EMMA D'ARCY As RHAENYRA TARGARYEN House Of The Dragon (Official Trailer) | Season 2

THE WALKING DEAD ( 2010 - 2022 )

1996 / 2021

something i keep experiencing

me all day, every day

hi! i was wondering if you would write something like reader (gn or fem, idk if you want to specify) is jealous and sad because of jon’s close relationship with dany and just like him reassuring them and stuff.

thank you! i love your writing by the way!

before it kills me || jon snow

"Are you jealous?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm afraid. I don't know."

you're jealous of the dragon queen, and it's tearing you up. fem!reader. takes place s8.

Thank you so much for the request! Sorry it took so long!Hope you like it!

masterlist

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You'd always been the jealous type. Not just with lovers, but with friends, and with things, and with luck. When you were a child, you'd stare at the highborn whenever they passed through your village, dressed in silk and plate armor, on shining, well-bred horses. Why them?  You would think. Why them, and not me?

At the Wall, you'd been jealous of Jon at first. He was stronger, and faster, and better trained than you-- that is to say, trained in the first place. You'd been jealous of Sam, who could read, and Grenn, who could ride, and Pyp, who could sing. It had faded, of course, and you hadn't let it stop you making friends for too long, but still, it was your first instinct. It always had been.

Now, at Winterfell, after years of fighting, and bleeding, and freezing your ass off on the edge of the world, you found yourself jealous again. Not of someone's skill, or weapon, or training, like would be even marginally acceptable for someone of your age. No, you were jealous of a pretty woman, and how much time she spent with Jon Snow. And it was bad.

That fucking Dragon Queen had you pacing. Pacing, and brooding, and biting your nails, and cursing yourself for all of it. You had more important things to be worried about than the affections of Jon Snow, who wasn't yours to be jealous for in the first place. Gods, when did you even start loving him? Maybe you always had. Either way, this was what you got for dancing around him for years-- you hadn't made him yours when you could've, and now, someone better had shown up to whisk him off on dragonback.

Daenerys Stormborn-- First of Her Name,  Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Andals and the First Men. How could you ever compete with that?

Did you even want to try?

What could you possibly give him that she couldn't? She was inspiring, powerful, and unmatched in beauty. A Targaryen. A gods-damned dragon rider. And you were a bastard girl who cut her hair and became a man of the Watch. Not even a bastard of someone noble and important, like Jon was. Just a Flowers of some Redwyne or Fossoway who's name your mother forgot. Rough, weary, dressed in old black ringmail and scars.

Daenerys dressed in furs and silver.

Didn't he deserve her?

You should have just talked to him. You knew that. But jealousy was an old friend, a familiar pain. It was easy to sink back into. So you let it claw at you for hours, for days, alternatingly ferocious and grieving. It ate you from the inside out and the outside in, made you irritable and anxious and guilty. Distracted. You slipped up on the sparring field. Battle plans went in one ear and out the other. No sleeping position was comfortable anymore, and your jaw ached from constant clenching and grinding your teeth.

Your friends had grown worried. You hadn't let even Davos coax out what was wrong, though you suspected he already knew. You were growing worried too. Fighting the dead would need you at your strongest, and the dull ache in your chest was taking its toll.

You grit your teeth again, and got out of bed. This has got to end. Fuck it if he loved her, if you had been wrong, and all the glances, the stray touches, the so-nearly-kisses that always seemed to get interrupted had all meant nothing to him. At least you'd know, and you'd move on. Or you'd die fighting Walkers, and none of it would matter. Either way, it'll be better than this.

The castle was sleeping, and nobody but a few wandering soldiers were there to pay you any mind. Poor bastards probably can't sleep either. Some bowed their heads respectfully when you walked past, mumbling "M'lady," or sometimes "Ser," though you were not a knight, and lady of nothing but your sword. You quickened your pace.

When you reached Jon's room, you didn't let yourself think twice. You didn't steel yourself, didn't take a breath, just rapped on the door before you had a chance to go craven and leave.

Jon opened the door. Disheveled, in nothing but a plain shirt and trousers, though clearly awake. Your breath hitched. It felt intimate, seeing him this way, out of his capes and his leather, without Longclaw on his hip. His eyes widened, and you remembered your own appearance. Your bare feet, your undone hair, your dressing gown. At least we're even, then.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "You need something, Flowers?" He mumbled, not unkindly, a tired smile ghosting his lips.

"Do you love me?"

"What?"

You pushed your way into the room. Jon's eyes flared again, but he didn't stop you. "You heard me, Snow. Do you love me? All those times we sat on watch together. All those times you held my hand, and came to greet me at the tunnel when I came back from a ranging, and fussed over me when I got hurt. How you called for me when the fighting ended at Castle Black, and after the Boltons, and how I called for you. Did all of that mean something to you, or did I imagine it?"

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then, his face softened. He took your hand in his, warm and rough and familiar, and threaded his fingers through yours.

"Are you jealous?"

Damn him.

"Maybe." Your voice came out a tremble. "Or maybe I'm afraid. I don't know."

"Come here." He tugged you into his arms, and you found yourself clinging. It had all been so much so fast. All the fighting, the dying, the red woman, the free folk. Ramsay, and Cersei, and the threat of the dead, and the beautiful Daenerys with her dragons. Jon held you as you cried about nothing and everything for a while, rubbing your back and carding his fingers through your hair, murmuring reassuring things that you couldn't hear.

You could've stayed there forever.

But I need to know before it kills me.

With an effort, you stepped back, feeling a little empty without his arms around you, and a little guilty about the damp spot you'd left on his shirt. You took a shaky breath.

"I need to know if you love me, or--" you pushed a sob down, before it could break. Jon opened his mouth, but you didn't let him get a word in. "It's okay if you don't, really-- I just," you offered him a watery smile. "I need to know now. If you love me, or if you love the Queen. Please, Jon. Before it kills me."

You bit your trembling lip for dear life. You would not cry if he said loved her, you swore it to every god you knew. You would not ruin it for him, more than you already had. If he said he loved her, you would smile, and thank him for his honesty, and be done with it.

But Jon Snow didn't say anything. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, and took your hand, and kissed your knuckles. He kissed your palm, and your wrist, inviting you to sit beside him with a gentle pull. You nearly fell into place. Something about his touch always made you lean into him without thinking. He wasn't magnetic, exactly-- it was something softer than that. More akin to the gentle urge of gravity on a feather.

He held your face in his hands, and brushed away a tear, and kissed you softer than any fur or silk in the world.

"Of course I love you," he said, voice wavering. Tears had made a home in his eyes, just as they had in yours, and the look on his face sent a wave of guilt crashing over you. "I'm sorry you ever thought I didn't. Please, forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Jon. You know how I get, I--" you paused, trying to find the words. "I'm sorry. I'm a jealous woman, a scarred woman. I have no dragons, and no crown, and no beautiful silver hair or perfect face. I have no name of my own. I have nothing to give you but my sword and my love, and Daenerys has seven kingdoms. Well, she will, I mean. Just-- I felt like you'd abandoned me for someone better. Which is stupid, because you're not even mine to think about that way--"

"And who says I don't want to be?" Jon interrupted. He took your hand, took your scarred knuckles to his lips again. The way he was fixing those beautiful eyes on you, with such perfect sincerity, took every word you'd ever known right out of your mouth. Whatever he was going to say next, he meant it.

"I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I don't want it because of power, or money, or dragons. I just want to love you. Is that so hard to believe, Flowers?"

"You would love a jealous woman?"

Jon laughed. "You would love a jealous man? I can be just as bad as you, you know. Remember when you got to be a ranger, and I didn't?"

That was true, and you chuckled at the memory. "Gods, you're right, Snow. You had on the most sullen look I've ever seen when you watched me and Grenn ride off for the first time."

"And that was me trying to hide it."

Jon Snow took you in his arms again, smiling now, and kissed your brow. When you buried your face in his shoulder, he smelled of linen, and smoke, and something that was just him. Familiar, safe, and gentle.

"Stay with me tonight. I want to hold you." His whisper fluttered over your ear, tone almost desperate, almost yearning. Your heart skipped about ten beats at once, and you shuddered. He's going to be the death of me, you thought, pulling back to look in those deep, dark eyes. He is going to be the death of me, and I don't mind at all. Gently, you pressed his shoulder, pushing him down to lie on his back, with you settled in the pocket of his arm.

He held you, and you held him, and for the first time in many days, you slept comfortably.

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Fine Line Series (on hold)

Y/N was in love with Harry. What she felt was a complete circle of love and adoration to this boy that captured her heart. She admired his caring nature, kind heart, and passionate actions. She was a blind-fool that believed the small deeds he did for her were a sign of mutual reciprocity. 

Harry was infatuated with Y/N. What he felt was an intense passion for the idea of her. Her body and her emotions were completely devoted to him and he cannot deny the smugness he felt to have someone put him on a pedestal for everything he did. 

What they had – it wasn’t love. 

Keep reading

gif request meme - anon asked - yellowjackets + favourite platonic relationship

mysaria and rhaenyra PLEASE fuck nasty

when the fic was so good, you just sit and wish it was you there rn….

─ a little death.

request: can you write something about hate fucking elliot? ily.

pairing: elliot x f!reader.

warnings: unprotected sex (not really tho). oral sex (f and m receiving). smut in general.

word count: 1,484.

A/N: requested by @fezcossidepiece but i deleted the original post on accident lmao, anyways ily and i hope you like it<3, not proofread.

you slammed the door heavily on elliot’s face, not even caring that you were at his house, anger drowning the rest of your feelings.

you have been friends with rue since you have memory; her, lexi and you being a remarkable trio ever since pre-school, and you never thought about doing something like elliot did.

you heard how he opened the door roughly, almost breaking the fragile wood, you listened to his fast steps getting closer to you, he was angry too, but he just didn’t seem to understand why you were so pissed off.

“i don’t understand why you’re so angry y/n” he said almost laughing, trying to get closer to you, but your body kept walking back, not wanting to be close to him in any way.

“it’s not like it even bothers you that i told her mom” he continued, bluffing at you, cigarette in hand while he walked back and forth through the small room, waiting for you to respond.

his attitude made you snap, completely, all the words you tried to keep to yourself fell from your mouth, not even trying to stop yourself.

“oh my god elliot, shut the fuck up!” you shouted, prolonging the ‘u’, annoyment clear on your tone. “you had no right to do what you did. why did you even do it, huh?” you continued, but words couldn’t stop drowning your mouth.

“you are a fucking addict yourself, do you see your friends telling your family?” you got closer to him, the word friends being marked with false quotation marks with your index and middle finger. “you are an hypocrite and a fucking cunt, rue had every right to tell you everything she said” you finished.

“this is all your fault, if you hadn’t introduced her to me nothing of this would’ve happened” he replied, making you laugh at his stupidity.

“oh, i’m sorry, my bad. was i the one who ruined her life, embarrassed her in front of jules and her sister? fuck elliot, if you wanted to help her, couldn’t you just tell her mom? alone?” you shouted, your throat hurting from how much you were screaming at him.

you got so close to him that you and elliot were almost nose to nose, you were so angry, elliot could almost feel it radiating off you, he was angry too, his frown delating it; the two of you were waiting to see who would lose it first.

you were about to continue your monologue, but elliot placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you to him, and suddenly you were kissing him, his tongue in your mouth, and his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

in less than a second you changed the position, pushing his body to the bed, his body falling harshly on the mattress, you crawled up onto the bed and moved closer to him, your legs straddling around his waist.

impatiently you pulled elliot’s shirt up and over his head, and let it fall to the ground, he slid his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, fumbling with the button and zipper on your pants, you smirked up at him, starting to move your hips in eight figures. “you are all bark and no bite, princess” elliot said smirking before letting out a quiet groan as his hips met yours.

“and you are a fucking coward” you laughed, pressing your palm up against the growing outline in his jeans, his grip around your hips tightened slightly when you began undoing the button. “not being able to go by yourself, but asking me to go with you, so you wouldn’t be so scared” you smirked at him, feeling how his dick got even harder at your degradation.

you pulled his jeans down and took him in your hand, “i hate you, so, so much” your voice was low, barely audible your thumb tracing circles over his sensitive tip and covering it in precum. “that tonight i’m gonna fuck you so good” your hand moved up and down on his dick, a smile curling on your lips at the pitiful whimpers he made, thrusting into your hand, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to stay quiet. “and then i’m gonna leave you here, and never give it to you again”

elliot’s breathing hitched as you got down on your knees, licking your lips as you prepared to take him in your mouth. “and you’ll wish that every girl you fuck was me” he grunted, hips stuttering as you enveloped him in your warm mouth, he ran one hand through your hair, pulling your hair tightly, but not once did he push you to take more of him.

you cupped his balls on your free hand, taking him further into your mouth, gagging on his length, but suddenly he pushed you off of him, his hand on your hair pulling it so roughly it almost made you cry.

he pushed your body to the mattress, dragging your legs to the end of the bed, positioning himself in between them, he kissed your thighs before he buried his face on your soaking slit, his left hand sliding up your body and grabbing onto one of your tits, he rolled your nipple between his fingers.

elliot wasn’t being delicate, his tongue moved perfectly against your clit, licking, sucking, and flicking back and forth until he felt your legs start shaking over his shoulders, his fingers traced your clit, keeping a quick pace, somehow able to tell that you were nearing the edge, almost catching your release.

almost.

“what the-“ he didn’t let you finish before he started talking.

“beg for me, c’mon, be a good girl and beg for me.” he said, he could see the desperation on your face, it almost made him feel bad, you frowned and rolled your eyes, you would never let him get away with it, so you pushed his body off you and stood up.

you placed your hands against his chest and began pushing him, slowly, backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was forced to sit, allowing you to climb onto his lap. “i don’t beg, handsome” elliot’s facial expression shifted - he was turned on before, but this, this was different. elliot placed his hands on your hips, helping you along. he held back a moan as he watched you use him to get yourself off.

you felt the knot in your stomach beginning to come undone and began moving faster and faster, anxiously approaching your release, but once again, his voice interrupted you.

“you are not even close to hating me, pretty” he said. elliot’s words pushed you to the edge.

“shut the fuck up” you hissed.

“you can’t hate me because you love the way i make you feel, not even needing my mouth or my dick to make you come.” he continued.

“shut up” you said while placing one of your hands on top of his mouth to stop him from talking, and before another word could left his filthy mouth, you positioned yourself completely on top of his dick, pushing yourself down, sitting completely on his dick.

you moved your hips roughly, fast, trying to get you to come, the idea of him reaching his orgasm not even reaching your mind, focusing on you and only you.

he tried to talk, but his word got muffled by your hand, you thanked god for that, your hips never stopped moving, elliot moved one of his hands and brought it to one of your tits, squeezing it and pinching the nub with his fingers.

that was your undoing, you came, loudly, all over his dick, your body slumped tiredly against his chest, but almost immediately, you pushed yourself off of him and began gathering your clothes and getting dressed in silence, already feeling your annoyance at elliot returning as he just sat there and watched you. “what are you looking at? put your clothes on” you scoffed.

“okay” he said calmly, he didn’t sound angry or disgusted, his response was monotonous, not letting you understand how he felt, but you didn’t care either.

when you ended dressing yourself you turned to look at him. “this won’t happen again” you said, walking past elliot and leaving his room, almost immediately he heard the front door close.

“never again” he said to himself, but he couldn’t help to keep remembering the words you told him earlier, every single one of them being true, making him want to go and follow you so he could apologize, but he was to stubborn to even think about it.