#even when standing still he has bastard energy

[chatonyant]

yknow i was trying to figure out how to draw him pretty and then immediately got sidetracked into drawing him as a bastard as the author intended.

#return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #화산귀환 #fanart #art #digital art #alp art #alp fanart #i wanted to draw him pretty because it's such a funny funfact to me #but also. mainly i just wanted to draw pretty eyes #every time i draw him it dissolves into silly expressions moments #he is annoyingly hard to draw #even when standing still he has bastard energy #and his bangs drive me insane. #basically i kinda wanted to figure out the structure of his face before pushing it into extreme expressions but #-gestures wildly- it never works out #he looks different every time i draw him #anyways. heres my boy. read the novel its good #also read the manhwa that's good too #its a very funny story #will it also make you cry? yes. that's the fun is it not.

[pucksandpower]

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen #mv1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen drabble

[diejager]

Can i make a request?

i thought of this yesterday what about y/n or the reader has been in 141 for 2 years now and one day 141 gets a new member konig but y\n or the reader is 26 and konig is 19 i feel like this has to be done😍😍

also konig: shy,sweet,tall,big,puppy like for the reader

reader: small,short,sassy,mommy🤭🤭

PLEASEEEE!!!!!

Young Cw: major canon divergence, bullying, intimidation, beating, protective reader, tell me if I missed any.

He hated attention, having people stare at him because he was tall —unnaturally so, towering over everyone despite his young age and timid and anti-social demeanour. He was grateful, really, after Laswell called in some favours to have him transferred from his platoon to a British Task Force as a trainee, someone on probation while he trained and learned how to integrate with the team. He worked well with them, the tall and muscular battering ram that opened up a path and shocked the enemy, working flawlessly beside to team, and yet, he couldn’t work up the energy or want to socialise with them, to open himself up and let them see the raw and softer part of his mind.

That, however, was the least of his problems, they were cordial - nice - with him, Soap and Gaz even went out of their way to include him in their banter, throwing jokes and good-minded laughs, Price acted as the protective figure of his team and extended it to him, Ghost - ever silent and glaring - didn’t mind looming over others and growling orders when someone overwhelmed him, and you were no stranger to threats and blackmail to get someone off his back. His problem, the biggest one, were the envious glares and insulting hisses older soldiers threw at him in hushed tones and occasionally glances when he found himself alone, either training or walking around.

Even in a place where he could let out all his aggression and pent up frustration, he was still victim to bullying, verbal rather than physical, no one would dare lay a hand on him when he was the youngest of the Task Force and under their protective eye. Despite the shielding from brutality, other men still found time and places to openly beat him down with demeaning and aggressive words, belittling his exploits, his awards and all his hard work to escape the hell of his little village (his Mutter was the only exception, he willingly went back on Holidays to see her).

“Look at that giant freak. Reckon he’d break if we put too much weight on him.”

“Bastard’s only here because he’s tall, that’s all he’s good at.”

“Aye, makes sense, never liked him. He might be a nepo baby, pop’s probably a powerful man.”

His Vater was a piece of shit that left him long before he was born, leaving his Mutter to fend for herself and rot away to feed and provide for him until he joined the army to care for her.

He didn’t want to give them more fuel, to retaliate meant more bullying, he learned that the hard way as a child. All König could do was take and take until they got bored, walking away from him to busy themselves with something else. That didn’t mean he didn’t get mad, frustrated or insulted, his hands curling into fists to hold itself back from pummelling them, they were his superiors, he’d be discharged or thrown out for hitting his superiors, especially since he was a foreigner and still new.

“Fuckin’ bastard is glaring.”

He was unknowingly glaring at them, he couldn’t help it, then he turned away, his gaze wandering to the floor before they’d escalate it. He heard one of them spit something out before he stomped towards König, shoulders and chest pushed out to seem bigger than they actually were in an attempt to intimidate him. Standing before him, he felt someone raise their fist, ready to strike him for simply glaring at them after months of being subjected to their intimidation. He was ready to stop them if needed, not a pushover or someone who’d take a beating quietly, eyes cued on the raised arm of an older man, but then he fell, moaning loudly as he fell to his knees.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?!” You appeared behind him, yelling out at the man you just kicked.

They were as surprised to see you, their faces draining of colour as the others scrambled to come up with an excuse. You snuck up on him as much as you did on them, using his height and size to your advantage to land your blow. You moved to stand before him, a shield to a man as tall as he was, protecting him with a vicious glare and damning words, and somehow, he found himself gripping onto the back of your jacket, your name printed on the back and the Task Force’s insignia on your sleeve.

“He was disrespecting us, Lieutenant!”

You didn’t hold back your disbelief, scoffing so loudly that other people had turned their attention to your group.

“Disrespecting? Do you take me for an idiot, Corporal? I’m no blind,” your words were silencing, sending them panicking for another reason to excuse their actions, something disbelieving or idiotic, “This isn’t the first time I’ve written you up to HR, Corporal Matt, Davis, Brown. You’ve done this many times with other operators, especially to König.”

“That’s because-”

“Save your fucking excuses and fuck off!” You nodded away, watching them scramble off.

Glee and smugness filled him, a disgusting feeling that he couldn’t help but enjoy, even as you huff and turn to look at him, head craned upwards to meet his eyes with soft adoration. You were always so warm and caring, as if you weren’t made to be the ruthless killer people made you out to be, but he’d seen you kill, the cold and calculated look in your eyes when you were deployed. You patted his arm, a smile gracing your lips as you reassured him that they wouldn’t bother him anymore.

”Time for dinner, yeah?”

He learned the next day that they were transferred to another base, seen packing up their bags with black eyes and bruises littering their bodies. Sparring, he heard from whispers, from one at to another, the word spread and he found his days quiet and anxiety-free.

“Danke, Leutnantin.”

“You know my name, König. I think you’ve earned the right to say it.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig #tw: bullying

[luxeslore]

[plane crashing sound] we’ve heard of hybrid!reader x simon but how abt hybrid!simon x reader,,,, he marks you all the time with his smell, a bite mark, (or his cum or piss) whenever you’re not paying attention, always insisting you stay home with him (or even better, let him build you a home in the middle of no where so no one can bother you two) n he’s somehow always in his rut whenever you’re ovulation [passes out on the ground in a heap]

hybrid!simon— a whole brand new level of BASTARD. ending up with him because you wanted a companion + protection and you just end up with a big bully !!! but he really does love you… he’s just so possessive and he can’t be blamed for that. it’s quite literally how he’s biologically programmed !!!

WARNINGS… 18+ CONTENT, MDNI. includes DUBCON [reader is slightly intoxicated + mentions of a struggle], hybrid!simon -> guard-dog!simon, “owner”!reader, possession, manhandling, a second of degradation, spit kink [drool, slobber], biting, cunt inspection, a single spank, light choking, oral [r. receiving], scent kink, breeding kink.

It’s past midnight. Even if you haven’t checked the time in an hour or so, you know that much. The atmosphere in your apartment is oddly still as you lock your front door behind you, dropping your keys onto the first flat surface available. You try your best not to stumble over, getting your bearings—usually Simon is hounding you by now, in every sense of the word. Sniffing your jacket, tugging at your shirt, ridding you of whatever traces of the outside world you’re bringing into the nest you two share. 

“Si?” You call out his nickname into the thick air. Only to be cornered in the next second. 

He doesn’t realize how scary he is in these moments, crowding your space entirely and towering over you. His ears stand tall on his head; pointy and scarred from years of being a fighter. He hasn’t always been such a spoiled pooch. He got lucky with you, and he recognizes that everyday. But it makes it hard to worship the ground you walk on when you come home reeking of multiple men. The scent of smoke and bourbon lingers on you, and it makes him snarl. A deep and carnal sound that has you shaking in your booties while his face contorts, baring his teeth at you. 

You lower your head and silently pray this gesture of submission will be enough. Your words are slurred, unfortunately not helping your case by any means, “I told you I’d be going out after work!”  

Thick arms wrap around you— your chest pressing up against Simon’s, allowing you to feel his chest vibrate as he growls out a string of curses. Fuckin’ slag. Your eyebrows knit together while your hands end up flat on his chest, trying to push him away. 

“Get off, Simon.” 

Although you may be his “owner,” you’ve never given him such a direct command before. Nearly matching his energy with how you spit the words out. He’s always been such a moody but nonetheless protective and faithful companion up until now. It pains him to disobey, really. He can't stop himself or drown out the biology driven anger clouding his reasoning. 

And you certainly don’t make it easy for him to pin you down onto the couch. Kicking and flailing until you feel it. The fat bulge in his pants, pressing against your ass. All hot and heavy and letting you know he’s been aching for hours, waiting for you to return. 

It’s sick how quickly your brain tells you to submit. It shouldn’t be this way; you shouldn’t let him have so much power over you. But when his teeth sink into your neck painfully, his slobber drips over your skin and down your shoulder, soaking through your shirt… you yelp in pain. Just like a bitch would do. There’s little time to revel in the pain when he soothes the fresh wound with his tongue, when his hands are making the rounds on your body. 

What you were wearing is a forgotten memory within minutes— a heap of cotton, denim and lace on the ground between your clothes and Simon’s.

You can hear him panting behind you. Face to face with your cunt, inspecting to make sure no one else tried to claim what’s his. A bit silly on his part since he would’ve been able to smell it on you and your pretty cunt anyway. His thumbs spread your folds, pulling them apart while he marvels at how cute and leaky you are. You press your heated face into the back couch cushions, wiggling your hips to get him to do anything other than gawking at you. 

He scoffs, “Y’think you deserve having your pussy played with?” 

“Didn’t do anything wrong, Si.” You huff out, annoyed all over again but so desperate for anything from him. 

His heavy hand comes down on your ass. You scream as the sting spreads over your plump cheek, before hiding your face once again and holding onto one of the throw pillows for dear life. Arousal slips off of your cunt in glossy, glimmering strings— finally enticing Simon enough to dive in. 

He dips his tongue into your pussy, appreciating the way you squeal upon feeling the wet heat so much that his big ears twitch. A thick thumb comes up to rub your clit in circles, determined to make you cum on his face before he stuffs you full of his cock. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re whimpering and squirming, letting him know you’re gonna cum with pitchy cries. You feel so pathetic crumbling under him, as if you’re the one that needs to be leashed and looked after. The wet spot made up of his drool and your cum mixed together beneath you isn’t helping. 

Simon isn’t known for letting up, so he’s curling over you in the next second, enjoying the way your form trembles against his. The way the bit of fat he has over his abs and valleys of muscle nestles into the gap the arch of your lower back makes so perfectly. You shiver as the tip of his cock is guided along your sensitive cunt, bumping up against your clit enough to make you jolt and squirm. 

“Simon, please…” 

A strong hand covers the front of your throat. Just barely squeezing, his lips rub up on the shell of your ear. You can hear him inhale so deeply, taking in every intoxicating note that makes up your scent before he begins speaking, “All mine, right? M’little breeding bitch?” 

Fuck. The words make your core ache. Dull and sharp, reminding you of just how empty you feel. You dig your nails into that pillow again and choke out a sob, eyes fluttering shut just as he really gives your throat a good squeeze. 

“All yours, Si,” you breathe, “your breeding bitch.” 

It’s all the confirmation he needs and more to work each fat inch of his cock inside of you. Hopefully fucking you into submission for good so you don’t ever end up in the pub surrounded by dickheads again— he thinks you’ll agree it’s not a suitable environment for you and the cute baby bump you’ll have anyway. 

#🤍.cod #tw hybrids #tw dubcon #tw piss mention #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #cod smut #call of duty smut #cod mw2 smut #call of duty mw2 smut #⌨️.luxe's writing

[yestrday]

"This hurts."

Zhongli sips on his tea, looking unbothered by your incessant whining, even smiling to himself when you beg him to let you off practice today. Xiao, who's been standing guard this whole time, has been pointedly avoiding your pleading looks. Clearly, Zhongli has given him a warning not to indulge you.

"Zhongli, please," you whine again, voice higher in pitch as you hope to annoy him to the point of sending you away. "My entire body hurts. Can't we just reschedule this tomorrow?"

"Procrastination rusts determination, my dear," Zhongli hums, finally putting the teacup down. The large dragon tail protruding from his lower spine is slinking back and forth on the ground, and if Aether's observation that that is an equivalent of a dog's happy wag, then that means the bastard is enjoying your suffering. "Your father told me to fix you up before your first apperance at a gala and I have a contract to fulfill. Besides—" He fixes you with a firm golden gaze. "— You decided for yourself to finally go back into the public."

You wince at the reminder, regret building up the more you attend these lessons. Despite the good life you've had spending your days as a recluse with your family of hybrids, you had decided one day that this wasn't how you should live your life. So when your deadbeat dad reached out to you about a charity gala, you agreed quicker than you thought about it. And here you were, suffering the consequences with sore feet and numb arms and trembling fingers. Did going out into public really warrant posture and balance exercises and etiquette lessons?

You wanted out. Out! Ayato's already been a drain on your energy with his morning lecture about conversation starters and conversation, scaring your whines away whenever he thumps his spiny tail on the floor or opens his mouth just for the rows of sharp teeth inside to glint at you. Although Zhongli's an old, soft soul who'd never harm you, you were still tired!

"Once more." Zhongli instructed. "Balance those books and walk a straight line from here to there. Begin."

With a small grumble to yourself, you balance the small stack of books on your head and begin. But these things just keep slipping off, and you're half-tempted to say that this isn't your fault anymore and it's their stupid shiny covers. They slip from your head again and you glare at the scattered books with the hatred of a thousand damned souls.

"Zhongli..." you whimper as pitifully as you can. The dragon only shakes his head and motions to the books for you to pick up again. Your downcast expression has clearly struck a nerve in Xiao's heart, with the way he keeps hesitantly stealing glances at you, but he's cowed by a knowing gaze from Zhongli.

"While I approve of practicing, I believe that all hard work entails some sort of break, no?" A stoic yet gentle voice interrupts from the doorway and your face lightens up at Neuvillette. "Apologies for my intrusion, but I've caught wind from a certain cat that our master is in need of a break."

"Neuvi!" You gleefully shout, rushing over to him and eyeing the dessert platter he's balancing on his hand. "Did Aether tell you? Are those for me?!" When he nods, his eyes crinkle in fondness when you squeal in delight, and his tail slinks left and right on the ground. "Neuvi...! You're the best! I've been held captive here for hours!"

"Well," the water dragon huffs out a laugh as you gorge yourself on macarons. "That is to be expected of such kinds of dragons."

"It's for their own good," Zhongli tightly says, meeting the other dragon's challenging gaze. "It's best to fix them up before they attend the gala rather than indulging them to garner favor."

There is an impatient thumping on the floor, coming both from Neuvi and Zhongli. Both of them maintain their stoic composure, but the tips of Zhongli's fingers begin to tint gold and black, while cold blue scales creep up Neuvi's neck. Their reptilian eyes never break away from each other, slowly morphing into pinprick ones as they begin to devour each other whole with—

"Mmm, that's good," you hum, picking up a macaron and running off to Xiao. "Hey~ Want one?"

Xiao smiles faintly, taking the pastel dessert from your hand and gently patting your hair. He thanks you, and slowly eating it so he can show you how grateful he is. (His golden eyes are darting frantically between his master and Neuvillette and tries not to look too eager when he's munching.) "It's very good." He gives a slight bow towards Neuvillette too. "Thank you too, sir Neuvillette," he says, like the polite man he is.

Neuvillette regards him with less hostility than he does towards his fellow dragon. But he frowns a bit when he sees the small arrogant smile on Zhongli's face when he sees his subordinate getting along wth you. He scoffs.

"If your teacher here is still giving you a hard time, you can always come to me for help," Neuvillette murmurs, just loud enough to provoke Zhongli. He wraps his scaly tail around your leg and brings you closer. "I'll promise to instill the grace you need before the gala minus all the nonsense."

You giggle when his gentle touch tickles your cheek before he tucks a hair behind your ear. Kissing you gently on the forehead, he pulls away with a slight smile. "Good luck, dear." He glances behind you, and wearing a satisfied expression, he closes the door shut.

You're suddenly aware of the tension in the air and you turn around to see Zhongli with closed eyes. His black-brown hands, looking like they've been dipped in gold, clench the arms of the chairs tightly. He lets out a slow exhale and opens his eyes just in time for you to see those cold slits revert to the warm brown human ones.

"Zhongli...?" You ask cautiously, taking a careful step forward. You knew dragons were territorial, but you didn't think that Zhongli would react this way. He was normally so... father-like to all the other hybrids.

"Nothing, my dear." He stands up and holds you a bit tightly by the hand. He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket, all embroidered and silken and as elegant as he is, and rubs away something on the spot Neuvi kissed you. "Just some dirt, thats all."

Gently, he puts his hand on the small of your back and leads you to the chair in front of him. Xiao wordlessly pulls it back and sits you down.

"Come now, have a rest and let's finish these snacks before you start again, hm?"

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yester.writes #yester.au — hybrids 🐾

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

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

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

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

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The long awaited chapter... Hehehe, I have seen so many theories, so many denials, everyone seems to think that I am lying about Alys' death. I can assure you, she is gone. >:) Bit of a longer chapter this time hehe <3 Enjoy you heathens

Chapter 89: The Merciless Princess

As you sat at the table, elation and excitement rolled through you. You let a laugh of delight fall from your lips before you shoved the necklace into the sleeve of your gown, walking back to your chambers.

You felt a spring in your step, and were far happier than you had been before. 

Alys was dead. 

Your parents had seen to that. They had killed her and his bastard that grew within. She would be a threat no longer, and Aegon could not use her to his advantage anymore. 

What was more, Aemond could not seek her out any longer. 

And that made you ecstatic.

Once you arrived to your chambers, Aemond was sat in his chair, head turning to watch you enter, energy radiating off of you as you smiled at him, before sitting at the chaise opposite. 

Aemond seemed uncertain by your sudden bout of elation, but when you had offered him a small, and shy smile once more, he returned it, though it was short lived. Aemond shifted in his seat as he uncrossed his leg, both hands rested atop the arms of the chair, whilst one tapped each finger atop his thumb and then back again in thought. 

“Aegon wishes for our presence this evening.”

Aegon could wish for whatever he wanted in that moment, and it still would not dampen your mood.

You smiled again at your husband and nodded, not arguing. Aemond looked at you oddly, brows drawn and lips pursed. When had you ever not argued about such a thing?

Standing, you moved towards him and pressed a kiss to where his brow was creased, soothing the tension there. When you pulled back, you let a hand rest atop his shoulder, “We shall do as the King commands of us. I am sorry I saw you off in my bad temper, that was not fair of me. I know that Aegon commanded you to leave, and you would not leave me unless you truly had to. I do not wish to fight. I am tired enough with this babe growing every day.” You let a hand rest against the front of your dress in show. 

Aemond placed his hand atop of yours, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. One corner of his pouted lips lifted, and he gave you the tiniest of nods. You let him hold his hand against you a moment more before you turned away to flit around the chambers, opening the door to ask the knight to bring your maids to ready you for dinner.

As you shut the door behind you, and moved towards the vanity, you sat yourself down on the seat and looked into the mirror. Your cheeks were rosy, and your teeth were showing with the grin you could not keep from your lips. 

Aemond appeared behind you in the reflection, slowly stalking towards you with a sway that only Aemond had. Almost cat-like in his movements. He looked at you confused. 

“What has you so happy?”

You turned back to face him. 

If only you knew. 

“The Maester confirmed I was with child when you were gone. We should expect the babe to come in five, maybe six moons.” You spun around to look back at him though the mirror as he came to stand beside you, a small smile of his own winding on his cheeks, “He warned me my moods may be up and down, and right now? I'm overjoyed. I could not have asked for any greater sign from the Gods than the one I got today.”

Aemond let a hand brush against the back of your head, “What did the Gods show you?”

“Your heir.” You lied.

Your bastard dead.

Your whore dead.

Aemond moved forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your face, his sharp nose buried into your hair. You hummed and let a hand reach up to caress his cheek, before you turned to face him, drawing his mouth down to yours. 

With lips slotted against each other, you poured the excitement that you felt into him. Not that he knew what truly brought your joy, but he took it nonetheless, kissing you back with passion and haste, his tongue teasing the front of your lips. You opened yourself willingly to him, wrapping your hands around his neck. 

Aemond groaned into the kiss, hands skating up your sides, tracing over the swell of your breasts in your dress. You hummed a short laugh into his mouth before pulling away, lips tingling from his touch, and a warmth settling in your core. 

Aemond smirked when you turned away flustered, pulling the earring that you wore from your ears, placing them into a small golden dish. 

“You’ve missed me.” He purred. 

“Like a hole in ones head.” You quipped back, a small chuckle leaving your lips. 

Aemond laughed a quiet laugh, before he pressed another chaste kiss to your cheek, before moving himself to sit by the fire again. Soon the maids arrived to the chambers to ready you both, Aemond opting to wear his black leather tunic and sweeping black coat. 

The Prince sat as he watched the maids begin to brush and braid your hair, refreshing your face with a wet cloth, and a light rouge being applied to your lips. You turned away for a moment, feeling his heated gaze. The sky had darkened, and soon you would be dining with Aegon. 

And soon he would know. 

“Go ahead without me.” You implored, “I will meet you there. I need to ask of some things from the Maester.”

Aemond came towards you and nodded, a small hum in agreement leaving his lips before he pressed his to yours once more. It was a soft kiss. Not so much filled with passion and fire as the last, and just as fleeting. The Prince straightened himself and left the chambers, the door shutting with a click.

Joanna and Amala dressed you in a tight black gown, your breasts that had begun to swell sitting heavily atop, with more cleavage shown than usual. The shoulders were embroidered with a fine netting, making them to appear as though they were dragons wings. 

As the girls tightened the back of the gown, you held the chain in your hand tightly, the Valyrian steel warm in your palm. As you held it, you felt the grooves of the chain, and the roundness of the emeralds rubbing against the scar of your palm.

You grit your teeth as you realised it was almost identical the one he had gifted you.

Swallowing that anger, you turned to Amala, who smoothed the skirts of your gown. Opening your palm you held it towards her, “Can you help me put this on?” You asked, a small smile on your lips as your heart beat against your chest. 

Amala stood straight and grasped the necklace from you, “Princess, this is beautiful.” She commented, moving to stand behind you as she opened the clasp, dragging the necklace across your skin.

“It is, isn’t it? It was a gift.”

You could hear Amala smile behind you, “How lovely of him to be so thoughtful, Your Grace.” 

Your teeth ground together, but you kept the smile upon your lips, “Yes, it was. My Lord Husband is a generous man.”

When you were dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. 

You looked like your mother.

You looked like your father. 

You looked like the blood of the dragon.

And you were. 

Because seated along your collarbones was the proof of it. The evidence of it. The Valyrian steel shone in the light of the candles, and the emeralds appeared to be deeper than what they were, as though there was magic within them. 

But there wasn’t. 

Because the witch was dead.

You smiled brightly again, feeling a surge of pride and conviction within you before you turned to leave the chambers, feeling the weight of the necklace sit heavily on your neck. The knight bowed to you as you exited, and walked ahead to escort you to the Dining Hall, no doubt commanded to by Aemond.

And with each step you took, you felt giddy at the thought of your uncle seeing the stones atop your chest. Of Larys recognising it. Of watching Aemond come to the realisation of what you had done. What you had achieved. A promise that you delivered.

As you stood in front of the large wooden doors, you took a deep breath. 

Was this how it felt for Alicent when she wore green to your mothers wedding?

Was this how she felt when she declared a subtle war to the King and his daughter?

But you were not waging a war with Aemond. 

You had won it. 

The doors were opened, and you tipped your chin upwards, holding your head high as you were announced to the chambers, the room quieting as you entered. Your blood strummed in your veins with every beat of your heart, and excitement crackled at the tips of your fingers. 

The silver head of Aemond turned to watch as you came and sit beside him, a gentle smile gracing his face as he looked up at you in adoration. You smiled back down at him knowingly as he stood to pull out the seat for you, a soft ‘wife’ falling from his lips. 

You kept your eyes on his face. 

Waiting. 

And then, it happened. 

His eye grazed down to your chest, to where your breasts spilled heavily out the top, and then to your neck.

You watched his face drop. His lone eye snapping back up to yours as you smiled wolfishly at him.

A short and smug hum flitted from your lips as you leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before leaning back again, greeting the rest of the table with a nod of your head. Your eyes skated across the chambers, feeling the heat of Aemond’s gaze until you found your intended target.

Larys sat, eyes glued to the two of you as he was seated beside Alicent. With a subtle hand, you moved to tuck a strand of hair that was not there behind your ear, hand trailing down over the front of the necklace. Larys did not react, though if you had to guess, you would say he was schooling his reaction far better than Aemond was trying to. 

Anger positively radiated off of him. 

And Aegon seemed to notice. 

And if Aegon noticed, then everyone noticed. 

However, you pretended as though you didn’t feel the sudden and inexplicable shift of your husband beside you, dining beside him with a smile on your face as you listened to the Lords chatter amongst themselves, occasionally joining in. 

Aemond had not said a word the entire evening, his gaze burning a hole in your chest and the side of your face as he stared at the necklace. You watched as his hand gripped his goblet tightly, knuckles white, bringing it continuously to his lips more than Aegon did. 

Reaching out, you tried to soothe his hand with yours, running your fingers over his knuckles with a shit eating grin. 

You knew it was not smart to push his temper, but you couldn’t help it.

You had won. 

And there was nothing he could do to take that from you. 

Nothing he could do to bring her back.

And the greatest joy of all, was that he didn't even know it yet.

When the evening grew late, and the men all nursed their ale, some leaving, and others continuing to talk amongst themselves, you had made a point of staying longer than you usually would have, forcing Aemond to sit beside you and stew in his anger, and rage, and no doubt a multitude of questions without being able to act upon it. 

For if he did?

Then all would know you had bested him.

And Aemond was not one to show weakness.

A false yawn fell from your lips before you turned to kiss Aemond’s cheek, the skin hot to the touch and and jaw tensed. You turned to face what little men remained, and bowed to Aegon, begging his pardon and that you would bid them all a good night. Aegon grinned, sensing the tension between you, and was all too happy to send you on your merry way back to your chambers.

Aemond all but leapt from his seat, the chair scraping harshly against the stones as you lazily, and slowly took your time to stand, making a point to look at all the Lords and smile, which you had not yet done before, before turning to leave with him. 

It was tense, and you could feel the fury rolling from Aemond in waves, but not even his anger could take away your victory. The joy of knowing you took something away from him. The joy of knowing that you had won. That you had ripped something from his grasp that he used to seek refuge in.

No, not something.

Someone. 

His whore and his bastard. 

Two birds, one stone. 

Or more likely in the case of your father, two birds and the Dark Sister blade.

The Prince stormed ahead of you, but you did not chase after him, instead leisurely walking behind, enjoying the way his hair swayed with his gait, and his pale hands were tight in fists at his sides.

When finally you entered your shared chambers, Aemond having disappeared within the doors before you, your husband spun on his heel, the leather of his boot crackling against the stone as he stormed towards you, crowding your space as the door shut.

“What did you do?” Aemond demanded, brows drawn as he looked at you.

You cocked your head, “What do you mean, husband?” You responded, sickly sweet voice dripping from your lips.

“No more games. What. Did. You. Do.”

You sighed as you looked at your uncle, his eye crazed and chest heaving, as his gaze dropped to the necklace and back up to your impassive face.

Moving to the side of the chambers, you picked up the decanter, ignoring his questions as you poured yourself a goblet of wine.

The air around you shifted as Aemond charged towards you, ripping the cup from your hands and slamming it back down on the table, drops of wine spilling over the rim and onto the table. 

Calmly, you raised your head away from the spilt wine and looked at Aemond, who gazed at you murderously.

"Do you remember the Septa teaching us about the second wife of Maegor the Cruel? Alys her name was.” You mused, tilting your head as you looked at him, “The people called her the Whore of Harroway, such a familiar ring to it don’t you think? There are so many strange familiarities of it all. Alys Harroway gave birth to stillborn babe. Grotesque and twisted-“

“Enough with the juvenile history lessons.” Aemond interrupted.

“-And Maegor flew into a fit of rage after he was told she had been unfaithful. Any man, woman, or child was put to death with even just a drop of Harroway blood.” You shook your head, “Such a horrific end to her life, too. Alys was tortured for fourteen days, and fourteen nights by Maegor’s third wife, Tyanna. Then, when she died, they cut her into seven pieces, and mounted the pieces on spikes above the Seven Gates. Tyanna, of course, later confessed to poisoning the unborn child, but Alys’ death was merciless.”

Aemond stepped towards you, eye on your neck, “Where did you get that?”

Your hand rose to touch your chest softly, feeling the stones against your collarbones.

“This? It was a gift.” You moved to grab the goblet again, hand reaching in front of you. Aemond's own shot out and grasped your wrist tightly, pain shooting up your arm as he roughly tugged you towards him.

“What. Did. You. Do.” He growled, breath fanning over your face.

“You’re hurting me.” You sneered, trying to wrench your hand away from him, failing, “Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Let. Go!”

“What did you do, zāldritsos.” His voice lowered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Fire and blood. I made a promise to you, did I not?” You smiled up at him. 

Aemond stilled, grip faltering.

You saw your chance and ripped your hand away from him, grabbing the wine, and pulling it up to your lips. You sipped heavily, feeling the sharp spiced wine travel down your throat.

“What have you done?”

“Who knows if Alys Rivers was unfaithful, and that babe inside her deformed. I wish I could tell you that she did not face the same fate as Alys Harroway,” You grinned viciously at him, “But I can’t.” You whispered, “My only consolation I can offer you is that there is no more Strong blood, besides Larys. Just like you wanted.” You sneered, slamming the wine down as you got up in his face, raising your head to look up at him, his eye wild as he looked down at you, lips twitching.

“You fucking cunt.” He sneered, hand shooting out to grip your throat tightly, squeezing the air from you. 

You should feel fear. 

You should feel regret.

But all you felt was triumph. 

You beamed brightly at him as he squeezed your neck tighter, fingers pressing meanly into the sides of your throat, the size of his hand almost holding the entirety of it, lungs feeling tight and head feeling lighter.

“I couldn’t let you father a bastard. What would the court say? What about your honour?” You wheezed, and his hand tightened again, bruising your flesh as his face came forward, nose jabbing yours as he breathed raggedly in anger.

“You’re mine." You hissed, "Did you trust think I would continue to let you traipse around the realm to fuck your whore? I have given you an heir. You needn’t any other. I had disposed of your whore and unborn bastard so that you needn't fear about our child's succession. She's dead. Your precious Alys is dead, and you can thank me for it.” You purred, though it came out rough and crackled at the back of your throat from his grip on your neck.

Aemond watched your face, eye flickering back and forth on yours before down to his dead lovers necklace, fingers twitching against your neck, gaze flickering momentarily to your lips. 

“I love you.” You wheezed.

Aemond blinked as the words left your lips.

And silence filled the chambers.

The air in your lungs had stopped, and your eyes had widened.

The space between you was gone, and Aemond crashed his lips against yours, kissing you bruisingly, his grip on your neck not faltering as stars began to flood your vision. Aemond opened his mouth and bit down on your lip roughly, a squeak of pain flitting into his mouth, which he soothed with his tongue. 

You rose on your feet, hands coming to hook around his neck, to pull him closer, but also to seek purchase as your vision blackened. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling cruelly at the roots as you brought him closer to you.

Five fingers released their pressure on your throat, and air came rushing back into your lungs. You gasped into Aemond’s mouth, which he swallowed down greedily. 

The large man's hands came to rip at the front of your dress, your breasts spilling forth from the broken silk, where his head dipped down to pull a sensitive nipple roughly into his mouth by his teeth. You hissed in pain, feeling his other hand move to squeeze the other painfully.

Aemond’s hands dropped down to the back of your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs instinctually closing around his waist as he turned and began to walk towards the bed, teeth piercing your neck, shoulders, and the tops of your breasts as he moved.

Any piece of bare skin revealed to him, he would bite down, bruising the flesh.

Your stomach dropped as Aemond threw you onto the bed without a care, your body bouncing onto its surface. His hands gripped your ankles and ripped you down the end of the bed, grasping at the rest of your dress in his hands before tearing it up the skirt. Adjusting his grip he grabbed it again, tearing it apart to reveal your sopping centre to him. 

Aemond stood back and looked at you as he began to undo the ties of his own breeches impatiently, pulling his cock out roughly as he began to tug it in his palm. He was already painfully hard, the tip leaking pre-cum. 

“Come here.” He commanded, still pumping himself roughly in his hand. 

Scooting down the bed, you let your legs hang off the edge as Aemond gripped the back of your head, pulling you down towards his length. Opening your mouth you took him on your tongue heavily, lapping at the underside of his shaft. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting into your mouth forcefully, cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond grunted, thrusting into your mouth as you gazed at him tearily, spit coating your lips and his cock. 

Heat bloomed inside of you as he looked down at you, anger still tight in his shoulders as he continued to thrust himself in and out.

Aemond used your head to fuck his cock into your mouth, hands gripping your hair and side of your face, sliding you up and down his shaft roughly, aggressively, without a care for your gags and splutters, strings of spit beginning to drip down onto the stone floor below.

“Cunt.” The Prince growled, pulling out of your mouth as you gasped for air, looking up at him as tears streaked your cheeks. 

Your dress was torn to shreds, your hair messed from his grip, lips swollen and wet from his actions, tears dripping down your cheeks and yet, he praised you.

“My beautiful cunt of a wife.” He gripped your jaw in one hand, squeezing painfully as your mouth dropped open, the joint groaning in protest. 

Aemond leant forwards and spat onto your tongue. You flinched feeling it land in your mouth warmly before he slid back inside rapidly. Aemond fucked your throat without abandon, slapping your cheek as you closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose, desperate to get any air that he allowed you. 

His hand smacked against you again, and you looked up at him angrily, brows drawn.

“The Merciless.” Aemond mocked, pushing you off of his cock as you coughed, rubbing your throat as it felt raw from his hands and cock.

Aemond shoved you back against the bed, flipping you over as he fisted his length against your backside. You arched you back, angling yourself before he thrusted into your heat with no preparation. The sharp sting wound its way through your body, but pleasure soon replaced it. 

You did this. 

You made him this angry. 

Another victory.

Aemond fucked into you at a brutal pace, your body jolting beneath him with each thrust, hoarse gasps leaving your lips as he grunted and growled from above you.

“Fucking take it.” Aemond sneered, the head of his cock beating against your cervix painfully.

You grit your teeth, hands clawing the mattress as he used your body. But even then, you could feel the slickness between your thighs of your own bodies reaction. A whine left your swollen lips, muffled by the sheets of the bed.

“Such a fucking whore. So wet and tight.” The clapping of his hips filled the chambers alongside the wetness of your heat.

“You like this don’t you? Being treated like a cunt. Just a fucking hole to put my seed in.”

You whined beneath him, head turning to the side to look up at him as you grinned meanly back at him, your core clenching around his length.

Aemond sneered, slapping his hand on your face, using it to push his weight into the mattress for leverage as he fucked you. Pain pinged down your neck, but you ignored it, focusing on the way his cock bullied your spongey spot within, and the anger that poured from him.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond swore, hand still pushing your head into the mattress as one of his legs propped up onto the bed, leveraging his thrusts to be harder and deeper.

“Fuck.” You garbled beneath him, feeling his cock in your stomach. 

“Shut up.” He snapped, grabbing your hair in both hands as he wrenched your head back, thrusts unwavering in their strength or pace. 

“Do you even deserve it? Do you even deserve my seed?”

You moaned beneath him, knuckles white as you felt pleasure bloom within your gut suddenly, wet seeping onto the mattress below you as you reached a painful peak. The wet sounds from your cunt got louder, fluttering walls sucking him in as he grunted. 

“Fucking filthy, look at you soaking the bed. Fucking disgusting whore.”

You groaned loudly, your body going limp underneath him, strength having seeped out of your bones, leaving you to be a puddle beneath him as he continued to drill into you cruelly, his pace beginning to falter. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Aemond moaned, hunching over you, moving his head to bite at your shoulder. His mouth opened against your flesh before his teeth bit down, skin breaking underneath and pain rippling through you. 

“Ah!” You cried out, core clenching down on him tightly, bringing him to his release. 

Aemond thrusted into you deeply, pushing against your cervix as his seed filled your womb. He breathed heavily atop you as your eyes slid shut, utterly exhausted and not willing to move. 

Or more like, unable to move. Your limbs felt as heavy as a stone.

Aemond laid atop you for some time before he slowly slid out of your folds, hissing as you twitched around him. The heat of his body left your spine and you kept your eyes shut, regaining your breath as you basked in the victory of the day, and the pleasure of the evening.

Your throat and shoulder throbbed, and there was a dull ache that spread through your core, but despite this, it felt like you were floating.

Some time later, Aemond’s presence came behind you and you flinched as you felt pressure between your thighs, Aemond rubbing his seed into your sensitive folds with two long fingers. You jerked beneath him, a whine in protest falling from your lips. 

“Shh, my merciless thing.” 

Aemond sounded tired. Less angry. 

But there was still an underlying rage that lingered in the back of his throat, just barely contained, clipped and strained.

"Perfect fucking cunt. And mine."

Aemond dipped his head down and lapped at the bite on your shoulder, licking up the blood that had rose to the surface. You hissed as he pressed his tongue into it, a stinging pain blooming over the mark.

Aemond nipped the mark again, causing you to cry out.

His presence loomed over you as his two large hands scooped beneath your body, and hoisted you up the bed. 

“Do you need the privy?” He asked bluntly, ripping the sheets from beneath you more roughly than was needed.

“Mmm.” You mumbled, still feeling like you were floating away, little sparks floating through your limbs. 

You kept your eyes closed as Aemond tucked you beneath the covers, pulling the sheets up to your shoulders before he followed you, pulling you against him in the bed. You don’t remember him taking your dress from you, but as you curled into his side closer, you found your bare skin against his.

"What am I going to do with you, hm?" He whispered.

Aemond pressed a kiss to your hairline, though his lips were firmer than what could have been considered gentle.

You could still feel him seething with anger. 

The Prince’s fingertips danced over the bite mark on your shoulder, brushing over it in thought as he held you to him. Each brush of his fingers causing dull pain to crackle over the surface of your flesh.

And before long, sleep came to call, and begun to drag you under. Aemond’s hand grazed your neck, and you sighed.

You fell to sleep, naked in his arms, with his fingers tracing over the necklace that had once belonged to Alys Rivers.

"Perzys Ānogār."

Fire and Blood.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[nyoomfruits]

"I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me" for the ask list? maybe landoscar or any pair you feel inspired by! <3

“i think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me”

It’s started to drizzle when Lando pushes his way through the front doors of the hotel, runs out into the street. Oscar’s only a few feet away, standing on the curb looking at his phone, clearly waiting for the car to come pick him up. His suitcase is next to him, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Oscar,” Lando breathes out more than says, way too relieved to find him still here, rushing in his direction.

Oscar hears him anyway, looks up a little confused, even more confused when he spots Lando. “Lando?” He asks. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, you fucking bastard,” Lando says, puts his hands on his hips. “Not anymore. A letter, really? Not even. A fucking letter?”

Oscar has the decency to look at little ashamed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Bullshit,” Lando says. “That’s and you know it. I just want to know why. This whole week we’re having a great time together and I thought, you know. And then you leave me a fucking letter confirming that great time, and then you fucking end it with ‘I’m sorry to leave but I can’t be what you want me to be’. What does that even mean.”

“I don’t do casual, Lando,” Oscar says. He looks a little tired around the eyes, a little sad. Lando gets it. He’s not a driver, doesn’t even work for F1, but he’s lived near Silverstone all his life. He knows how hectic shit gets. How taxing this whole week is for someone like Oscar. “I can’t- Not with you.”

“Okay,” Lando says, a little confused. “That’s nice? For you? Then why didn’t you just, I don’t know. Leave your phone number? You know, like a normal person. Or you could’ve woken me up. Even normaler person behavior.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Oscar says, and when Lando merely glares at him he shrugs, a little bashfully. “You just. I just didn’t think that’s something you wanted. You gave the impression you know. That this was just a one week thing to you.”

And. Okay. Maybe Lando did keep talking about how F1 feels like this one-week festival every year. How it comes and goes and feels like transporting yourself to another universe for a week. How he’s made friends he only sees once a year. How he’s made friends that felt like the best he’d ever dad for the duration of that one week and then never saw again.

He’d never considered that, with Oscar. Oscar had felt. Permanent. All encompassing. Inevitable. From the moment Oscar had gotten out of his stupid bright orange McLaren down the road from his parent’s farm to ask for directions because he’d found himself horrible turned around, Lando had felt this. Connection.

Which is stupid, because Oscar is a world famous F1 driver and Lando is a farmer’s son from a small town in the middle of the English countryside, but still. They’d clicked, immediately. Oscar somehow being perfectly equipped to deal with Lando’s slightly chaotic energy in a way no one in this town ever really had, giving as good as he got. He’s charming, in a very understated way. Sweet.

And they had fun, this past week. A lot of fun. Fun Lando hoped they would be able to continue, after.

But then this morning had happened, and the letter, and he’s started doubting that maybe-

“It wasn’t,” he says, earnestly, honestly. Because if he only gets one shot at this, he’s taking it with both hands. Worst case scenario he’ll never see Oscar again. Best case scenario… Well. He’d love to find out. “Just a one week thing for me.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, and he’s smiling, and the rain has started to pick up so his hair is starting to stick to his forehead, but neither of them really cares. “Me neither. If you want, yeah. Me neither.”

“Good,” Lando says, nods. His shirt is getting soaked. He wishes he’d grabbed a jacket during his mad scramble to catch Oscar in time. “Right. I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” He says, only half-jokingly, when there’s a sort of awkward silence between them.

Oscar however, doesn’t waste a single moment, reaching forward like he’s been waiting for Lando to say that all his life, his fingers sliding over Lando’s wet cheeks as he pulls them closer. It’s really starting to pour down now, but for a moment, when Oscar’s lips touch his, Lando feels like the sun is shining just for them.

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble #two in one day??? who am i #anyway still getting through the kiss prompts v slowly!!!

[avocado-writing]

Hello! May i please request a Crowley x Reader where they have a crush on each other but they’re both so oblivious to the other’s feelings… (they make it very painful for Aziraphale some days lmao)

Now here is the plot twist : the angel and the demon switched bodies - like they did in the last episode of S1 - but reader isn’t aware of that, so they come up to ‘Aziraphale’ (or so they believe) talking about Crowley and how “he will never return their feelings”

When they find out that the one they’ve been complaining to is no one other than Crowley himself, they feel so embarrassed but even if he teases them at first, he is quick to reassure them and tell them he feels the same?

Thank you!! :)

notes: my friend M did a very funny react when she beta’d this fic and im including at the end

pairing: Crowley x reader

rating: T

“Ugh,” you announce as you walk out of the torrent and in through the door of the bookshop. Aziraphale glances up from his book and sees you dripping wet.

“Oh, raining, is it?”

“Gosh, you must be re-reading the Sherlock Holmes novels, Aziraphale, you’re ever so insightful,” you say, rolling your eyes. You don’t mean it spitefully, though. You get on rather well with Aziraphale and some gentle ribbing is an intrinsic part of that friendship.

He helps you off with your coat and hangs it on the rack. You rub your arms to warm yourself up.

“Would you like a blanket? Cup of tea?”

“Ooh, I’d murder a cuppa,” you confess. Aziraphale obliges and heads into the kitchen, and soon you hear the kettle sing. You watch the rain hit the window and travel down, rather glad you’re not outside in it any more, and call out:

“Crowley here today?”  

“Hmm? Oh, no. He’s off tempting someone somewhere, I should imagine.”

Your heart sinks a bit, but that’s alright. It’s not like seeing Crowley is your favourite part of the week.

“Why do you ask?” Aziraphale asks, popping his head out of the kitchen.

“About?”

“Crowley.”

“Oh, don’t make me say it,” you beg. He knows you’ve been lugging around a crush for that demon for yonks now, and he never gets tired of teasing you about it. You don’t want this to be a repeat of that conversation. Not when you’ve been trudging through the rain for the last twenty minutes, you can’t be arsed.

“Say what?”

“Aziraphale…”

“No, go on.”

You furrow your brow. There’s a strange, intense energy to the angel that you’ve not seen before. It’s quite unlike him. And yet you find yourself opening your mouth and once again confessing:

“What, that I’ve had a massive crush on him for ages, and he has no idea? That’s what you want me to repeat, so you can make fun of me?”

Aziraphale stares.

“What?”

“You’re being weird, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale comes closer, still solemn. You want to take a step back but you’re by the window. 

“Say it again.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Please.”

There’s something in his voice, something desperate, and it makes you comply. 

“I fancy Crowley.”

And suddenly Aziraphale’s mouth is on yours. He has a hand either side of your face and his lips are firm and insistent. You’re so utterly baffled all you can do is stand there, baffled. This has come out of nowhere. 

By the time you have your senses about you he’s pulled back, swiping a thumb across your cheek and staring into your eyes. 

“What?” is all you can manage. Aziraphale seems to notice something and glances at himself. 

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

And with a glimmer, it’s Crowley standing before you. 

This only serves to make you more confused. 

“What?!” you say once more, with feeling. Crowley grins sheepishly. 

“The angel told me. I didn’t believe him when he said it at first, and he told me you’d never confess yourself… so he suggested a swap.”

Things fall into place. Yes. They told you they’ve done this before. You never thought you’d be on the receiving end. 

“You cheeky bastard!” you snap, thumping his chest. 

“Oh! Ow, what was that for?”

“I can’t believe you’d play a trick on me! I look like an idiot!”

“You look like an idiot? I’m the one who didn’t realise I’d made it seem like your friend had made a pass at you.”

You pause in your tirade. 

“You meant to make a pass at me?”

“Well I didn’t kiss you for no reason did I?”

You consider this and suddenly all the anger leaves you. You deflate under Crowley’s touch, which you realise he still has on you. 

“We’re idiots, aren’t we?” you ask quietly. Crowley shrugs. 

“Maybe. But then I’d be an idiot who wants to kiss you again.”

“I think that would be quite alright with me, actually.”

He does. 

“Oh, Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“Never do that switcheroo thing again.”

“Cross my heart.”

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@specter-soltare@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@willbedecided@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound @darktealrat@chaospossum @belilwen @rex-ray @hunterispunk

#crowley x reader #David tennant x reader #good omens x reader #Request

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Should you write it? Uh, please do!😭🥴😩 as a corporate girlie I would love me some Office!Ghost tbh, maybe you’re from another agency working intel on a joint operation w 141 and he gets a kick our of teasing you bc you’re such a stark contrast with your cute lil briefcase and the business casual dresses, totally not used to working literally on site surrounded by all these military/law enforcement men you usually do work for behind the scenes in the safety of your office

PAIRING: Office! Ghost/Co-Worker! Ghost x F! Reader 

WARNINGS: that particular kind of tacit sexual tension you find in corporate Britain || sexy eye contact from across the bullpen || filthy language || 18+ only

A/N:  corporate girlies unite! || anon is referring to this post || i tried to do the prompt as it was but realised that I know nothing about how the military works :) but this is fiction, so we ball, I hope you like it anon! I have no idea where this fic going, please help :)))

Part 1 of 4 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

***

It starts simple before it gets complicated, as these things tend to do.

There are exactly two things that keep you motivated in this job—the smoke breaks you take 5 times a day, and the off-chance of seeing Ghost around the base.  That’s it.  Two things.

And one of those was being ruined by your newest friend’s lack of enthusiasm for the other thing.

“I bet he's blond.”

Simon just takes a deep drag of his cigarette, looking at you with the distinctively irritated side eye that he gives you about 12 times a day.

“Ask me why I think he's blond.”

“No.”

But you’re undeterred.  “He just has that energy, you know.  I’ve only ever seen him with MacTavish, and he stands there like a tall, sexy, dumb…tree.  Like, I bet he’s fucking gorgeous, but he’s also giving blond himbo.”

Simon’s eyes roll up to the sky in irritation.  “I dunno what himbo means.”

“Yeah you do.  You said you’ve worked with Ghost before.”

You almost want to perform a pirouette in joy at getting Simon to finally look at you.  “N’ what of it?”

“Then you know what a himbo is.  It’s Ghost.”

You don’t even try to contain your manic laughter when Simon just about turns and leaves.         

***

What Simon doesn’t understand (the cantankerous bastard) is that you’ve made eye contact with Ghost a few times around the base.  The man is more elusive than average, even in this line of work.  His presence around the base is...well.  Entirely consistent with his moniker.  The man is a ghost.  

Sometimes you wonder if it’s all really performative, but something about the way he moves in the spaces around him leads you to conclude that maybe he’s omnipresent after all.  He'll catch your attention from the periphery of your vision, only to disappear when you try to actively seek him out.  He melts into the background of wherever he looms, like a shadow. (Or a Ghost).  There and not there, all at once.

And on the rare occasions you’ve seen him around, he keeps to himself.  Not surprising, given everything you know about him (which isn't a lot), but what is interesting to you is the way he looks at you.  And when he’s around, he does look at you.

You can't say you mind, considering you look at him too.  Even after all these years working with big, handsome, massive men and women, day in and day out, you still can't say you've gotten used to it.  And you could never be used to someone like Ghost.  

But then there’s Simon.  The other man you’re finding yourself increasingly attracted to.  

They tell you he’s only there temporarily and as punishment.  You can't even begin to imagine who could (and would even dare to) punish the big grump.  You don’t actually know why he’s being punished with desk duty, and even if you wanted to, you have no way of finding out.  He won’t tell you, and neither will your supervisor. 

More importantly, you decide, you couldn’t care less. 

Simon’s punishment means that your week has suddenly become very, very interesting.  The mood around the office is different while Simon sits at your absentee colleague’s desk.  People are quieter around him—uneasy and the slightest bit put off by his brutish nature. But you can’t deny that there is something about Simon, something you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.  The man is just...effortlessly sexy.  

You sit across the room from him, but facing him, and so every time you look up, he’s there.  The height of the desks combined with the height of this mammoth man mean that you can’t see his entire face, but his eyes stick out from the top of the desk partition, and it’s enough to create…issues for you. 

Five days ago, when you'd walked into the office, and noticed a stranger on Davis’ seat, you hadn't actually known it was him.  He was just...some guy.  A nose that looked like it had spent more time being broken than not, wicked scars running down his face and into his lips, mean-looking but with the most expressive brown eyes.  And then your supervisor introduced him to your team as Simon.  And that was it.  Thus had begun your love affair with permanent arousal. 

You must be one of Pavlov’s dogs with how you’ve been conditioned to associate the feeling of his eyes on your face with wetness between your legs.  It’s mercilessly constant and you’re left feeling achy and unsatisfied every day, having to content yourself with rubbing your thighs together for some much needed relief.  And through it all, Simon just watches you.

You know he’s interested.  And he must know of your reciprocity, because your traitor face gives it away, and because his interest is quickly replaced by smugness.  

During a brief stint of temporary insanity, you consider confronting him about it.  But what would you even say?   So sorry, Simon, you big, scary, grouch, but would you just please hit this and we can both call it a day and I can move on to making heart eyes at Ghost again? Hehe, no.

But you’re stubborn to a fault, so you befriend him (albeit with you doing most of the hard work in your “friendship”) and downplay your attraction, while he pretends he doesn’t spend most of the day making bedroom eyes at you.  Win-win.

And if you end up carrying an extra pair of panties in your purse, then it’s not like he needs to know about it.

****

Taglist: @devcica || @kneelingshadowsalome || @tiredmetalenthusiast || @xintothewoodswegox || @miyabilicious ||

#ask #anon ask #request #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #corporate girlie anon ily #Coworker! Ghost #Office! Ghost #lumi writes

[rogueddie]

Fluffy Steddie Fic Recs

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🎀

Steve Harrington Tears the Munson Doctrine to Shreds

Peachesandpears

Eddie had always been more than happy with the quick and dirty of Indy. He’d always been content to get his rocks off with some guy with the mutual understanding that they’d never have to see each other again. It was the beautiful symbiotic relationship of two gay dudes who would forever be a stain on the collective American moral conscious. And he loved being a stain on moral consciouses.

But Steve fucking Harrington, the goddamn bastard, is making him yearn. Tore the Munson Doctrine to shreds, the sacrilegious asshole.

Words : 8,325 Chapters : 2/2 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

Thank Our Lucky Stars (That We Can Call This Ours)

steddieeddie

A lot has happened in Steve Harrington’s life, specifically in the last six years. Too much stuff for one person to deal with, and he’s held onto it for too long.

When Robin tells him that shaving his head will help him let go, because hair holds onto bad energy? Well, he’s willing to try anything.

Words : 2,330 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

Bambi, can't you understand?

19_empty_vacancies

“Even if you can’t get the words out, Steve, there’s no disguising the way you look at him. Have always looked at him. You walk around shooting him the big eyes like you’re Gomez Addams looking at Morticia, ready to pounce.”

“Oh God, do you think he ever noticed?”

Words : 4,675 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

A King and His Poet

steviewashere

Steve makes his way to a stack of notebooks. All piled precariously on Eddie's way too cramped desk. One has a large beer stain on the cover. Another is burned in the corner from a dropped joint most likely. There's one more with an ominous yellow stain, Steve doesn't touch that one.

But there's one that catches his eye.

It's a leather bound, small journal.

Words : 1,639 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

listen to the siren's song

atimelessfiction

Corroded Coffin plays at The Hideout every Tuesday, but Steve doesn’t go because of them. He doesn’t go because of Eddie Munson, whose fingers dance over the guitar strings with such a beautiful precision that Steve sometimes wonders if he made a deal with the devil.

No, Steve doesn’t go because of a band with stupid music and a stupid band member who has stupid hair and a stupid voice. Steve goes because his friends go. 

That's the only reason.

Words : 4,512 Chapters : 2/2 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

There Is A Pleasure In The Pathless Woods

crow_of_crimes (Theyna_Shipper)

Hey, um… Do you want to go for a hike?”

If you’d asked Steve what he’d expected when he opened his door at 9am on a Wednesday in March, it wouldn’t have been Eddie, hands in his pockets, chewing on his lower lip, asking that, but somehow it doesn’t phase him.

“Sorry, this is weird,” Eddie adds before Steve can respond. He’s doing that thing where he rocks back and forth on his heels and darts his eyes everywhere, refusing to choose a single spot, like a rodent scanning his surroundings for predators. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Eddie Munson stand completely still. “Shouldn’t have just… showed up like this.”

“It’s alright, man,” Steve says, truthfully. He doesn’t get a lot of visitors alone in his parents’ huge house, except Robin, and she can’t keep him company all the time, especially now that she has her own friends. Dammit.

Words : 4,791 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Side B

Frckn

Steve keeps trying to tell Eddie he loves him, but it never feels like the right time. They keep getting interrupted, and as much as Steve loves their friends, they’re driving him crazy. All he wants is a moment alone with his boyfriend. It really feels like the world is against him.

Words : 8,153 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

starsdontsleep

Dustin might ask him to watch DnD, but Steve attends because of Eddie.

Words : 2,241 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

At the speed of love (nothing changes faster)

Guardthenest

Somehow, Robin has talked Steve into an LGBT Speed Dating event on Valentine's Day. He's just doing it to be a good friend, he definitely does not care about finding love. Definitely not. But when it happens to sit down right across from him, who is he to say no to Cupid?

Words : 4,695 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Absolute Beginners

IntoTheStardust

Eddie asks Steve and Robin to fill in for two of his D&D members. Steve has more fun than he could have imagined.

Words : 3,488 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)

pricklywhicket

“So what you’re telling me is that you’ve never had a birthday party that was for you? No nerdy superhero themes, no dinosaur balloons, nothing?”

“Nope,” Steve replies, popping the ‘p’ in a way that Eddie just knows he’s picked up from Robin. “The last couple I’ve been too busy to even remember. So, like I said. Not a big deal, don’t make a thing out of it.”

“Oh Steve. Stevie. Babe.” Eddie’s voice has taken on a manic quality that almost always means trouble.

Words : 7,457 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

The "Friend Date" (oneshot)

jamsin_3

Steve gets stood up by a girl. Before he can make the walk of shame out of the diner, he's surprised when Eddie enters to erase Steve's humiliation. Based on that one Tumblr post about getting stood up on a blind date and a stranger swoops in to try and save the date.

Words : 3,885 Chapters : 3/3 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

A Kiss for Luck and We're on Our Way

badfanfictionaire, LittleMissKnowItAll

It’s the week of Steve and Eddie’s wedding, and boy are they ready to get hitched! Will the week fly by in a flurry of fluff and bliss, or will their emotions get the best of them?

A day-by-day fic leading up to the big day.

Words : 25,503 Chapters : 10/10 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

[bakudekublogblog]

Katsuki is so fucking sick of hospital rooms. He hates the heavy scent of antiseptic, the too-starchy pillows, the way the bed crackles every time he moves. He hates the white-popcorn walls that he’s forced to stare at through the haze of heavy medication. And he fucking despises the plastic tube shoved up his nose with the quiet, but constant, beeping of several machines keeping tabs on his vitals. Everything about it sucks. The only slightly redeeming quality about this particular hospital stay is that he and Izuku are sharing the same room. Apparently, after Katsuki’s tantrum the last time they both nearly died, the nurses figured it was best for everyone if Izuku was put directly in Katsuki’s line of vision. And so there he is, still knocked out in his hospital bed opposite Katsuki’s. Half his head wrapped in gauze, face swollen with purple bruises, he’s bandaged just about everywhere, but he’s alive. Katsuki is too riddled with pain meds to do much other than stare at him across the room. But at least Izuku is there, hooked up to a heart-monitor, softly proving that he’s still breathing. Which gives Katsuki’s battered heart some much needed relief. 

Izuku still hasn’t woken up, though. Stupid, sleepy bastard. Always fucking sleeping when Katsuki is awake. How the fuck has Katsuki had three surgeries, one of them open-heart surgery, and he’s managing to flit in and out of consciousness, but Izuku is still out like a light? Katsuki thought Izuku swore to surpass him. Why the fuck does he think he can fall behind now? Katsuki scowls at Izuku’s tuft of fluffy green hair. 

Wake up or I’ll kill you , Katsuki vows.

Katsuki knows he’s in love with him. He should have known a long time ago really, but having his heart burst put everything into stark clarity. He can’t deny it now. Not even if he wanted to. The next time Katsuki greets death, he will do so without regrets. There’s so much he needs to make up for; he still has so much atoning left to do. He has to show Izuku he will be better and do right by him. Izuku can’t fucking die before Katsuki has the chance to prove himself. Even if Izuku never loves him back, Katsuki must at least prove that he can be good. That he is worthy of standing at Izuku’s side. 

Days pass and Izuku still doesn’t wake. Katsuki’s pleadings only get more desperate. Usually it’s just in his head, but sometimes, when it’s late at night and no one else is around, Katsuki will murmur to him aloud. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Katsuki whispers into the oppressive quiet of their hospital room. Only the soft chime of Izuku’s heart-monitor answers him. “You don’t have to be mine. Just wake up. Don’t make me live in a world without you.” 

Shadows dance as headlights stream through the curtains shading their window, and for a moment Katsuki thinks maybe--- but no. The car passes and Izuku hasn’t stirred. God fucking dammit. Katsuki doesn’t know why he’s surprised: of course Izuku can’t actually hear him. Tears prick at the corners of Katsuki’s eyes anyway. 

It becomes a nightly ritual. Katsuki’s mind is too muddled with medication to make sense most of the time, but at least it gives him something to do. God, he can’t wait until he’s off all this shit and actually, you know, move and whatever. His arm was so bent and twisted when he was admitted that they had to implant metal poles to strengthen it, and fuck if it doesn’t feel weird. Recovery Girl comes by every day to heal him, bit by bit so as not to exhaust his limited energy, and there’s a quirk specialist flying out from the states to repair Katsuki’s damaged muscle. They have assured him that with time and physical therapy he should get all his mobility back, but it gives Katsuki little comfort. He would cut the whole damn limb off if it meant Izuku would just wake up . 

“Please, for me,” Katsuki whispers, one night after a particularly exhausting round of visits from his parents, Izuku’s mom, and All Might. “Just this one thing. Just wake up. I won’t ask for anything else, just be okay.” 

Katsuki must drift off. The concoction of sleep-aids and pain medications dragging him into unconsciousness against his will. He thinks he might be dreaming when he hears ragged breathing and a soft croaky voice. 

“Ka— K’ch’n… Kach—” 

Katsuki jolts awake, his heart-rate spiking and his head spinning. He can’t have— it couldn’t be—

 “ Kacchan… ” 

[READ MORE]

#bakudeku #bkdk #ktdk #bkdk fanfic #ktdk fic #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #my fics #this is just like. all my post war bkdk headcanons if you even care #lajsdlfkjasdf #anyway please read ily #if you saw me post this then delete it no you didn't!! i did it perfectly the first time fuck u #gwrites

[kiralisa]

BABYSIT GONE WRONG??

probably two parts, sukuna being sukuna. You gotta an attitude, masochist if you squint, not proofread bc I’m silly like that. MDNI

Abt: you’re a special grade sorcerer, second to Gojo. Ofc you had an ego and a bit of an attitude but who would’ve guessed it would be you watching the king of curses…and who would’ve guess it would be him fixing ur attitude.

You wouldn’t say you’re a brat. You’re more like a sarcastic smartass that’s all…you’re a special grade sorcerer, second to the Gojo satoru. So of course your ego would be a bit high for someone who’s had all the odd against them. After yuji itadori was able to abstract sukuna and his soul apart from eachother, sukuna was placed in confinement and his new cage was being isolated with wraps and wraps of talisman. Of course someone would have to “babysit” him to make sure he didn’t cause any mess people wouldn’t be able to clean up and of course…that would be you.

“B…babysit?!!” You yelled clearly shocked and annoyed, you turned to Satoru while grabbing his clothes (your curse technique allows you to disable any curse technique or any attack that has curse energy, enabled in it.) “Look we need someone to keep him on a leash…if you do it I’ll let you use my black card to buy whatever you want.” Ur eyes soon shine with excitement. “Perfect!!! Show me where the ancient grandpa is!!!” You said clearly excited that you’ll be maxing Satoru’s card (which is impossible.)

Skipping your way to the locked door with what looks like a thousand talisman but you didn’t have a care in the world. You simply opened the door easily before pushing the two doors making a loud shoosh almost confusing you because of how easy they were to open from the outside. you soon saw the four armed monster who blankly stared at you making it almost impossible to read his expression. “Great another brat.” He stated before deeply sighing. “Oh calm ur tits babes, I’m only here to ‘babysit’ you~” you said in a sarcastic tone. He turned to look at you clearly pissed off, if Satoru was gonna make you watch him you’ll do it your own way…

“So….why are you uh….that.” You said trying to make small talk. “What do you mean woman.” He said in a deep voice, you couldn’t tell if he was deepening it on personal. “Well I mean you have 2 arms…4 eyes…hey do you have 2 di-“ You were quickly cut off when Sukuna slammed into the cage full of talisman. “Oh..?” You said a little shocked clearly off guard. “You speak to much.” He said while grabbing the cage to were his knuckles turned white. “Aww what are you gonna do about it~” you said clearly laughing because he isn’t able to do anything to you because he’s stuck in the cage.

“If I got out of this…hellhole of a cage you would regret every word you said to me.” Sukuna stated with a scowl on his face. “Awww is Suki flirting with sweet lil me~~~” you said tapping his nose…big mistake. He quickly grabbed ur arm and dragged it in his cage making your body hit the cage with a loud bang. “O..ow asshole..” you yelped trying to get up before he stepped on your arm making you stream in pain.

Sukuna smiles before grabbing ur arm and dragging you even closer into the cage. You quickly tried to get away from Sukuna. “Hah…you can’t even get me in that cage….weak bastard..” you said weakly getting up trying to wipe your bloody nose. “You know…you act all tough but I know the only thing you’re good for is babysitting.” He said in a deep chuckle, of course your ego couldn’t let him say that. “Oh really bitch?! Try me asshole.” You said while angrily walking towards him. He watches you weakly stand while looking at him through the cage.

“Heh…and the only good thing for us being in a cage like the dog you are.” You said before walking away from him. You knew he was getting under your skin on purpose, you were doing the same but it’s only ok when you do it. You turn around and smirk sarcastically at him while he was still deadpanning you due to your comment. It make you chuckle. “So sukuna. Still being pissy?” You questioned with a laugh. “Keep laughing until I actually break your arm.” He stared deep into your eyes.

“What’s the matter old fossil, are you done being a big baby?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, after all the king of curses. Sukuna was helpless against you. You enjoyed his attitude although he almost broke his arm and made you bleed you still couldn’t help but be intrigued by the curse. “Hm..woman I need to tell you something.” He said before getting up walking towards the cage again. “Ugh what could it be king of curses.” You scoffed, 8 more minutes and you could finally leave, you soon heard a jingle of a lock. “Did anyone ever tell you…” you quickly turned to look behind you before u felt a large hand roughly grab you. “There’s a reason why the doors were locked. Because after all…you didn’t think a tiny cage would be able to keep me in?”

Should I make a part 2…?😍😈

Please do not copy, plagiarize, or steal my work!!

But please be inspired by this fanfic and make ur own!

#jujutsu fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna jujutsu kaisen

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: Of course, you had to fall sick. What else could possibly happen when you’re being kept in some bastard’s basement?

Word Count: 2,956

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Non Con (non-sexual), Kidnapping, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Legal Documents, Illness (mentions of Retching/Nausea, Fever), Swearing/Cursing, Bathing, Pet Names (honey, precious). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Not as grody as the last chapter, I promise. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I missed any tags. Happy Second Sunday of Attic Wives Advent! ❄️🎉🍾🙌🏻

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Your body shivers uncontrollably beneath the blanket. If only you had a mountain to burrow under. Something to keep you warm. Yet you’re sweating from every pore. 

Hate burns deep in your belly, swirling with the nausea. That sick fuck is gonna leave you down here to die. Let the fever ravage you until you expire. No. You won’t let it. Your teeth grit even as they chatter. Burning rage fuels you, though exhaustion tugs at your eyelids. Sleep too tempting to resist, you plummet into it. Rest is good—it’ll help your body fight. 

You awaken to a weight shifting beside you a few hours—who could say how many—later. Your eyes snap open, arms flailing to swat at the man sitting beside you. A weak growl rolls roughly in your throat. 

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes as he grabs your wrists. 

You blink and squint into the dim lighting. It’s not Andy—the man imprisoning you in his basement. The older man beside you looks down at your shivering frame with something like pity shining in his eyes. He’s handsome, but you’ve learned to be wary of that. Too many fucked up experiences under your belt. 

“What has Andy put you through?” he asks, muttering more to himself than to you. 

You scowl and turn your head away from his hand lifted to check your temperature. 

“Fuck off,” you grit from a sore throat. 

“I’m here to help you,” the man says with a quick glance over his shoulder. “You can’t live like this.” 

You blink up at him, suspicions dulled by a foggy head but still pricking at his smooth-talking. Like he expects you to believe him. He knows Andy. He’s probably in cahoots with him—friends, thick as thieves. Who knows what this wolf is hiding under his sheep’s clothing. 

The door to the basement unlocks and opens. Andy enters with a tray filled with a plate, pill bottles, a single flower in a vase, a cup, and mug. 

The man leans closer in quiet desperation. “Just trust me.” Even his insistence doesn’t persuade you, though something about his tone piques your curiosity. He stands and backs into a corner as your captor closes the door. 

“There’s my girl,” Andy croons, approaching the bed and setting the tray next to it. “The doctor recommended plenty of fluids and to check your temperature about now.”

He presses the button and the device beeps before he slides it across your forehead. You scowl, but it doesn’t affect the path of the device as it reads your temperature. 

“Oh, dear,” he mutters under his breath. 

Andy places the thermometer aside and cradles your face in his hands. You bare your teeth, but you have so little energy to fight. 

“Her temperature’s higher,” he says to the man in the corner. “What do I do?” His eyes plead, his fingers stroking over your cheek. 

The man pushes himself away from the wall. He approaches and gently sits beside Andy. He removes your captor’s hands from your face. You slump, releasing the tension in your body. In your fuzzy brain, you can’t decipher the look the older man sends your way. 

“You know what needs to happen,” he says with a pointed look toward your feet. 

You unconsciously shift, the chains rattling under your blanket. 

Andy sighs, his chin dropping toward his chest. “Yeah,” he admits in defeat. 

Your ears prick beneath the heat of your fever. What is he doing?

He reaches for the button of his collared shirt. It pops open under his fingers and he reaches inside, drawing out a thin chain necklace and a dangling key. He hesitates with the key in his hand, but bends slowly toward your feet. He draws away the blanket and lifts your ankle to his lap. The click of the lock unlatching sounds like a hallelujah chorus. The chain and ankle cuff fall away with a clatter to the floor. Tears fill your eyes. It’s not much, but already you feel hope igniting in your heart. An opportunity, even if you can’t take it right now.

Without looking away from your foot, Andy asks, “do you really think this is—”

“Yes,” the older man interrupts. 

A moment passes as the two men lock eyes. Andy sighs and leans down again to kiss your legs—higher up your thigh, exposing more of your skin to the cold air. If you could move, you’d kick his teeth in. But he keeps a gentle hand on your ankle in his lap, petting over and soothing the red skin. Even his softest touch stronger than what little you possess in your weakened body. His thumb strokes your ankle bone. You growl, but the sound cuts off into a coughing fit. 

Andy rubs your back as he lifts you in your shivering cocoon of fever. Hiking you up into his arms and holding you close to his chest. He grunts. You protest with soft sounds of fury and surprise. Curses and spite sit on your tongue, unvoiced.

As he climbs the stairs up out of the dingy, disgusting basement you can’t even appreciate it, eyes closed to stave off the bubbling nausea in your gut. Sunlight blooms across your face. You open your eyes to be blinded. Such a normal home around you. Big windows leading to a lush green backyard. 

Your lips open to scream, sure that this is your chance. All you manage is a weak croak. 

“Shhh,” Andy shushes with his head tilting to rest his chin to your forehead. “Don’t exert yourself, honey. Everything’s okay.”

You turn your head and open your lips, biting into his shoulder. Your teeth ache with the pressure. He groans softly and tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead. You stop, stomach lurching. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He keeps climbing up another set of stairs and another like a ladder. The room he enters barely catches your notice, save for the lightness of its walls and its cleanliness. 

The door just to the side of the entrance reveals an adjoining bathroom. He takes you in and sits you on the closed toilet in your blanket. Your eyes scan your surroundings. White tile gleams, pristine. A large sink sits in a quartz countertop which dips into a vanity. A shower head points into a large tub—big enough for at least two. You shudder and close your eyes for a moment to shield yourself from that gut-wrenching thought. 

Water rushes from the faucet of the bathtub and he lets it fill. The sound of it grates in your head. Too loud, too much. Your feet itch. An attempt to stand and run leads to disappointment—dizziness and fatigue too much a hinderance. You groan. Though it catches his notice, Andy says nothing and continues to prepare towels and soaps for your bath. 

You can admit that relief sparks at the prospect of finally getting clean. How long you’ve spent in that filthy, disgusting basement you couldn’t say. Don’t even want to guess. Nose-blind now to your own body odor, you can’t imagine how you smell, and you can’t bring yourself to look in the vanity’s mirror to see the state of your skin.  

“Come here, honey,” Andy beckons while he approaches and tries to strip the blanket from your shoulders. 

“No,” you grit between your teeth, clutching at the fabric. 

With your impaired strength against his, it’s no wonder you lose. He balls the blanket and throws it out the door. A smug smile on his lips. You sneer. 

Delighted at your inability to defend yourself, he hikes you back up into his arms and dips you into the water. One smooth motion with no time for you to snap at him as your bottom finds the porcelain of the tub. Violent shivers wrack your body. The water, it’s too cold. Your hands grip the edge, searching for leverage to hoist yourself out of the glacial water. 

Andy’s hold you down. “Hey, let your body get used to it. The doctor said lukewarm water would help lower your temperature.” His eyes shine down at you, a farce of kindness and sympathy. Too consumed by drinking in your bare figure beneath the water.

Your lips tremble too much to do more than sputter hateful sounds. But your captor doesn’t seem to mind as he begins to douse your shoulders and hair with water and foam up a loofah with body wash. 

“Don’t. You. Dare,” you manage to bite as his hand approaches. 

“Do you think you can wash yourself, honey?” he asks, all concern and encouragement—evil bastard. “Here.” He offers the loofah to your hands. “You can go ahead.” 

The frustration builds. Your hands fumble the soapy loofah before it falls into the bath water. You try again, but each effort to wash your limbs ends in struggle and defeat. 

“It’s alright, precious girl,” Andy coos with a pleased glint in his eye, “let me help you.” 

You’ve no choice. Not when he takes the loofah and softly scrubs it over your shoulders. With the warmth of the water and your waning energy, it’s no contest. You sink down into the water while he manipulates your limbs. 

“You know,” he mentions as he tilts your head back and grabs a soft washcloth for your face. “I’m not a bad guy, honey.” He smooths the soapy cloth over your face and clears it from the dust and debris of the basement. “I just wanted us to have our best chance.”

“Holy hell,” you mutter under your breath, leaning into the distortion of your syllables through your slightly stuffed nose. 

A knock sounds from the door. Your head lifts from its position. Sputtering through the water that splashes in your eyes, you huff a frustrated breath. 

“I have everything ready out here,” the other man says through the wood. 

“Thanks,” Andy calls over his shoulder, turning back to you with a smile. “It’s all gonna be better, you’ll see.”

Curses run through your head, scenarios forming. Each one worse than the next. What hell are they going to put you through now? Andy tips your head back further and soaks your hair with water. 

“I know this might take a moment, but I’ve researched what’s best for your hair.” Pride exudes from his words, like he’s expecting praise from you. As fucking if. 

He squeezes shampoo into his hand and begins. Each step he does with the utmost care. Like you’re some precious, fragile doll fit for breaking. You wonder how deeply he researched—what effort were you worth? He pours more water over your head and shields your eyes. 

God fucking dammit. You’re enjoying it. The pampering. The care. The gentle touch. You retch over the side of the tub, a dry convulsion of your stomach. His hand rubs over your back to soothe you. You want to scream. But you fall back into the lukewarm water, shivers running up your spine, and let him finish. The sooner he does, the sooner you stop that traitorous train of thought in its tracks. 

Once he completes the last step of his routine, he pulls the plug on the drain and leaves you in the murky, receding water. You let your fingers drift until it’s all gone, disgusted by the grime sloughed from your skin. 

“Oh,” he says, coming back to your side with a fluffy towel. He stares at the last dregs of water like you. “Maybe one last rinse, precious.” 

By the time you’re truly done with your bath, you can’t even complain when he helps you stand and wraps you in the fluffy towel. Relief flowing too heavy to fight him off. He cradles you close to his chest and runs his hands along your waist, reveling in your semi-compliant state. 

“There we go,” he sighs in delight. “Nice and clean.”

You grumble but can admit you feel much better. Your head clears as you stand there in his arms, despite the sickness still swirling around in your body and leaving a cloudy haze behind.

Andy escorts you out to the larger room. You glance around. But you halt your perusal, confused by the stranger from before seated at a small table. Before him spreads several papers. You’re sat beside him, Andy’s hands a firm weight on your shoulders. 

“Andy,” he addresses your captor, “why don’t we let her have a moment to herself?” 

Andy pipes up a noise of protest. “She needs to—”

“Andrew,” he admonishes, “give her a break.”

Andy sighs and squeezes your shoulders. You glance up at him. Irritation narrows his gaze. But they both leave. 

You gawk after them. Flabbergasted by the sway the older man has over Andy. The way Andy defers to him. Could this man really help you get out of here? You keep to your observations of them until the door shuts behind them, disbelief and suspicion waning. 

The room falls silent around you. With a chance for a better look around, you notice the light grey walls, the white crown moulding, the tufted headboard on the bed and matching furniture. It looks like someone threw up a Pottery Barn catalogue and a Live Laugh Love Pinterest board, and it congealed into this room. Not your style at all. You grimace. 

Another door stands in the corner—you pray for a closet. You walk over and open it, finding not much. A few frilly dresses, and that’s all. Your brow furrows in disappointment. Better than being naked, you grab one off the hanger and throw it over your head. At least there’s no zipper to grapple with. 

You tug and smooth the fabric over your stomach and legs. The dress not to your preference, it clings uncomfortably to your frame. Your feet find their way back to the table, you glance at the array of documents. Fingers flip through a few of them before your vision swims and the door opens again, just a crack. 

“Are you decent?” the stranger whispers through the small space. 

“As good as I’m gonna get,” you respond with a sigh and a hand massaging your forehead. 

With your reply, he sneaks into the room and closes the door behind him. He glances to the fingers still pressed to the papers and those kneading at your temple. 

“Did you get a chance to read through them?” he asks with a nod of his head toward the table. 

You shake yours. “But it looks like some kind of contract.”

“You’re right.” His hand raises to comb his hair back. It flops over and brushes his cheeks. “Mostly, it’s a non-disclosure agreement. A few other bits and pieces.” 

“For what?”

“Andy’s a lawyer,” he explains while taking a seat at the table. “He understands legal documents. I suggested this as a way to help you.” His hands sweep in a gesture above the papers.

“Why?” you ask, the words tinged with suspicion as you sink into the seat across from him. 

“Why what?” he asks with a tilt of his head. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

The man lets out a heavy breath and stretches his hands across the table. “Andy’s my friend, but he needs help. I know that.” He presses a finger to the sheet closest to him. “This is what I can do. Get you someplace better. Make sure my friend gets what he needs. Make sure he never does this again.” 

Looking in his eyes, keeping your gazes locked, he doesn’t flinch or look away. He’s telling the truth. He wants to get you out, just like he said. You blink in shock.

“So if I sign these papers, it’s over?” you ask, hands finding their way to clutch together in your lap.

“It’s the only way I can see this getting better,” he replies with the same sincerity. He gathers everything up in a pile and hands it over. 

A pen sits by your hand and you lift it. You scan the first document, but with the headache and sinus pressure, it’s all legal jargon you can’t decipher before it becomes blackish grey mush in your eyes. Your head starts to spin. Before you can think better, your signature and initials sit on their respective dotted lines. 

The man breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says, clipping everything together. Gratitude saturates each word, too saccharine. “It’ll be so much better now. I promise, you’ll enjoy the attic much more than the basement.” 

He keeps talking, but static fills your brain. The attic? Wasn’t he going to get you out? He said—he said…you can’t quite remember anymore. Your brain pounds behind your eyes. You clutch at your head. 

The door swings open and Andy charges in, beelining for his friend and flipping through the packet of papers. A smile growing wider and wider on his lips.

“She signed everything?” he asks, voice excited in a way you don’t like. 

“She did.” The older man pats your captor on the back. “Congratulations, you two. I’ll leave you to your honeymoon.” 

“What?” you mumble. A nauseous weight sits heavy on your chest. You can’t breathe. All air sucked out of the room.

The older man comes over to you, crouching and catching your eye. “It’ll be better,” he repeats, patting your hand. “Just you wait. That marriage certificate was exactly what he needed. He’ll take much better care of his wife.” He stands and presses a kiss to your forehead. You wipe your face in shock while he shakes Andy’s hand. He walks away and turns back for one last wave before closing the door to your new hell.

#andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfiction #dark #dark fic #kidnapping #tw kidnapping #yandere vibes #basement wife trope #attic wife trope #attic wives anonymous #18+ #minors dni

[im-in-a-love-cult]

MARAUDERS HCS!!

the original 4 <33

James

So naturally funny. Can literally put a smile on anyones face

feminist.

‘It’s the 70s he wouldn’t be a big feminist!!’ did i ask?? 🤨

British English/Indian

first years are scared of him when they 1st join but they warm up to him almost immediately

has a whole fan club by the 1st years

BEST HUGS ‼️‼️

will lit hug u if you ask him even if u don’t know him

‘hey james can i have a hu-‘ his arms are already around u.

either str8 or pansexual no in between

if someone calls lit anyone pretty he’s like ‘I can see it’ (unless it’s Snape 😾😾)

such a big hypeman

can match energy so well

Sirius

so beautiful

like unnecessarily beautiful

Japanese/British English /French

his french accent isn’t as strong as Reggies

Nobody knows how his lungs aren’t pure crust with how much he smokes ngl

Bisexual

he teases people but he never actually means it

unless he’s teasing snivellus

massive flirt

loves peculiar people

finds them endearing

that’s why he approved of Pandora

Cuz she’s kind and endearing

loves all his friends so much

no boundaries he just loves them

softest hair ever

girls/people with long hair constantly asking his routine

loves being extra flamboyant

God i could talk about him for hours

Remus

he’s usually soft with people but if he’s pissed off he’s a moody bastard

Ugly-hot

loser energy

sorry i’m just bullying him 💀💀

when he accidentally buys a jumper that’s too scratchy he’s genuinely disappointed

bro goes through mild depressions over jumpers

Welsh/British English

never cries but when he does he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it

Roadman 🔥💀💀

Tall but lanky

also he has really bad posture

/ is him basically

always spills his tea

it’s a problem

likes physical contact with people he’s close with hates it with people he isn’t

loves it with Sirius 😼😼

Full on homosexual

besties with Lily

it took a bit for him to warm up to her tho

JUMPY

he’s so AUHSIWHUAG

Peter

‘he’s so nice and quiet 🥺🥺’ THAT MAN IS A MENACE AND YK IT

ok maybe just around his friends BUT POINT STILL STANDS😾

demiromantic

just wants to sleep

relatable

happy doing his own shit but happy around his friends too

sad when James calls Sirius his best friend and not him

hatesss attention being on him

feels like the outcast sometimes

he’s so me wtf

herbology is his fav subject

baby face

SO SCARED OF NEEDLES HE DOESNT KNOW HOW SIRIUS DOENST THROW UP GETTING HIS TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS

cannot seem to find the right haircut

strangely good at breakdancing??

it goes through him when someone cracks their knuckles

in conclusion he is me i am him

apart from the knuckles part i crack mine 😿😿

TELL ME IF YALL WANT MORE WITH DIFFERENT CHARACTERS 💕💕

#marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders era #james potter #peter pettigrew #james & peter & remus & sirius #the marauders #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #wolfstar #jily #jegulus #regulus black #dorcas meadowes #atyd james #atyd marauders #atyd sirius #atyd remus #atyd peter #pandora lovegood #regulus and evan and barty #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #my loves <3 #snivellus #dead gay wizards #dead gay witches #dead gay wizards from the 70s

[vigilskeep]

oh, anders sounds pretty angry when saying the irving line. it's one of those few that sounds esp kind of sincerely hurt, i suppose, you know, the same way he gets riled up in some of his dialogue where he drops the jokey demeanor fpr a moment. which is interesting in general considering how irving described to treat him in thedas info book, like asking the templars to go easier on the boy but then regretting going soft him. and all anders has to say in return is that he hated him, and means it

i think it makes sense to me that anders would genuinely hate irving and it also makes me want to eat drywall so here’s some thoughts on that

being a first enchanter is probably the most privileged position in a circle and it’s also the worst job you could ever have. you’re leader and advocate of the mages. to the templars, you’re the voice of opposition and discord. to the mages, you’re the guy who works closest to the templars, deciding to make compromises, agreeing to make certain mages tranquil, overseeing harrowings, and placating the rebellious. and if you don’t balance this, all those people under your care are going to die

in many ways, irving and greagoir are the intended ideal of a first enchanter and knight-commander. world of thedas vol2 says: “it is a surprise to many that irving often credits knight-commander greagoir for his success as first enchanter. [...] though their friendship was never entirely without conflict, mutual respect and understanding resulted in a working partnership rarely seen in the circle leadership.” (i consider the first part a veiled joke at greagoir’s expense but that’s my very specific irving characterisation lmao.) in the mage origin, irving and greagoir are constantly arguing, but the very fact that irving can do that on the regular while visibly appearing on a fairly even footing is a mark of the respect he holds. it’s a rlly different energy to, say, meredith and orsino’s arguments. likewise, greagoir’s trust in irving during broken circle is phenomenal: he straight up will not annul his demon-infested circle if his first enchanter says it’s alright.

so the trust irving holds with the templars saves the circle. it also makes kinloch hold one of the most lenient circles in southern thedas—yes, it’s still a circle, it’s horrible, but the freedoms that some of the senior enchanters have are insane. you do not win that kind of trust from the templars without concessions. you do not win it, for example, without being the kind of first enchanter who does things like lure apprentices into blood magic and then hand over anyone willing to try it to the templars. it doesn’t surprise me that every part of irving’s behaviour reads as treachery to anders, the guy who said, “i will not stand by and watch while you treat all mages as criminals while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailers!” (emphasis mine, directed at orsino during the last straw.) it’s not in anders’ nature to be particularly charitable to those who collaborate with the circle. the trust irving holds with greagoir puts them visibly on the same team

irving cared about anders. he “took pity on the tearful boy”, he was “endeared” by his friendliness and charm, he “looked upon anders with sympathy”. he told the templars to be kinder to him, and he even made efforts to arrange time outdoors for him and the other apprentices. he worries about anders after karl is taken to the gallows, telling him that even a first enchanter might no longer be able to protect him if he tries anything, implying he has been protecting him all this time, and overall it’s heavily heavily implied that if it hadn’t been for irving’s influence anders would be tranquil or dead. so where’s “i hated that bastard” coming from? because from anders’ perspective, i think even all this still reads like cowardice and treachery. when you’re twelve years old and crying and missing home and you get dragged to someone’s office after your escape attempt, it looks like they have all the power, and all irving ever did with it was cave to the templars to get his meagre little liberties and tell everyone there was no other way. i also don’t doubt that anders deeply resents the idea that he should have to be grateful to anyone for the above. grateful for the privilege of his life? for being allowed not to have his very emotions stolen from him? for a supervised day under the sun if he’s well-behaved? perhaps next he can write them all thank you letters for his hands, since they didn’t cut them off. maybe after that he can pay the rent he owes for the cell he was in solitary confinement in

to anders, i think even everything good irving managed to do for the mages under his care, they’re all placating measures, designed to keep them just comfortable enough in their cages not to break the bars. that’s not necessarily a kindness to the mages, not in the eyes of the guy who came to the conclusion that there can be no compromise, there can be no peace. i don’t think those thoughts are as ummm coherent during awakening—you’re getting them in the simplistic rebellious form of “i hated that bastard” for a reason, it reads like a leftover from a teenage grudge against a teacher (which it also is!), and oversll i think it’s more personal and complicated than all this political reading because irving was so much a part of his life—but they’re there. as a last point on real hatred from anders, i think it’s worth saying that irving was probably aware of and somewhat complicit in things like karl being transferred and anders’ solitary confinement, not to mention presiding over their harrowings and being involved in the making tranquil of surely many people that anders knew. like those are compromises irving made and was probably present for, regardless of whether you think he had any real choices

this is so long but i love thinking abt both characters so much. i’ll leave it there. as usual just thinking out loud, open to discussion etc

#anders #irving #zevsurana academics

[keelywolfe]

Around when did Charlie give Alastor the shovel talk? And did she figure it out before the story even began?

Mmmm, I think she suspected from almost the beginning. She grew up in Hell, she can note the difference between arguing and arguing with intense sexual tension, and also the sudden decrease in public arguments.

I can see her talking it out with Vaggie in their room at night. Vaggie, being a former angel, is horrified to think Lucifer, also a former angel, is letting that nasty radio demon put his hands on him, but Charlie insists it makes sense, sure compatible are drawn together (her and Vaggie) but opposites also attract!

And sure, it's a little...uh...weird...to think of her dad being with Alastor of all people, but Charlie can't help but notice her dad seems a little calmer, easier in his own skin. When he first got to the hotel he was all manic energy, desperate to be helpful, and as much as she understood the reason behind it, she didn't know how to reassure him it was okay. The only thing that would make him believe he wasn't going to lose her again if he said or did the wrong thing was time.

(Cutting because this got long)

So she started family dinner nights to give her dad a chance to be around her little found family, and she warned everyone else off of drinking the last of Alastor's coffee before her dad got a cup, and she watched her dad lose some of that 'King of Hell' protective shell and become more just...him. Her dad, who told her stories she'd never heard before about her childhood and showed her his sketchbook--

(and dad, really, trying to hide your relationship with Alastor and you had THAT sketch right there? Crying out loud, he might as well have drawn little hearts around it! She even tried to give him an out by asking if he sketched anyone else and he so obviously didn't. She still wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated that Angel interrupted him, she was morbidly curious what her dad would come up with.)

--and her dad seems to be settling into the hotel better. And sure, he has a few moments, (finding him obviously fresh from the bar if not drunk was a little surprising but not a daily event) but all and all, Alastor seems to have been good for him. Something for him to push against that had no qualms about pushing back and if that was something her dad needed? She was glad Alastor could give it to him. But yeah, she also totally gave him the shovel talk, probably right after Alastor's little tantrum in the city where he ate the guy having the nasty fantasies about Charlie, and (she didn't know the details, Husk only told her quietly Alastor was protecting the hotel and she believed him) she walked in on her dad and Alastor standing suspiciously far apart in the parlor. Lucifer looked about as innocent as a kitten standing over a container of spilled cream and Alastor never looks innocent. She would have stalked right up to Alastor later that day and told him, "I know you and my dad are sleeping together!" Because asking Alastor questions when you want answers is always a mistake, he is a slippery little bastard and managed to slither his way out of answering with a laugh and a 'Oh, my dear, you and your ideas!' all too often.

Ask him directly, interrupt him before he can prevaricate, and you'll eventually dig a path to the truth. Especially since Lucifer never specifically told him to lie about it when directly asked. "What of it?"

And hey, stories about her dad were highly exaggerated, that's pretty obvious to anyone who ever meets him. Stories about her mother? Not so much and Charlie knows things Alastor would never dream she might, not even in his deepest, darkest nightmares, and if he hurts her dad, he'll learn about each and every one of them. But...if you just want to be with him, that's okay, Just don't tell him I know, not yet, I want to give him the chance to tell me! "It is such a joy to have the opportunity to see the more diabolical side of your mind in action, my dear. Rumor leads me to believe your mother would be proud."

"Thanks a lot. Just don't tell him I know, okay?"

"Agreed. The entertainment value promises to increase by the day!"

"What did I just say about hurting him?"

"Ah, ah, this wouldn't be me hurting him, now would it?"

"No, no, no, not another word, I know you, you'll get me thinking this is a bad idea! Just don't be doing any weird plotting or deals or voodoo magic to him, all right??"

"I assure you, Charlie, dear, when I am with your father, such things are the last on my mind. In fact--"

"No details!!!"

"As you wish." So yeah, I think it went something like that. 😂

#radioapple asks #asks #Lucifer and his THNGVBR #RadioApple #Spoilers