Soap Would Hold Up Your Pregnant Belly.

IMAGINE ending a love affair with Addam of Hull:

Strong-Targaryen!Reader x Addam of Hull

MDNI

CW: Angst, power imbalance, s-xually suggestive themes, bastard drama, star-crossed lovers.

Addam of Hull had never felt so seen. Not until the day you put your eyes to him. Even Seasmoke hadn’t made him stand as still as your smile had.

An instant draw. Something instant. Powerful.

The mutual passion of two bastards in a place so hallowed as Dragonstone. Almost embarrassing in its predictability.

Your lips trailing his jaw, his palms flat on your back. Laces undone and clothing pooling around your ankles. All is right in the hour of the wolf. All is quiet, all is right. Addam can pretend he is just a man and you are just a woman. Two lovers tangled in a bed too large to sleep alone in.

That was how it started. And for many nights after, it was how it stayed. Alas, night always turned to dawn.

Addam could still feel your fingernails pressing into his back. A sting that made the pleasure of your night together all the more intoxicating.

But as he broke fast, all he felt was guilt.

Your mother had let him sleep where only Princes had laid, gave him a place at her table. He knew that this was wrong of him. It was easier for him to remember this in the daylight, when he awoke alone in a bed of silk and the smell of you still lingering around him. Addam would wash his face and stare into his reflection in the mirror thinking: ‘No good can come of this.’

And then night would fall, your shy knocking would sound behind his door and he would let you in. The taste of your kiss and the song of your pleasure would erase all his worries. The cycle continuing on and on… until this night.

You came to him dressed in a robe of blue velvet and nothing else. Love made you bold. Addam could not stop your lips from touching his own. Not because you threw yourself at him, but because of his own selfishness. ‘One last kiss,’ he swore. And then one turned into three, then the tie of your robe came loose. Control found him just before he cupped your bare breasts.

“We cannot carry on like this,” he says as he breaks the kiss “It’s wrong.”

Undeterred, your arms slip over his broad shoulders and you try to pull him closer, “Addam, you say this nearly every night.” His hands feel warm, almost hot, against your hips as he keeps you from pushing yourself flush against him.

Normally, he would laugh and lift you from your feet like a groom to his bride. Not tonight. His expression was tight, jaw tense. Your cheeky grin fell, “Addam?”

Addam closes his eyes as your hand cups his cheek. If he were a stronger man, he could push you away. Perhaps say something cruel to break your heart and end this affair. Addam damns himself as he leans into your touch, “I know I do. What I say is true no matter how many times we ignore it.”

“What we do is only wrong if anyone besides you or I know of it. And nobody has to know,” you coax. Something about his tone, his words, it bothers you. It’s like he’s lecturing you on morality. You get enough of that from your mother.

He finally works up the nerve to take his hands off of you, stepping back from your partially nude form. Addam focuses hard on your face, “You deserve better than to be my secret.”

“I am the one who decides what I deserve, Addam,” you scoff. Your confidence was your most attractive trait in his opinion. He had to remind himself what he was meant to do.

“And what if I don’t want to be a secret either? I’ve lived all my life that way,” he challenged with a tense jaw. “What’s the point in living out another lie? To live in shame, again?”

You step closer, your hands take his. Bastards like him… and like you, all that you are is someone’s secret passions made flesh. “You are not alone in those feelings, Addam. We’ve spoken on this. I don’t want us to be lovers in the shadows for all time. I want you. I... We both—“

“—We are not the same and you know that,” he forces his hands to break your hold on him.

You close your robe tight and reply, “If you want this to end, I will honor that. But not if you are doing this just to protect me. Or the fucking throne. It has to be what you want. We started this as two people. We should end it the same way.”

This was his chance. He could be a better man and set you free. Free to marry a good Lord of a good House. Addam may have a dragon and place at the Queen’s table, but he knew he could never have you. Not like he wanted to. Addam crosses his arms over his chest and says, “You lived all your life as a Princess, the Iron Throne will be yours one day. There is no room for me beside you on the throne, nor in your bed. I will happily bend my knee to you but that is all we can afford.”

Your nostrils flare and you glare into his face, “You’re still just protecting me.”

“I want you to go back to your rooms, and when day breaks, we forget each other’s touch. I want this to end,” he hates the way his voice sounds in his ears. Like Lord Corlys, barking orders as his ship leaves the docks. Prideful, cold.

The anger in your eyes is still burning hot, even as your expression cools. “So it shall be. Goodnight, Addam of Hull.”

You tighten the sash of your robe and leave him to sleep in a bed too big and a room too empty.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

- cherry wine is about domestic abuse. it’s now called a cute proposal song.

- too sweet is about seizing the day and ignoring healthy habits in favor of having more fun with unhealthy ones. he’s actively critical of himself in the song. it’s now called a song about thinking you’re superior for drinking black coffee.

- take me to church is about worship as a metaphor for sex. it’s called a religious song.

- eat your young is a song about war and political greed. it’s called a song about sex.

- now, the strongly political message of nobody’s soldier is being ignored in favor of calling it a metaphor for hozier’s relationship with his fans.

when are we going to stop simplifying hozier’s music down to cute little cottagecore bogman forest music? maybe you dont want to hear this but i don’t care. quit listening to hozier for the aesthetic. there’s a reason why empire now, foreigner’s god, butchered tongue, etc. songs with unignorable political messages are among his least popular songs.

The challengers x hotd agenda continues

ned stark x younger!reader

imagine, it has been a year and a half since catelyn died during the birth of rickon, ned had finally gotten over grieving her and has come to terms with her death no one is pestering him to remarry, life is peaceful, until one day he sees you. You who is the daughter of one of his closest bannermen, you who was accompanying their father to have a meeting with ned stark the second he lays his eyes on you, his mouth goes dry, he suddenly starts to run hot even if its the middle of winter, his toes curling in his boots out of nervousness, gripping the arm of his chair till his knuckles turn white, trying to focus on what your father is saying and not glance at you as you and your father leave he starts to busy himself in his work but as the night rolls in and he’s in bed ready to sleep. His thoughts drift off to you and soon his mind is plagued by images of you, your bewitching eyes, your beautiful hair, your soft lips he would oh so love to ki- he internally slaps himself, you are only a few summers older than Robb and he’s having such tainted thoughts about you, you’re the daughter of one of his closest companions friend, you are making him question his morals, can you blame him though? you are such a prepossessing sight, he thinks as he slowly pulled under the blanket of sleep hoping to see you in his dreams.

there are not enough fics about my man here do him some justice ✊😔

constructive criticism is welcome!

The fic: Questioned Morals

sukuna: he didn't even help btw

husband - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

Every now and then, Simon gets a student who doesn’t seem to get it past their skull that he’s happily married and not looking for a side chick or mistress.

He can usually tell in the first handful of classes, brow raised as they ask him to visit office hours, shirt peeking a little too low, smile a little too uncanny for his taste. He finds that typically as long as he plays uninterested and talk more about his wife, most of them learn to back down.

Now, occasionally, he gets a student who just doesn’t back down.

In those cases, he entertains the office hours, forcing you to stay back and lounge on the couch when they visit, extra affectionate with you when they walk in, ring on his finger extra polished and your matching one visible when you work.

You find it hilarious when you reach for his tea, lips around his straw as you continue to work on your research, drinking up the way his student’s eye twitches at his blatant displays of affection. You’re his “beloved” when the student walks in, and his “one and only” when they’re almost out of hearing range. You get a kiss when you walk him to class, and you peek into his class so much more to drop off drinks as long as the student doesn’t back down.

He refuses to hold an office hour with the student if you’re not available to hang around. He’d much rather be called a shitty professor than a shitty husband.

He can find another job. Not another you.

jalebi baby !

or; Dick Grayson and his Indian gf hosting Diwali 🧨☄️🎆

dick grayson x indian!fem!reader, like one euphemism i originally wrote more but it was kinda off-topic so i didn't include it. but if this ends up like...resonating particularly deeply with anyone i'll make another part also never quite got an answer on that friends question... Read Jason's version here !

In the years you’ve been with Dick, he’s celebrated multiple Diwali’s with you. He’s familiar with the customs and practices by now, knows the story behind the holiday, and has space in his closet for the several traditional garments he’s collected over the course of your relationship. But this year is different; this year, you are the hosts.

The day before, you were a mess. Rife with stress and nerves over your first time hosting the family party, an unspoken rite of passage into adult life. He had to basically drag you away from your checklist so he could sit you down and pamper you, massaging coconut oil into your scalp so you could relax. You can’t lie, though, it did help. That, and him being extra generous while washing it out in the shower later. You slept like a baby that night, worries long forgotten.

When the time for the party comes, he’s looking so…

He’s wearing a kurta that perfectly matches the cerulean of his eyes and has a shimmering silver paisley pattern, and he wears it with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to put his tan, muscled forearms on display. (*Barking*)

Like the gentleman he is, he helps you drape your sari. He presses the pleats flat, secures the pins in place, all with a graceful precision that makes the finished product better than you could ever achieve. He’s pouting the whole time, though, because no matter how much you insist that it’s magenta, it still borders too close to red for his taste.

“It’s magenta, Dick.” “That’s basically red! Why don’t you just wear one that says ‘I Hate Nightwing’ in huge letters?” “Dickie, don’t be ridiculous…you know the pleating would hide the words.”

You thought that was hilarious, but he’s EXTRA pouty after that.

He can’t be mad at you for long, though, not when you’re looking like that. The gold border of your garment, the sparkle of your gold jewelry, and the rosy color against your brown skin with a bindi to match…you’re practically glowing. And if you’re wearing paayals (bell anklets)…that dainty twinkle that follows you when you walk— hold on, he needs a minute. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven because there’s an angel in front of him.

While you’re spending the whole party running around and looking after everything, he’s looking after you. He’s making sure you take sitting breaks, he’s bringing you water, he’s feeding you while you’re cooking, and taking over the cooking (when you let him) so you can take some time to actually enjoy the party.

For dessert you prepare his favorite (jalebi) but every time you remove one from the pot and place it in the serving dish, two seconds later it’s gone. He tries to pin it on one of your relatives, which results in said relative calling him lode (lode-eh), and you having to sequester him in another room so you can finish cooking.

While you take him on his walk of shame, he asks you what that means and you lovingly reassure him that it’s nothing bad. (It isn’t, technically…I mean it is his name, right?)

I didn't include this in Jason's version but I think while Dick likes jalebi, Jason is a gulab jamun kinda guy

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