeing the way you flirt with the two of them, the way you speak, makes some sort of primal need burn deep inside of him, his desire warring with his anger. And then? He sees you smile, resting a hand on Jacaerys’s chest, laughing at something he’s said. Aemond sees red. Before he can stop himself, he’s stalking across the hall toward you. He grabs you by the hips, pulling you close to him, his front pressed flush up against your back, his arousal evident to you despite the layers of fabric that separate the two of you.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to face him, “Aemond.”

He stares at you, his gaze intense, burning, as he presses his body against yours, “I want you,” he says in a low, coarse voice, holding your gaze.

“Many do.”

Aemond growls at your cheeky response, pulling you even closer, “I’m not them, darling,” he rasps, “I want you, here and now.”

You move out of his grip, surprising him, “I am not some mortal spoil of war to be conquered,” you state firmly, “I must be wooed.”

He is visibly annoyed by your attitude, yet also strangely seduced by it; reaching out and pulling you back in, holding you tight against his chest, a slightly sadistic smile on his face as he murmurs, “I do not woo. I claim what belongs to me. And you, my lovely goddess, belong to me.”

“Perhaps you didn’t woo before, but if you wish to have me,” you whisper in his ear, your breath tickling his neck, “That is exactly what you will have to do, my dear God of War.”

Aemond’s breath hitches at the feeling, his need for you growing stronger by the minute, both frustrated and aroused by your touch, by your words, “And what if I simply take what’s mine? Right now? What would you do, my goddess?”

“I’d curse you.”

Aemond growls at your words, a rush of adrenaline flooding through him, “A curse from the Goddess of Love? How very naughty,” he says, more riled up than before as he murmurs, his voice deep and husky, “Perhaps I will enjoy this curse. Maybe I want to be cursed. Maybe I want it a lot.”

“Oh, you won’t like it,” you promise him, “You’ll be cursed with insatiable lust that will never be satisfied, never be slaked.”

He smirks down at you, “Maybe I wish to be cursed like that. Maybe I want to feel the hunger, the unquenchable thirst, the need for you.”

You meet his smirk with a deceptively innocent smile, your voice dancing with mirth, “You will not like it so much when it feels as though your loins are on fire and I refuse to satisfy your carnal desires.”

In truth, Aemond feels as though his loins are on fire right now, just thinking about it, that primal hunger rising in his body like a raging inferno as he stares at you, feeling the overwhelming urge to claim you here and now, “To refuse to satisfy me? That is something I will not accept.”

“You will have to,” you hum, “I am not some mortal girl you can claim on the battlefield. I am a goddess.”

Aemond grins, “And I am the God of War. I can claim whomever I please, even goddesses.”

“Not this goddess,” you pull away from him, sauntering off, calling back over your shoulder as you leave, “If you wish to win my heart, do it properly.”

Aemond watches you walk away, admiring your figure, his body all but trembling with desire for you, his fascination, nay, obsession growing, nearly salivating at the sight of your treating form as he calls out, “How do I win your heart? How do I make you mine?”

You don’t bother answering him, merely giving him a secretive little smile and wave before you disappear from sight.

The next day, Aemond wakes up with the singular intent of finding you. And he does, sitting in the gardens, flanked by Aegon and Jacaerys, the pair of them showering you with gifts and praise in the hopes that you’ll take one of them as a lover. Jacaerys gives you a bouquet of crocuses, while Aegon presents you with the finest wine King’s Landing has to offer. You seem to preen under their attention, giggling with delight as both of them attempt to court you. Aemond scowls, jealousy overtaking him, as he watches them try to steal you from under his nose.

Aemond storms toward the three of you, making his presence known, “You would take gifts from them, Goddess? You would flirt with them, enjoy their praises and attention, all the while ignoring me?”

You move your gaze from your suitors and their gifts to gaze at the newest arrival, “Have you brought me a gift, my dear God of War?”

He smiles at you, confident and proud, “Yes, my goddess. I have indeed brought you a gift, Something far more precious and valuable than any of their pathetic trinkets,” he reaches into his cloak and hands you a small wrapped box, bending down on one knee and offering it to you, almost as though it is an offering at your altar.

You take the box from him and begin to unwrap it, opening it to see a beautiful necklace on a chain of gold, inlaid with pearl, a heart shaped piece of rose quartz pendant at its center. You nearly gasp at its beauty, examining it with delight, the crocuses and wine laid at the wayside, long forgotten.

“For you, beautiful goddess,” Aemond’s voice is full of satisfaction as he speaks, “Take this gift and wear it with pride, knowing your God of War procured it for you.”

“It is beautiful,” you sigh dreamily, tearing your eyes from it only to stand and request Aemond, gazing up at him, “Will you put it on me?”

Aemond nods, his heart racing with excitement at your request, “As you wish, my goddess.”

He moves behind you, one hand tracing along the soft, bare skin of your arm before taking the necklace from you. He undoes the clasp, moving your hair from the nape of your neck, his large, rough hands brushing against your neck as he places the jewelry around your neck, his fingers moving across your throat gently as he closes it.

You turn to face him, gazing up at him, your fingers tracing the gold and pearl chain, down to the pendant that is nestled between your breasts, “How do I look?”

You are a vain creature, Aemond muses, but he can’t help but enjoy it. He is mesmerized by your beauty as your graceful fingers trace his gift, your natural sensuality driving him mad with desire.

“You look beautiful. The necklace looks divine on you,” he says in a low voice.

“Are you going to ask me to take a walk with you?” you ask, your voice tinged with a playful lilt.

Aemond’s heart skips a beat and he is almost tempted to throw caution to the wind and grab you, to take you right here in the gardens, before Jacaerys and Aegon’s envious gazes, but he shakes his head, regaining his composure, barely managing to hide his growing hunger and lust for you, “Of course, my goddess. Shall we take a stroll together?”

You take his arm, pressing yourself against his side, and begin walking with him. Your feminine touch, your warm body, your soft curves, it’s all intoxicating to him, enough to make his blood boil. He turns to look at you, admiring you, mesmerized by your beauty - your lovely face, your long flowing hair, your soft, supple flesh.

“My goddess,” he breaks the silence after a moment, “Can I ask you something?”

“You may. However, there is always a chance I will not answer,” you tease.

Aemond clenches his jaw at your teasing, his eye moving to gaze at your plush lips for a moment, nearly overwhelmed by the desire to feel them against his own, as he questions, “Is it true what they say? That you make mortal men obsessed with you, that you make them feel a lustful hunger that they’ve never felt before?”

You nod, musing aloud, “Mortals are such strange creatures, are they not, Aemond?”

He loves the way his name sounds as it falls off your tongue, a honeyed sound that makes his chest tighten, “Strange and weak creatures indeed. Mortals are so easily tempted and corrupted. So weak and pathetic when it comes to women. The men who desire you,” he says, a pang of jealousy moving through him, “They would do and say anything just to keep your attention. Even if it meant giving up everything they had.”

“And you wouldn’t?” you question, stopping your gait and gazing up at him, “I seek a god who will worship and adore me as the mortals do.”

Aemond swallows thickly as you gaze up at him, the fire inside him burning brighter than ever for you, “Of course I would. I would do anything for you,” he declares boldly, unable to move his gaze from your lips.

“Would the God of War like a kiss?” you smile at him coquettishly, “As a thank you for the beautiful gift he gave me?”

Aemond’s eye gleams with desire, that smile of yours nearly causing his mouth to water with want, like some sort of wolf finally having the hare it hunts within its grasp; he nods quickly, “Yes. Though I don’t intend to stop at a mere kiss,” he answers, his voice low and rough.

You stand on your toes, moving your face closer to his. Aemond leans in to you, lessening the distance, waiting for you to make contact with his lips. You brush your lips against his, in the barest tease of a kiss, before pulling away, leaving him desperate for more. He cannot be sated with just a taste. He wants it all.

“Please, my goddess,” he whispers, his voice thick with want, “Give me more.”

He holds you in his arms, close to him, leaning in to capture your lips with his own, though you turn so he only kisses your soft cheek as you tease, “Hm. No.”

Aemond stares at you, shocked and frustrated, even more on edge and obsessed with earning a kiss than before. He feels like a wild animal as his lips find your neck, kissing and nipping at your soft skin, his breath coming out in quick pants as he tries to give you a love bite, to leave his mark on you as a warning to the other gods. You laugh at his antics, allowing him to continue.

“Do you not know how to take no for an answer?”

He groans at the sound of your laughter, so beautiful and yet so very wicked, his seeing eye hungry, full of lost, obsession, the need to possess you, “No, my sweet goddess, I do not. I will not be able to sleep tonight unless I have you. Please give me what I want, what I need. I crave your touch, your kiss…”

“You asked for a kiss, sweet Aemond, and you received it. ‘Tis all you shall receive,” you smirk up at him.

Aemond’s heart aches with frustration at your continued teasing as he nearly begs, his eyes glistening with a fire born from a desire too powerful to ignore, “Please, my goddess, you cannot do this to me! You cannot tease me and then say no!”

You duck out of his grip, “I believe I just did.”

The God of War stares at your hips as you sashay away from him, feeling an intense urge to catch up to you, to put his hands all over your body, to feel your skin against his. He watches you disappear into the castle and licks his lips, his desire growing for you, his blood nearly boiling over with a desperate sort of lust. The scent of your sweet perfume lingers in the air, a reminder of the feeling of your lips against his, his lips on your neck. Aemond growls with frustration and walks away to train and rid himself of the energy he will clearly not get to expend in your bedchamber today.

After unsuccessfully attempting to find you for several days, Aemond finally sees you at the baths shared by all the deities. He sees you bathing in the waters, two attendants tending to you, while Jacaerys and Aegon shove each other, both desperate for a peek at your naked form. He craves you more than ever now as he moves closer to where his brother gods also gaze upon you. He watches as one of your attendants washes your beautiful hair, the other scrubbing at your arms. Through the steam, he can still easily make out your form, the curve of your breasts just above the water, and he cannot help but feel a bit jealous that someone else is getting to bathe you, to touch you in such an intimate way. He turns to Aegon and Jacaerys, growing angry, stepping in to block their view, only to be met with their immediate protests.

“We were here first!” Aegon pouts.

Aemond’s face is full of annoyance as he states in a rough, firm voice, “You may have been here first, but you are not looking anymore.”

He refuses to allow them to look at you any longer, getting even angrier at Jacaerys’s protest, “She has not been claimed by any here! We are gods just as much as you, you cannot order us about, only Viserys may command us!”

Aemond laughs venomously, his jealousy reaching a new high. He does not wish to hear any of this. You are meant for him and him alone. The thought of anyone else seeing you or touching you makes his blood boil with rage and jealousy.

“She has not yet been claimed, you say? Well, I intend to claim her,” the God of War answers, rage coloring his voice.

Aegon sighs, dragging Jacaerys away, knowing that neither of them, even together, stand a chance against an angry Aemond, the two resolving to occupy themselves with the nymphs in the Kingswood, shooting one last longing gaze at you.

As if blessed by the great titan, his ancestor, Aegon, himself, your attendants leave soon after, leaving you alone in the bath to your own devices per your request. And Aemond sees his chance to claim you. He moves closer to you without any hint of hesitation, kneeling beside your bath. Your eyes are closed as you lean back, your form hidden by the water, roses scattered around you to scent the bath.

“My goddess,” Aemond breaks the silence, “The time has come for me to claim you as mine.”

Your eyes flutter open and you gaze at him, your plush lips slightly parted, your skin dewy from the heat of the bath, your damp hair clinging to your face. You remain silent and so, he leans in closer to you, his lustful desires stirring.

“You belong to me and only me.”

“Come bathe with me,” you murmur.

Aemond’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. You watch him undress, revealing inch by glorious inch of his well-muscled, battle-scarred body to you, angry marks against his beautiful alabaster skin, making him all the more desirable in your opinion. You smile at him coyly, your gaze traveling to his length, already achingly hard for you, the sight making you press your thighs together in anticipation. He sits opposite you, a seductive smile on his handsome face, as he takes one of your feet in his hands, rubbing them gently, a touch far more intimate and personal than anything else.

“My goddess,” he says, “I am desperate for you. To touch you. To claim you.”

You moan softly as he massages your feet, the sensation being pleasant and altogether welcome, “I think you have proven yourself worthy of being my lover.”

Aemond feels as though his body is on fire at the sound of your sweet little moan and takes you into his arms, “I am yours and I am honored to be your lover,” he says, his voice deep and husky, filled with love and desire in equal measure.

“My God of War,” you purr, “What handsome scars you have.”

Aemond’s face lights up with excitement as he holds you close, kissing along your shoulders, up your neck to your jawline then back again, “I am honored that you like them, my goddess.”

“And yet,” you chide, looking at his eyepatch, “You are not completely bare to me.”

Aemond’s expression darkens slightly, “Goddess, I wish I could show you,” he says quietly, his pride not allowing him to take off his eyepatch and feel so exposed in front of you, not wanting you to recoil at the sight of his missing eye.

You gently touch his face, moving to straddle his lap, your bare body against his as you speak softly, “Unveil yourself to me as I have to you, my God of War.”

Aemond’s eye fills with panic as you speak. He cannot believe he is actually going through with this. But his desire for you is stronger than his ego as he slowly removes his eyepatch, closing his good eye, bracing himself for rejection. But he finds none. Instead, when he does open his eye, he sees you admiring his sapphire, and his scar.

“Why a sapphire?”

“‘Tis one of the most precious gemstones in the world, my goddess,” he states, “And it matches my eye.”

“It is beautiful,” you murmur, your fingers caressing his scar, your voice low and sensual as you add, “You are beautiful.”

Your lover’s heart skips a beat and his face fills with almost childlike excitement at your calling him beautiful. It is the first time anyone has told him that and it feels incredible. Your soft touch spurs on his desire even more.

He answers, his voice warmer than ever before, “I am humbled by your words, my goddess.”

“Has no one ever told the great God of War that he is beautiful?” you tease, continuing to trace his scar.

Aemond gives you a sly, lustful smile, “It is true,” he answers, completely charmed by you, completely in love, “I have never been told that before.”

“Your scars,” you say, running your hands over his chest, “Tell me about them.”

He leans into your caress, savoring the touch of your soft hands on his body, “These scars, they tell the tales of my battles. The stories of my victories. I have been lucky to survive every single one of them. They tell the story of who I am.”

“I was not aware that immortals could be scarred,” you whisper in his ear, your bare chest pressed against his, “I suppose you are quite the special god indeed.”

Aemond moans at the feeling of you pressed up against him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close as he begins kissing you once more, his lips finding yours as they meet in a sensual kiss, his large hands, rough and calloused from battle, caressing your smooth, soft skin. You moan against his lips, smiling to yourself as his teeth tug against your bottom lip, pleading for you to open your mouth. You readily do so, feeling his tongue snake its way into your mouth, dancing against your own. He moves to kiss your neck again, his face pressed against it as he kisses your throat, his hands moving to your rear, caressing the plump flesh. He’s hungry for you, a starved animal with the need to claim.

“You are mine, my goddess,” he mumbles against your skin.

“And you are mine,” you whisper in agreement, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The idea of being yours fills him with pride and satisfaction, the likes of which he has never felt before. Your body pressed against his, your core rubbing against his thigh, it all fuels his desire, his love, his obsession. You begin nipping at his collarbone, eliciting a low moan from his perfect lips.

“You are mine, my goddess. I need you. Right now.”

“Claim me,” you whisper in his ear as he leaves a trail of love bites along your neck, “Claim me with the same ferocity you would fight a battle.”

Aemond stares at you, his body trembling with excitement. The heat of you pressed against him makes his blood boil, his heart racing with desire.

“As my goddess commands,” he answers hoarsely.

Aemond pulls you even closer to him, murmuring over and over “mine, you are mine”, as he gazes into your eyes, kissing you with a passion he has never kissed anyone with. The way you moan at his touch is nearly enough to drive him mad as you grind your body against his.

“You need not be gentle with me,” you speak softly against his skin, “If I wanted gentle, I would have chosen Aegon or Jacaerys. Not the God of War.”

His expression grows more passionate, more lustful, his voice low and masculine, rough, colored with something primal and ancient, “You want me to be rough with you, my goddess?”

Aemond moans at the seductive way you nod and bite your lip. His hand moves up to your hair, tugging on it as he brings you in close and kisses you as though he wishes to devour you whole. He holds you tight to his chest, his free hand groping at your thighs and rear before spinning the two of you around so you are pinned between the marble of the bath and his body. He feels you wrap your arms and legs around him, reveling in the near violence of his passion for you. He feels like a beast filled with lust as his hands roam your body. He feels you drag your nails down his back as he kisses your neck, the slight sting driving him mad with desire before he fully sheathes himself inside you with one thrust. You let out a gasp as he does, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he begins pistoning his hips against yours intensely, the water sloshing around the two of you, seeping onto the marble floor, though the two of you pay it no mind. All you can think of is the feel of him, rutting against you, pounding into you like a starved animal.

One of his hands moves to your throat, squeezing slightly as he bites down on your neck, his voice sounding like the growl of a wild beast, caged for far too long, “You are mine.”

“Have any of your other lovers allowed you to be like this?” you tease, gasping as you feel him brush against the spot deep inside of you that brings you the most pleasure.

“Only one,” he answers honestly, his voice low in his chest, “But you are far better than hear, my goddess.”

As he continues moving his hips against yours, filling you to the brim with every thrust, he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, moving toward your breasts.

“Was she a mortal or one of us?” you ask, moaning softly as he takes one of your pert nipples between his lips, alternating between suckling at it and laving attention upon it with his tongue.

“She was one of us. Alys, the Goddess of Magic,” he states, too focused on mouthing at your chest, “You have the most beautiful breasts.”

“Better than hers?” you ask, jealousy coloring your tone.

Completely distracted by your breasts, squeezing them, caressing, admiring, worshiping, he does not even hear your words at first, finally answering in a rough voice, “Who was I talking about again? I remember nothing beside your perfect breasts, my goddess.”

You moan softly as his mouth and hands move in tandem with his hips, your release soon approaching, “I am a jealous goddess. If you are my lover, you are mine alone.”

“You are, my goddess,” he pledges, “It is you. Only you,” Aemond feels his own peak approaching, growling against your skin as he continues suckling at your chest, “I am going to fill you with my seed. The gods and goddesses that are borne of our union will be the strongest, the most beautiful. I shall fill you over and over until my seed takes and I watch you grow round with our babes.”

“Yes,” you mewl as you reach your peak with one last snap of his hips, feeling him empty his spend deep inside you soon after.

The two of you remain in each other’s arms, whispering words of love and devotion.

“I love you so much, you are my everything,” Aemond vows.

“And I love you,” you whisper, your lips finding his own once again.

Your and Aemond’s torrid love affair carries on for months, the love and passion between you never waning. You crave him morning, afternoon, and night, and he is much the same, the two of you hardly ever found not in the other’s company. All is well until Viserys summons all of you, declaring that you are to be married.

To none other than Larys, the God of the Forge.

You turn to Aemond, horrified at this announcement. Aemond looks back at you, his face going pale, his blood beginning to boil. Larys, the club footed god. How could this be? He is not worthy of you. Aemond’s mind is in chaos, filled with rage and jealousy. How dare Viserys even think of allowing that slime to be in the same room as you, let alone marry you?

Larys approaches you, bowing before you. Aemond stares at him angrily. And you? You run off out of the throne room, covering your face with your hands. Heartbroken and terrified.

Aemond gives chase, following you, pulling you into his arms, “My love, he cannot be serious. Why would he even consider this?”

“Baela told me he made some throne for Alicent. A throne that held her in place until they promised him something. I did not realize it was my hand,” you bawl into his chest.

He holds you tightly as you cry against his chest, his hand running through your hair, “You will not marry him. I will do whatever it takes. We must convince my parents that this union is impossible. You belong to me and I will do anything to get you back,” he declares.

You nod, wiping your tears, pulling him into a kiss, gentle and passionate, comforting.

However, your pleas to Viserys fall upon deaf ears, and that night, you are wed to the God of the Forge.

Aemond’s heart is filled with fury toward his father, in disbelief that he would do such a thing. He cannot see you with anyone else, his goddess, his love, his soulmate. It is the most tragic of nights. He mourns the love that could have been if Viserys had not forced this unholy match.

The following morning, Aemond learns that you refused to consummate the match, that you chased Larys from your chambers, stating that your body belonged to Aemond. He is proud of you. You may be married to another, but still you belong to him, and not your false husband. The two of you find each other in the gardens and he pulls you into his embrace.

“Well done, my love. You should never let him touch you. No one deserves you but me,” he says in a serious tone.

You kiss your lover deeply, pulling back to rest your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart, “Every time he tries to kiss me, I feel sick, Aemond.”

“Your kiss is not his to claim,” Aemond answers pridefully, caressing your body, running his hands along your curves, “You are mine and mine alone. Your heart and body.”

“With any luck,” you smile up at him, “Your child grows inside me already.”

His eye lights up with excitement at the thought, “My love, we will have the most beautiful children.”

As he leans in to kiss you again, pinning you to a nearby tree, he lifts your legs to wrap around his waist, preparing to claim your body as his once more, his lips attacking your neck. He lowers your dress to bare your chest to him and-

It is at that moment Larys walks into the gardens. The God of the Forge glares at the two of you before turning to leave. You wonder what the consequences of this will be, fearing not only for yourself, but for Aemond. Dalliances are allowed outside of marriage for the gods and goddesses, but not continued affairs, which this obviously is.

A few hours later, Viserys has the two of you brought before him as Larys dishonors you by declaring your infidelity before all the gods and goddesses. Aemond is filled with rage as he stares at Larys, hating that he has the audacity to complain about you. He wraps his arms around you as you cling to him.

“We belong to one another,” Aemond declares, “She is mine. I am her fighter and her protector, her only love. I challenge the God of the Forge to a trial by combat for my love’s hand. A fight to the death.”

Viserys allows the challenge and the two men don their armor, choosing their weapons. Larys chooses a warhammer while Aemond chooses his blade and shield. Your love stands before you, resting his forehead against yours. You place his helm on top of his head, gazing at him.

“Kill him, my love,” you whisper, kissing him.

He nods, his voice grim as he responds, “I will make you proud, my goddess. This, I vow.”

The battle is long and bloody. Despite Larys being crippled, he is indeed the God of the Forge, skilled with weaponry, and a crafty warrior. He knows he is unevenly matched with Aemond, and so, he decides to make you his target when his prospects begin looking dire. He charges toward you with his warhammer, but Aemond is too quick for him, blocking with his shield. As Aemond protects you, you see a new savage, animalistic side of him unleashed.

“Mine,” he roars, lunging at his fellow god, beheading him with one clean swipe of his blade.

You watch as he tosses the head at Viserys’ feet. He has claimed you, he has proven that only the God of War is worthy of you. You run to him, paying no mind to the blood that stains you as you embrace him, your lips finding his in a feverish kiss. You lead him by the hand to your chambers, declaring that you will consummate your marriage with your true husband this night, Aemond smirking as he follows after you.

You help him out of his armor, smiling at him playfully, “You look very handsome after battle, covered in blood. It is almost enough to drive a woman mad with want.”

The feel of your hands on his body, the idea that you are undeterred by the blood and bruises, sets his body aflame. He watches as you remove your own dress, beckoning him over to what is now your marriage bed.

“Come claim the spoils of your victory, my husband,” you coo.

Aemond immediately crawls over you, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss before moving in a trail down to your chest, to your stomach, and finally, he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your core. You throw your head back against your pillow as he throws your legs over his shoulder and laps at your folds like a man starved, his nose pressing against your sensitive pearl as he tastes you, moaning against your skin. You buck your hips against his mouth, crying out his name with every move of his tongue, feeling his thumb move to circle your pearl, bringing you to your peak. But your lover is not done tasting you, now moving to suckle only at your pearl, moving his fingers in and out of you, gazing up at you with that brilliant azure eye, hooded with lust.

When you’ve peaked again and he finally pulls away, you are entirely unsurprised when he pushes inside you, splitting you open on his hard length, pounding into you at a near animalistic pace. It is more intense than ever before, his body littered with cuts and bruises, his mouth finding your breast once more, as is his new favorite pastime, a hand wrapped around your throat as he squeezes lightly. 

Aemond claims your body over and over in the way only he can until you are both exhausted from your efforts, unable to do anything save for lie in each other’s harms, holding each other tightly. He moves your hair off your face, smiling as you remove his eyepatch. You wrap your arms around each other, your head resting against his chest, the soft thudding of his heart lulling you into a more peaceful state.

“I would destroy kingdoms for you,” Aemond says, pressing a kiss to your temple, maneuvering you so that you are straddling him, ready to claim you once more, groaning as you sink down onto him, joining your bodies, “I would slay dragons for you. Anything to hold you in my arms.”

“You are mine and I am yours,” you murmur as his hands move to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh between his hands, “My Aemond.”

“My beloved. My goddess,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again, locked in a passionate kiss for all eternity.

a long time overdue drawing of all the next gen kiddos together + a labeled version

next gen characters and their favourite parent 🫣

victoire: fleur but maybe only by a margin (very close, bill should not take it personally that victoire just specifically admires fleur more because they are more similar in character, she really loves her dad)

dom: bill because he let her get tattoos before she was 18 and he will brush her hair in the morning when she’s too tired to do it herself

louis: fleur because their mother would never allow louis to leave the house looking ugly and they really appreciate that

molly: percy, because they are similar in person and when he gives her approval it just makes her feel more satisfied yknow

lucy: audrey because her mother lets her get away with more stuff than her dad does, so she feels more comfortable being goofy with her than her dad

fred: george because his love language is irritating people and george will just give the same energy back without any qualms

roxanne: angelina, she feels they have a greater understanding between them and she goes to her mother for advice more often

james: ginny, he is the definition of a momma’s boy who would always go soft on her

albus: ginny, even though he feels he’s more similar to harry, sometimes ginny just saying shit as it is gives him a rare sort of calm he appreciates

lily: harry, she loves making her dad interested in anything and everything shes interested in and he’s always genuinely listening to her

rose: no. she genuinely has no preference she loves her parents the same. she is very consistent in her love for them

hugo: contrary to rose, it honestly depends on the day. ron will sneak him toffee and hot chocolate late on a saturday evening and hugo will deem him the favourite parent, the next day hermione buys him a squishmallow and she is

teddy: …andromeda

scorpius: even though he would rather keel over than ever think of liking one parent more than the other… he was closer with astoria growing up (due to their likeness she could bond with him easier), but obviously as scorpius grows up he gets closer with his dad, and he’ll have more experiences with him than he ever had with his mother.

lysander: rolf because he takes lysander all over the world to pursue his interests in geology. rolf will be trying to tame some swedish serpent whilst lysander is inspecting the pebbles in its cave and thats a normal father-son bonding time for them

lorcan: luna. lorcan has been illustrating for the quibbler since he was 13 because luna genuinely doesnt believe there is any other artist that can perfectly mirror the complexity of peculiar fantastical creatures as her son (it’s literally a stick figure)

alice: neville. she’s a daddy’s girl who has her dad wrapped around her finger. i mean, he loves her so much that he forgives her for hating gardening

frank: hannah. she forces him to help her fold the laundry with her and he hates it, but he still loves her (forcing him to help her with her chores just so she can spend more time with him, i see you hannah)

delphi: voldemort 😻😻 (she needs therapy immediately)

I’ve read an aegon fanfic with greens’ victory au with the reader being Rhaenyra’s daughter. She’s forced to marry Aemond who hates her and who’s in love with Alys. Aegon on the other hand had been in love with her for a long time so they begin an affair. I loved it so much but I forgot THE NAME!!!!

PLS HELP!!

Tagging my fav ppl for help😭

@daemonskelitsos @lovelykhaleesiii @valeska-fics @unicorncornflakes @aemondsladywife @purple-writer8 @cinnabunsprincess @qyburnsghost @beaconofthehightower @amiraisgoingthruit

Rigor Mortis (prologue)

College roommate Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist, Part 1

summary: Relationships end. People die. You move on, and Miguel does too.  (roommate! Miguel O'Hara x reader, college-ish au). 

warnings: no warnings, just angsty asf

a/n: this is the culmination of lots and lots of planning and me writing non-stop for a good few weeks. the next part will be much longer, and updates will be wednesdays until further notice. thank you for all your support! If you'd like to be tagged, see this post.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <33

wc: 1.1k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

rigor mortis,

You're sitting at a diner, the one on 57th. At almost 11pm, it's… quiet. The gentle bustle of a waitress behind the counter, coffee mugs and sizzling pans. To your side, a little old woman tucked into the booth. Bright red lipstick and bold eyeliner against tan skin, wrists heavy with bangles against the counter. It's animated: feather boa, green leather jacket - and you think you spy the padding of some slippers from underneath the table. She clinks and clanks, and it makes you smile in spite of yourself. Peeling walls, cramped booths. Warm. Steady. Pam's Diner, on the corner, but you've got to use the side entrance, 'cuz the front's been bolted shut since the 50s. Don't ask questions.

"Mags, honey… I just want to… can you get your mom for me?" She's squinting into her phone now, nose pressed to the screen. You can only imagine the view from there; a facetime call with a smudge of eyebrow taking up most of the little box. 

It's odd, but you like to sit near the door. Some pancakes, a milkshake, or a bitter cup of coffee now that you're older: people watching, as you've always called it. Okay, maybe it's more than odd . Maybe even serial killer adjacent - people-watching, like the night stalkers in cheesy slashers. But it's fun, looking for a story in everyone that walks in. 

In your hometown, you had your first date in a booth just like this one. Back pressed against once-bright cushions, tight skirt digging into your back, and at 15 you had sat and waited with wide eyes. Waited, and watched. The woman with a blue hair-tie at the counter: a new mom, definitely. She looks tired, a mystery stain on the cotton of her joggers and deep rims around her eyes. A jitter in her hands, and she's probably got a piece of shit boyfriend on the couch; wringing his hands at looking after the little one, at being a fucking dad, for once, and… oh. The bell of the front entrance rings, and another woman walks in, and catches the eye of Blue Hair Tie. A warm smile, a tight arm around her waist. You watch as she takes up the other's jittery hand in her own. Partner? Fling? You know now; it doesn't matter, not really. Hands still, the shaking slows, and they are loved. 

Your date had been late, of course. But  what had been your first in a line of disappointing men is long forgotten in the haze of adulthood. 

"I know, sweetheart-" the older woman in the booth next to you almost shouts, making you jump. "...those are very pretty shoes… but, could you… Hand the phone over to mom, okay?“

Someone answers with cooing and soft babbling, and then there's raspy laughter from the woman near you. It rings off the tiles: sonorous and full-bodied, wraps around you like a warm hug. It makes you feel a little less lonely, for now. 

As of exactly 9.42pm, you are single. A four year relationship, over in the space of less than 20 minutes. A cup of watery decaf, and it's all over before you can finish it. I'll stay at my sister's, and you move out by the end of the month. No theatrics, not a trace of tears. You had wanted to cry, to kick and scream and beg, but more than anything, you were numb. Crystalline and still with shock, at how clinical it all felt. Sitting in your favourite diner, the humdrum of the city just past the glass; it still felt… lonely. And when he left; placed money on the counter, took his copy of keys off the table, and didn't look back ; it was cold. 

You remember what he had said so many nights ago, God, years back, when he was studying for undergrad, and would crack open anatomy textbooks on the little desk in your dorm. He'd trace the lines of your arm, poke the flesh as you'd giggle and recite his notes into your skin. 

that… tickles! what are y-you… ohh my God-

Stay still! This is.. important… 

… I swear, I'll start screaming if you-

Pallidity, cooling, stiffness-

that's it, I'm screaming… I'm gonna do it-

It's not gonna learn itself, baby. Pallor, algor… 

and rigor, right? 

… 

I listen. Sometimes. 

…rigor, livor mortis and decay. The stages of death. 

I thought you wanted to be a surgeon, baby, not the grim reaper. 

Very funny. It's still important to know about these things, no? 

I guess? But if you're gonna be saving lives…

That's not how it works. I'm not God. I make mistakes, people die. I do everything right-

People die. 

Right. Above all, I'm in the business of people. Whilst they're alive and when they're gone, what they leave behind…

…but that's not really your job, is it? And don't give me all that, it's a vocation crap-

I don't know what to tell you. It is. It's bigger than me. 

…it's long and hard and killing you slowly. 

…

Shit. Jamie, I didn't mean to-

Rigor mortis. Post-mortem 'stiffness' or rigidity, which occurs one to two hours after death.

I'm sorry, I wasn't th- 

The summation of unraveling: a temporary stasis, which could be described as 'frozen' in time or place, often mirroring the cause of death- 

Jesus, I'm not trying to fight- 

..where a body becomes a dead body. Colloquially, referred to as Alius Mortem, or; another death. 

The phrase stuck, acting as a cruel count for the eventual decay of your relationship. Resentment, on both ends, had burned out that flame long before the breakup. Jamie was cruel, in some ways. You were cruel in others. 

"Alice! Just wanted to say hi, cupcake; missed your voice… oh yeah… mhmm… she's just like you, can talk for the trees…" With the rasp of laughter in the booth next to you, it spreads the kind of warmth that stings. 

There's a spark of self awareness at the back of your throat; the bitter taste of realisation. It's not meant to feel like this, is it? The end of almost a half-decade of your life, an era, the culmination of decisions good and bad and gray that have led you up to this moment. There should be… passion. Fighting, maybe. Tears. Instead of a supernova, you find yourself floating in the empty vacuum of space: an acrid taste left in your mouth. 

"Oh God, have you and the girls been eating well? Let me come over tomorrow, drop you off some stuff…I don't trust half the crap in that cupboard of yours-" There is love and light in her voice, despite groans from the tinny speakers of her phone. Your chest is hot; something leaden and heavy that sits in the crook of ribcage. Bittersweet, like rotting fruit in the cradle of a tree trunk. 

Maybe it's the coffee. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Over the past few years, a thousand cuts. And now, in the yellow lights of the little diner on the corner of 57th; another death. 

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

what the f-!? || miguel o'hara

Peter B. Parker thought he'd never see the day Miguel could actually more than tolerate someone.

Ever since Peter B. Parker met Miguel O'Hara, he was always kind of difficult, to put it at best. The only spiderman that wasn't funny in better words.

 He was snarky, with a permanent snarl on his face, and he seemed allergic to fun altogether.

Well, until there was a new addition to spider society.

It all started during the meeting before your first mission as he was gently balancing Mayday on his hip, still yet to reach for her carrier.

"And then we will all reconvene at these coordinates," Miguel's voice echoed throughout the room, as no one else dared to speak before given the signal to.

"Any questions?" 

With that there was chorus of no's accompanied by the percussion of headshakes. And in that a lone hand had shot up into the air.

"Yes, Venom," Miguel gave you a nod, signalling for you to speak.

"Yeah, are you single?" You asked with an obvious teasing tone, making everyone in the room go quiet.

Well except for Mayday who continued to babble in Peter's arms, but no one really minded.

Everyone watched with bated breath, their collective gaze bouncing between you and Miguel. Peter who stood next to you inched a bit closer, just in case he needed to stand between you and the beast.

But he didn't have to.

"You're funny," was all Miguel replied, with no discernible emotion in his voice as he closed the briefing.

"If there aren't any more questions, we'll meet back here in five. Prepare as needed," he ordered, and everyone else scrambled to do as told, despite their shock. 

Except for Peter, who couldn't really keep his shock to himself. Especially because he's watched Miguel almost maim a fifteen year old. He didn't even wince as Mayday escaped his arms and crawled up to pull at his hair.

"What the hell was that?" He whisper-yelled to you with wide eyes, making you chuckle.

"What?" You shrugged. 

"He's kinda cute."

"That doesn't mean you flirt with him," Peter almost yelled, hands flailing in the air making Mayday laugh.

"I'm surprised he didn't go ballistic on you."

"Well maybe he liked it," you gave a smirk.

"I'm pretty irresistible."

"Unbelievable is more like it," he shook his head, finally snapping out of it enough to take Mayday from his head and place her in the carrier.

That was short-lived however, as Miguel's voice called out your name.

"Stick close to me during this one," he said, taking a few steps towards you and Peter.

"This is your first mission and I want to see what you can do up close."

"Sure boss," you said with a twinkle in your eye.

"And don't worry, I can do a lot of things up close,"  you added, making Peter freeze again. Especially as Miguel only shook his head and walked away, and you stood there giggling.

"What?"

*****

Shock aside, Peter decided not to think about that interaction that much. As mind boggling as it was, he lived in a world with multiple dimensions. 

"Anything can happen," he had mumbled to himself (and Mayday) after the ordeal. 

It couldn't happen again.

It did.

"Oooh, what a man," you blew a low whistle as you watched Miguel from behind as he worked.

 Another meeting had just ended and you and Peter had lagged behind to wait for Jess who had to use the bathroom.

"If you're gonna talk like that at least say it to his face and not to us," Peter groaned, with his hands moving to Mayday who was strapped to his chest.

He covered her ears, mumbling something about preserving her innocence. He was looking down at her, smiling as she looked up at him. 

It was truly a sight to see, a sight only to be broken by your voice.

"Hey Miguel!" Your voice cut through his momentary peace, making him scramble to look at you.

"What are you doing?" He hissed through clenched teeth as Miguel turned around.

"Doing what you said," you responded to him simply, facing Miguel who was now looking at you with an inquisitive brow.

Peter silently prayed that you were joking.

"Miguel, your hair looks amazing today," you gave a sweet smile 

The taller man seemed to have stiffened at the compliment, just for a split second. No one would have caught it unless they were really looking. Peter was, and it only added to his utter disbelief.

"Uh, thanks," Miguel gave you a nod, before turning around quickly to get back to his work.

"No problem," you hummed, your smile never faltering. You then turned to Peter who looked like he was having a conniption.

"What the-," he seethed, almost flailing around making Mayday laugh.

"Wha-, ha?" He brought his hands to his hair, giving you an exasperated look.

"What did you think I was gonna say?" You quirked a playful brow, giving him a nudge to the arm.

"Maybe you have something to tell him, Peter," you tsked, shaking your head in faux disapproval.

"What would MJ think?"

Peter was red at this point trying to defend himself.

"I wasn't," he gasped.

"I-, no," he tried pathetically, before giving up with a sigh, almost covered by Mayday's laughter at his theatrics.

"You know what, whatever."

*****

Again, Peter tried to brush it off. He was just getting old, he tried to rationalise. There's no way Mr. "I Hate Kids" didn't mind your little quips.

He was just seeing things, that was all.

But he wasn't.

"Does he always eat alone?" You asked your little group as you all sat down at your usual table in the cafeteria.

"Yeah," Gwen responded, placing her tray down with a sigh.

"We've tried sitting next to him, but he doesn't let us."

"I bet he thinks it's cool," Hobie rolled his eyes as all of you turned your head not so subtly at the man in question. 

"It's kind of pathetic."

"It's like he has beef with that empanada," Miles added with a grimace, and everyone nodded in approval. 

"I see," you hummed, eyeing the lone man up and down before jolting up your seat.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, about to stand up as well to stop you from doing anything stupid. He was not having this today, he was about to feed Mayday.

"I'm gonna try sitting next to him," you gave a toothy grin picking up your tray, beginning to walk away. 

Finally Peter stood up with arms open to stop.

"You can't just,-" he began, about to grab you. But he was suddenly pulled back down.

"Hey let her," Hobie laughed from beside him, wrapping an arm around him so he couldn't escape.

"I want to see what happens."

Peter wept. Knowing better than to fight Hobie's hold. He'd give him a noogie and he could not handle another headache today. So he just watched you make your way to Miguel's table with everyone else.

You had made it to the corner of the man's table, your back facing them as Miguel looked up at you, seemingly holding on to your every word.

Everyone held their breath at the interaction, only to let it out in a collective gasp.

"No fucking way," Hobie expressed, earning a glare from Peter who moved to cover Mayday's ears. Yet he still looked equally baffled.

Miguel had given you a nod and gestured for you to sit, and that was it.

"Tell me you guys are seeing what I'm seeing," Gwen blinked a few times at the site before her.

"If I did that he would've ripped my head off," Peter watched with wide eyes.

"Maybe she's got powers that we don't have," Miles tries to rationalise.

"Yeah probably," Peter rubbed at his eyes just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"That's the only thing that can explain that."

*****

Okay, maybe Miguel had just toned down a little. People can change, they can be better. If he did so can Miguel. And Miguel was just tolerating you a bit more than everyone else, that was it.

It wasn't like he was going out of his way for you.

Right?

"Wow, you look terrible," Peter commented as you walked into the room. 

You were team alpha during the last mission, and the bags in your eyes and the slump in your back showed that.

"You're like the third person to tell me that," you groaned, running your hands down your face 

"I just wasn't able to grab a coffee this morning," you began to explain, now rubbing at your eyes.

"I slept in and I can't get one right now obviously."

"Well, just hang in there," He tried to comfort you, giving you a firm pat on the back.

"You've been through worse."

"Tell me about it," you cracked your back, before picking up Mayday who was giving you grabby hands from her carrier ever since you arrived.

"At least you still think that I'm pretty, don't you Mayday," you tapped her nose, making her burst out in giggles, only to be silenced as the double doors suddenly opened.

"Look alive people!" Jess had yelled, announcing her and Miguel's arrival.

"Thanks Jess," Miguel had followed up half heartedly, before addressing the half-complete people in the room.

"The debriefing will start in a bit, we're just waiting on a few more people," he said before snidely adding.

"The people that actually need this debrief."

"Dang," Peter expressed, watching Miguel walk out the room again to do whatever he does.

"I'd hate to be Hobie right now."

"Yeah," you agreed, handing him back Mayday.

"That's probably why he isn't here yet."

He agreed. "He's probably not gonna show up."

A minute had passed and you and Peter stood there engaged in mindless chatter. Mindless chatter that was interrupted suddenly by a deep voice.

"This is for you," Miguel said as he returned, a cup of coffee in hand that was brought up to your face between you and Peter.

You blinked at the cup for a moment, and so did Peter before you took it. Gladly, but still surprised.

"Thank you," you said, eyes bouncing between him and the cup.

"But why?"

"Don't think about it," Miguel responded with a click of his tongue.

"I don't need you falling asleep during this meeting," he paused before bringing up a scolding finger.

"And don't think you're off the hook for covering for Pavitr," his eyes seemed to glow red as he said this, and he walked away before you could respond.

"Wow," you trailed off.

"That was weird."

"Tell me about it," Peter nodded, thinking back to the eye roll Miguel gave him when he complained about the coffee machine being broken before.

"Not my problem," he had told him before walking away.

"Wow, how did he know?" Your voice pulled him out of his memories, and he turned to you taking another sip of the coffee.

"It's just how I like it."

*****

At this point Peter had decided to just ignore it. It wasn't any of his business he convinced himself. It was none of his business so he should-

Wait, was that laughter? From Miguel's office?

Peter had arrived at headquarters a little later than usual, and also a little lighter. Mayday had stayed home with MJ today, and as much as he loved his daughter he was glad she wasn't here.

He didn't need to worry about her messing around as he worked, and he didn't have to worry about her hearing what he said as he saw the source of the laughter.

Peter had walked into the room without being noticed, not so shocked at what he was seeing, but rather what he was hearing.

This has been happening a lot lately. You and Miguel standing in a corner having some sort of conversation. He had gotten used to it.

But this was different, you were laughing, and so was Miguel.

Peter stood there for a few minutes, just watching the exchange. Until Miguel looked over and saw him, suddenly stiffening up and trying to hide any indication that he was laughing. 

But it was too late, Peter had seen it all. And he also saw the soft smile Miguel gave you before tapping you on the shoulder. He said something Peter was too mind-boggled to pick up on and then you both bid each other goodbye.

You then turned and made your way towards him, with a bit more pep in your step as usual as you skipped across the room.

"Hey Peter! What, no Mayday today?" You greeted with a slight pout as you noticed the absence of the redhead.

But he didn't care, he asked the only thing on his mind.

"What just happened?" He practically squawked, begging you for answers.

You stood there, teetering on your feet, smiling at the ground before you looked at him with your answer.

"We have a date," you blurted out excitedly, jumping as you said so. 

Peter did not mirror your excitement however, as his hands made they're way to his thinning hair.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

part two

that unapparent summer air in early fall

the quiet comprehending of the ending of it all

I am. so upset

Urge.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

(Video: credits to the owner)

______________________________________

Summary: Please don't imagine Jake getting himself so worked up on stage by accident and literally aching to just come off the stage and go straight to the bathroom of his green room to get off.

A/N: I wrote this down in two hours because I couldn't stop thinking about this. This is not edited, so there may be mistakes.

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, masturbation (m!receiving)

______________________________________

The crowd was wild.

Jake kept prancing on stage with his guitar swinging on his hips, feeling the most powerful rock star ever.

Tonight, there was a sort of electricity flowing in the crowd that had enveloped his body from the very moment he set foot on stage.

Maybe it was because his brothers and him had indulged a bit more with makeup than usual.

He was sporting black eyeliner like the good old days and the crowd went feral about it when they noticed.

Jake secretly loved the attention of the crowd on himself.

He loved the way people reacted to the wonders he performed with his guitar.

He would never admit it out loud, but he also adored seeing girls blush and lose their minds over the utterly indecent movements of his hips against his beloved guitar.

Sometimes, he did it on purpose, just to see shocked reactions of fans at his audacity to show, in public, moves and expressions that were meant only for the bedroom.

But he didn't care. He loved it.

Hearing their screams and praises always caused shivers to run down his spine.

The kind of shivers you experience while being caught doing something you shouldn't, or when being watched during a very private moment.

But, tonight, something was different.

Everything that the crowd felt seemed to bounce off the walls and go back to him.

Everything he inflicted to the crowd with his lewd behaviour came back to him enhanced tenfold.

Sometimes, it happened.

Sometimes, he got a little excited on stage because of the vibrations of the music, the adrenaline or a particularly responsive crowd.

But never like this.

Fuck, this time he was hard.

Really hard.

Thank God he had his guitar covering his crotch or, for once, people would stop blabbering about Josh’s not-so-little friend and talk about his, instead.

He tried to calm down, but it was really of no avail.

And it was only the middle of the show. He didn't even played his longest solo yet.

And he was still so fucking hard.

When the first notes of The Weight of Dreams echoed into the venue, the thousands of people watching the show lost their minds.

And Jake was sure he was going to lose it.

He dreaded the moment he had to perform his solo.

Danny's drums signaled to him that it was his turn and he almost missed it.

But, like the professional he was, he quickly recovered and started playing like a mad man, forgetting for a moment his predicament and letting the music just flow through his body.

He started moving his hips against his beloved Gibson and felt a little shock of electricity.

It was a sensation he had always tried to avoid in fear of getting caught grinding his crotch against his guitar.

But, most importantly, in fear of losing it in front of twenty thousand people.

This time, he didn't care at all.

It felt too good.

He kept his movements steady and when the song peaked he pushed his hips harsher against his guitar, bending backwards and letting his hair dangle behind him.

Then, he sped up his movements and squeezed his eyes shut.

He was too caught up in the pleasure to notice that he kept muttering little words of encouragement to himself, trying not to come in front of his fans, among curses and other nonsense.

He honestly didn't care if his actions looked indecent.

They were indecent.

He was practically dry-humping his guitar for everyone to see.

When he managed to open his eyes again, covered in sweat, he noticed that people in the first rows were blushing wildly at his actions.

He had to bite his bottom lip to try and hold himself together.

Now, every chance he got, he grinded his hips against the wood of his Les Paul, thrusting with the steady rhythm of the music for a bit of relief.

For many mindless observers, his movements made him look just really caught up in the music he was playing.

For many others, his actions looked pornografic.

He was contributing to get everybody wet and hard in the crowd.

He didn't even notice that there was only a song left. His body and brain had dragged him there on autopilot.

When the last chords echoed through the venue, he sprinted backstage.

He bumped his shoulder against the guitar tech who usually took his guitar without a word of apology and sprinted down the stairs with his cherry-red beauty still dangling on his hips, trying to cover the massive hard on he was sporting.

He found himself in front of his green room without even remembering how he had gotten there.

But he didn't care.

His mind was elsewhere.

He opened the door, entered, turned the lock, threw his guitar on the couch and sprinted towards the bathroom.

He closed that door too and leant all his weight against the cold wood.

He unceremoniously unbuttoned his pants, dragging them down just enough to reach into his boxers.

He tried to drag that last item of clothing down as slowly as he could, but when the cool air of the room hit his flushed member, he hissed sharply.

He was so fucking hard. His pink tip was already leaking with a shiny bead of precum.

He didn't lose time.

He spat onto his hand and grasped himself, tightly.

The sudden contact caused his knees to buckle and a muffled curse to leave his lips.

"Fuck," He groaned

He gained his footing again, leaning his body even more against the door, and set a fast pace on himself.

The movements of his hand were harsh and fast, with a clear goal in mind, the same he had for half of the concert.

Reach the mind-blowing orgasm he had been building for himself for the past hour or so.

He squeezed his hand even tighter around himself, whining loudly because of the sweet contrast between pain and pleasure.

Then, with the thumb of his other hand, he started spreading precum over his swollen tip.

A string of curses left his plush lips at his actions.

"fuckfuckfuckfuck"

With a little twist of his hand, he reached his long-awaited peak.

His knees definitely buckled under him, making him fall forward on them with a wild scream while his hot cum covered his hand and wrist.

His movements didn't cease, he kept going for a while more, whining and hissing, riding out the last wave of his mind-blowing orgasm, until his trembling body flinched away on his own accord and he had to stop.

With the hand that wasn't covered in his cum planted on the floor, he knelt there, trying to catch his breath, his hair dangling in front of his face, and his ears ringing impossibly loud.

After a while, he managed to lift his head and take a look around, assessing where he was.

He noticed that his cum had mostly trickled down his hand and onto the floor.

But a few drops still clung onto his skin.

He brought his hand to his lips and licked a stripe on it, tasting himself.

The salty and sweet taste of it left him in such a haze that he had to do that again before standing up on wobbly legs and cleaning up the mess from the floor and from himself.

He managed to reach the sink and he was met with his reflection in the mirror.

He took a good look at himself, while washing his hands.

His skin was shining and flushed because he was completely covered in sweat, his eyes were framed by a thin layer of smudged eyeliner and his hair was damp.

He looked like a mess.

But he found himself chuckling lightly at his reflection, thinking about what he had just done.

___________________________

Taglist: @gvfpal @jessicafg03 @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @hellowgoodbye @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld @doodle417

I need Danny to punch me in the face actually

50k budget craftsman family home 🍼

speed build // tray files

📍 30x20 in San Sequoia

No CC

Gallery ID: ChrissieYT

Packs Used: NOT pack restricted!

$49,881 Simoleons

5 bed, 3.5 bath (space for 6-8 Sims - 2 parents, a teen, child, toddler, infant & 2 newborns)

Original Lot: 23 Eucalyptus Lane

Ask Jake for something sexy, he’ll definitely give

this is something I wrote a long time ago, that I only shared with friends, but I thought that you (and and others lol) might enjoy it :)

You don’t know how you ended up here. Well, yes you do, but at this point in time it doesn’t matter. A little too much tequila, and a little too much talking got you here; on all fours with Danny behind you, and a mouth full of Jake. Something about a full bottle of Casa, a locked hotel room door, and the leftover scent of Patchouli incense is all that comes to mind.

Right now, there is only two things that matter: the steady thumping of skin against skin, a steady beat that can only be set by a drummer, and the constant flow of words coming from the guitarist like the notes his muscles have memorized.

Danny is long and wide, you feel like he touches every part of you. Hitting places deep within you, the kind that make the bottoms of your feet go numb. His grunts and whimpers adding pleasure to each and every movement. Every thrust electric, every pull of a hand on your hips rough with callouses. You can feel how deep he is with every thrust, his other hand reaching around to press against your lower stomach, emphasizing the rubbing of his cock with every single thrust.

Daniel’s deep thrusting, moans and whimpers, mixed with the delicious weight of Jake on your tongue and his voice, slowly pulling you closer to your orgasm. Jake has you by the hair, a mock ponytail in a closed fist, his internalized sense of rhythm keeping his thrusts in time with Danny’s. The absolute filth dripping from his mouth like liquid sugar radiates down his own body, you swear you could taste the sugary sweetness in his precum.

You’ve gone silent, fucked into a stupor, drool dripping from your chin onto the sheets. You’ve seemingly gone blind, your eyes going between a blurry haze semi-focused on Jake’s face, and rolled into the back of your head. A particularly deep thrust from the drummer behind you has you pitching forward, Jake’s thrusts perfectly timed with Daniel’s, making you gag out a loud moan.

Jake grips your hair tighter, tilting your head upwards to look at him, your eyes glazed over and drooping. A pseudo-empathetic tone drips from his voice, “Look at you, doll. Sweet Daniel has you fucked so good I can tell you can’t even see straight.”

You let out another choked out moan at his words. You see his free hand, the one that isn’t in your hair, reach up and grab Danny by the shoulder.

“Listen to her, Dan. So desperate for us,” Jake’s attention turns back to you, “Oh, he’s hittin’ it good, huh? Look at you. Such a slut for us. So sweet and pretty for us, isn’t that right, Daniel?”

You feel a greater pressure against your lower stomach as Danny pushes his hand in even further, “Doing such a good job taking Jakey and I at the same time.” The praise makes your eyes roll back and shut involuntarily, “Look at her, Daniel, she can’t keep her eyes open, poor baby,” he says with a fake pout. You whine, reaching a hand forward to grip Jake’s hip.

As they both thrust forward, Danny hits a spot that has you gasping around the cock in your mouth. You flutter and push back against the drummer, the pressure on your stomach disappears, and you feel a quick slap to your clit. You scream at that, mouth slack against Jake.

“So good, baby. Just letting us take what we want- shit,” you feel him twitch in your mouth before your tongue and throat are flooded with Jake’s cum. He pulls out, still holding your hair. You swallow what you can, mouth still open, drool and Jake’s cum now making a mess of the sheets.

“Keep going, Dan, she’s almost there. Look at her, poor thing can’t even talk,” he says as Danny’s thrusts go ragged.

“Fuck- she’s so tight, Jake- you need to feel her,” Danny says as Jake straightens you out, him sandwiching you between them. Jake puts a hand on your hip and a hand in Danny’s hair. His lips leave red hot kisses across your neck and shoulders, you distantly feel his upper arm tense where it’s resting on your shoulder, registering that he’s pulling on Danny’s hair.

Jake’s attention stays on you, as he reaches down to rub your clit, “Come on, baby. You know what we want. Why don’t you give it to us, yeah?”

Danny leans to kiss the other side of your neck, his soft kisses a stark contrast from Jake’s biting. He leans up to your ear, heads pressed together, “Yeah, y/n, listen to Jakey. Give us what we want,” his hand joining Jake’s on your clit as they rub circles together.

Each man is pressed against you, lips to each ear, as they whisper in sync, “Let go.”

Your eyes rolled back, and your vision blacked out. You think you hear Danny curse as you’re flooded with warmth. Your legs start shaking involuntarily, palms of your hands and soles of your feet going red hot, as he fucks you through your climax. In a knee-jerk reaction you squeal and pitch forward into Jake, unable to take the over stimulation, tensing to get away from the source.

Arms that could only be Danny’s wrap around you in a bear hug, laying you down as Jake leaves to get a towel. Daniel sits you up, putting a water bottle to your lips, quietly telling you to, “Drink this, baby.”

Jake cleans you both up, laying down on the other side of you on the hotel bed. As you come to, wrapped in Danny’s arms, hands on Jake’s chest, you look at the both of them and bark out a laugh.

Jake glances over you to Daniel, then both of them look at you as Jake mutters, “And what’s so funny?”

You speak for what feels like the first time in days, voice destroyed from Jake’s cock and disuse, “That’s definitely not the last time we’re doing that.”

This...this is so fucking DELICIOUS. JANNY GIRLS COME GET YOUR FOOD!

you see uhm... when- when he uh...

📸 stardustdaph

danny's joining the facial hair club & i already know it's going to kill me

Olivia Cooke in RED !!

Your honor, I want this man to do [REDACTED] to me

When God said, "remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy" he was talking about Wagner Wednesday

if you ever wanted to see Josh neck a whiteclaw...

I made a Josh Kiszka AI. Go play with him.

The system works by rating the replies and swiping left on bad ones. He’s brand new so he won’t be perfect but you can help ◡̈