#and looks like she’s about to murder someone 🥰

[pixievi]

She’s so baby girl <3

#assassins creed #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor wolfkissed #lady eivor #assassins creed women #assassins creed eivor #pixievi eivor varinsdottir #pixievi is posting pictures of her wife again #but she’s so hot when she scowls :( #and looks like she’s about to murder someone 🥰

[chrisevansonly]

Smau for Oscar about the tweet that thought he murdered his gf with reader being like??? I’m alive my bf did not murder me

okay i actually wanted to kinda blurb this a bit 😂

“oscar!!!”

a thud could be heard from upstairs before the sound of footsteps pounded down the stairs and a very flushed and red faced oscar appeared in the living room

“what, what are you okay? are you hurt?”

“how could you!”

he frowned his eyes filling with confusion

“baby what have I done..?”

“i never thought you’d ever do this to me”

you scoffed, slightly feeling bad when you watched oscar’s eyes fill with panic and sadness

“honey please tell me what i’ve done…”

“you murdered me!”

biting your lip to stop from laughing you watched as your boyfriends face turned from panic to confusion before he groaned falling back against the couch

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“someone on twitter started a rumour saying you murdered me so i just wanted to mess with you”

he stayed quiet letting out a sigh as you climbed over to him, leaning down and pressing your lips to his and then scattering kisses across his face

“i’m sorry my love..i was just messing around”

“i almost had a heart attack baby…i thought you were hurt or that i’d done something wrong”

after a few seconds he opened his eyes, looking at you, making you pout a bit as you looked at him, eventually he cracked a small smile

“i’m sorry…no more joking around i promise…”

“alright fine…because the next time you do, i might just murder you”

letting out a laugh you hit his shoulder lightly before he pulled you back down to him, bringing you in for a kiss. oscar could never murdered you, what would he do without all your love and millions of kisses?

yninstagram

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris and 643,000 others

don’t worry everyone, i’m very much still alive and still in love with my murderer boyfriend 🥰❤️

tagged oscarpiastri

see 67,000 comments

username HAHAHAH SHE SAW THE TWEETS

username our queen lives to see another day!!

>username for now!!

>yninstagram YOU GUYS😭

oscarpiastri i love you baby

oscarpiastri even if you tricked me…

>yninstagram i love youuuuuu

landonorris aww shucks too bad it wasn’t real

>yninstagram i have a key to your house, remember that😁

username please😭😭😭

#rueswrites #ruesanswers #ruesanons<3 #ruesasks #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri drabble #oscar piastri blurb #formula 1 masterlist #formula 1 blurb #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

[randomperson3736]

Could you write headcanons for 42Miles with a gf who has a hard time pampering herself bc she feels like she doesn’t deserve it, so Miles is just like MAKE IT RAIN!! 💴 💴 💴 and also just keeps complimenting her to help her see how awesome she is?

A/N: Omggggg, yessss I would love to do this cus I feel like 42Miles would literally SPOIL you and make u feel so loved. And thank for the request 😊🥰 I'm also sorry it's kinda short.

~~~~~~~

~Earth 42- Miles Morales Headcanon~

●This man gives me "Wear what ever you want, I can fight" vibes.

●Like everything you wear, this man is gonna compliment you.

●If you EVER say that you don't look good in something... girl this man is gonna sit you on his lap and smother you with kisses and compliments till you take it back.

●Would literally go full murder mode if someone said you looked bad.

●At the most random times, miles would just say "Ma, you look so bonita" (if that's wrong I'm sorry, I don't know Spanish very well 😭) (@iheartmorales thank u for correcting me)

●He thinks your a real life goddess.

●Doesn't care if your a little bit chunky cus he likes his girls thick. 😏

●If your insecure about your thighs or tummy, he would lay his head on your stomach or have his hand on your thigh and gently rub it.

●If you ever feel down about yourself he would take you shopping and buy you EVERYTHING. Even if you say you don't want, he's gonna get it.

●Loves seeing you in like tight clothes. Cus he mainly loves to see all your curves.

●Would always pick you up and carry you to his bed or the couch. And if you dare say your too heavy he would just tell you over and over again that your not.

●Would honestly beat up anyone who made fun of you.

●He would call you "mi amada diosa" everytime you feel down or ugly.

●If you ever say your not good enough for him.... u better stop cus he'll write a full on 50 paragraphs about how your good enough and how he doesn't deserve you.

#earth 42 miles #prowler miles x reader #headcanon #fyp #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #spider man across the spider verse #spider man into the spider verse #x reader #earth 42 miles morales

[eyesofshan-if]

Has this ask been presented yet?

RO's reaction to MC accidently falling asleep on their shoulder during crushing stage 🥰

hansol: goes as stiff as a board. feels like he should wake the commander so that they can move their head. but if they've fallen asleep like this, it must mean that they're tired and need their rest. sits there agonising until the commander wakes up, and then blushes furiously as he tries to explain what happened (nothing happened)

yongsun: hums, amused, and continues what they were doing — carefully, so as not to wake the commander up. would brush their hair back from their face. you've worked hard, my dear commander. would tease them about it after they wake up, but the warmth of the commander's skin on their fingertips lingers long after they have left the royal chambers.

wooyoung: tickles your nose first, to make sure that you're really asleep, before he grins, happy that the commander feels comfortable enough around him to fall asleep on his shoulder like this. would probably take the opportunity to look at the commander's face close up to his heart's content

raon: sees the commander sleeping on her shoulder and gets annoy ed (flustered) immediately. tries to wake them up but fails, but then resigns to letting them stay that way — also continues what she was doing, but tries to be as careful as possible so as not to jostle them. she'll definitely make them pay her back for using her shoulder — does she look like a pillow?

noeul: just freezes when they realise that the commander is actually fast asleep. sits there, completely stunned by the fact that someone finds rest, finds peace around them. the thought makes their heart beat in their chest like a war drum — happiness and terror and joy and fear churns in their stomach. becomes very quiet and simply waits until the commander wakes up, before they commence the teasing and ribbing. you're such a baby, falling asleep everywhere!

????: leans their head against the mc's head as well, savouring their warmth, their presence. counts their breathing, memorising the soft breaths — inhale, exhale, inhale — as though it is a song, a poem to be woven into their heartstrings. would chase away anyone who approaches them for any other matter with a murderous look — no one shall disturb the mc's rest. they would make this moment last forever, if they could.

#o: wooyoung's letters

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 9k (she chonky!).

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.

Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.

“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.

“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.

“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.

“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”

“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”

“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.

“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”

Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”

As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.

“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”

“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”

Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”

“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”

Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”

“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.

“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”

Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”

Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.

“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.

“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.

“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”

Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.

“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”

The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.

“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.

She is puzzled. “Where then?”

“Take me to the dungeons.”

“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”

“So you know the way.”

“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.

Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?

“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.

Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.

Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”

“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”

Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.

His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”

That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”

“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”

It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.

“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”

“She can’t get to the rookery.”

Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”

You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.

Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”

You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”

“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”

You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”

“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”

“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.

Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”

“I will.”

“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”

To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?

“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.

He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.

Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.

Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?

You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.

When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.

You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”

“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”

“Not in your lap, hopefully.”

He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”

“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. “Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.

“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.

“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.

Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”

Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”

“It’s not about that for me.”

“You are betrothed to another man.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“The Usurper is married.”

“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”

“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”

“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”

Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.

“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”

“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.

You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.

“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”

“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”

Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”

“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”

“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”

No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”

Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”

“Yes,” you admit helplessly.

“You’ve never wanted any man.”

“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”

Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”

“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”

“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.

Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.

“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”

He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.

“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”

Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.

Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?

At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”

“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.

What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?

“Father, what—?”

“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.

“Who?”

“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”

“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”

“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”

They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”

“They did the same when Luke was killed.”

Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”

They tore Maelor apart??

Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.

“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.

“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.

“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”

But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.

“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”

“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.

“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”

“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”

You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.

“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”

Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”

Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.

“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.

“Who...?”

“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”

“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”

“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”

“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.

“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.

“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”

“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”

“Alone?!” Everett says.

“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”

“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”

“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”

“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”

“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.

“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”

“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”

“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.

“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”

She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.

The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.

You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.

In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.

“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”

You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.

“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.

“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”

When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.

“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”

She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”

Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.

Aegon is in one of those rooms.

Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.

Sunfyre!!

You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.

“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”

At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.

There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.

“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”

And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.

“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.”

Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.

“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”

But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.

His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”

“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.

“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.

“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”

“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”

He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”

“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.

“This is about you.”

“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.

“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”

“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.

“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”

“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”

“Not yet…”

You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.

He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”

“I want it. I can take it.”

He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.

“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”

“Help how…?”

“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.

You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.

Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”

“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.

“Harder or softer?”

“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.

Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.

“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.

“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”

He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”

“I love you,” you say without planning to.

Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

[cas-kingdom]

For drabble requests how about something for Greys Anatomy where while Derek is busy in surgery the reader comes in injured and Amelia is there to comfort her and make the medical decisions? It doesn’t have to be anything serious really, I’d just love some reader and Amelia bonding 🥰🥰🥰

The walk of shame along the corridors of Grey Sloan was not altogether unfamiliar to you. Many times had you trudged reluctantly along the polished floors of the surgical unit, clutching some injury or another, purposefully trying to avoid the eyes of anyone you knew--which, in such a unit, was pretty impossible.

Years ago, you would have been slightly less embarrassed. Kids always got into medical equipment, right? At least kids of surgeons who were constantly working. But now, it didn't seem quite right. You were a month away from Johns Hopkins, had aced all your exams and probably wouldn't have even needed the reference letters from half the surgical team, and here you were, head hung low in disgrace as you held your bleeding hand to your chest.

If it weren't for the fact you knew your dad would absolutely murder you if he found out you had hidden an injury from him again, you would have locked yourself away in a break room somewhere and attempted to patch yourself up best you could. Alas. Your father was Derek Shepherd. And after the broken nose you'd managed to keep from him for almost twenty-four hours a couple years ago, he'd all but held you hostage until you promised on his life you wouldn't do it again.

So, here you were. Reluctant as hell but somehow still not regretting the situation that had lead you to this moment.

"Hi, have you seen Dr. Shepherd around?" you asked a passing intern. When he made to walk over to the surgery board, finger already pointing at one row in particular, you visibly grimaced.

"Uh, no, the other one. Amelia Shepherd?" You had no intention of crying to your dad today. Your pride had been smashed to pieces enough.

The intern pointed down the hallway and you saw your aunt walking around a corner with another nurse. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you thanked the intern and followed after her. Your pace was fast enough not to lose her but slow enough that you had time to rehearse your lines before you were bombarded with judgment.

Amelia ducked into a radiology room and you steeled yourself before pushing the door open. "Amelia?"

"Y/N. Why are you holding your hand like that?"

You wouldn't have been surprised at the question, in fact you had fully expected it, if Amelia had turned around to actually see who had walked through the door. Your aunt could do powerful stuff, but mindreading was not on that list.

"I saw you earlier." Amelia turned, arms crossed, brows raised. "Well done, by the way. Meredith thought it would take you longer to find someone. I said it would take..." She glanced at her watch and shrugged. "Twenty minutes. Not bad."

Her supposed victory was short-lived when she looked up. Her eyes fell on your hand and her face dropped as she walked quickly over to you. "I'd rather you not drip blood on the floor," she said, an obvious tease behind her words, as she gently pulled you over to sit down.

You made a face, not having realised. "Oops."

"Oops is right, kiddo." Amelia knelt in front of the swivel chair and let you uncover your hand, humming under her breath when she noted the long, jagged line running down the side of your hand from the base of your wrist to the middle of your pinky finger. "How'd you manage this, huh? Don't tell me you found the electrical saw again."

You rolled your eyes. "I stabbed myself, actually," you said matter-of-factly.

"Ooh, that's a new one. With what?" When your reluctance finally kicked in, Amelia looked up. "With what, Y/N?"

Your hand began to throb and only then did you decide that answering your aunt's questions was probably the easiest way to getting relief. "A needle," you said. "I found a suture practice kit and, oh my God, Amelia, you know that's like giving me candy. I couldn't just leave it alone."

Amelia nodded along, gently probing at the red skin around your wound. "So you practiced sutures on fake skin and, what? Sewed yourself?"

"There was a noise outside and I jerked my hand," you deadpanned. Amelia glanced up, on the verge of laughter, and you looked away stiffly. "It hurts."

"Well, lesson learnt. For now," she added after as a second thought. There was a short silence after that was broken only by your hiss of pain when Amelia touched an exceptionally sensitive spot. Sucking a breath through her teeth, the surgeon sat back on her heels and looked up at you. "How were your sutures?" she asked. "Straight? Neat?"

You lit up, Derek's smug smile curving your lips not a second later. "Straightest and neatest you'll ever see."

"That's my girl." Amelia squeezed your knee before standing to her feet and taking out her phone. "Now, what do we tell your dad when he sees you later with stitches in your hand?"

You couldn't have groaned louder. If the chair didn't have a straight back, you would have fallen backwards with the force of it. When you righted yourself, a fierce look of indignation on your face, Amelia wasn't even attempting to hide her amusement.

"I need stitches?"

"Yup. Aaand, lucky for you, I think Derek should be out of surgery by now." Chipper as ever in the face of her niece's almost tangible disgust, she held open the door and nodded in its direction. "Come on, kiddo. He'll be glad to do a little needlework. Bring him back to basics."

You rolled your eyes once more as you got up, cradling your hand to your chest. "Like brother, like sister," you grumbled as you passed your aunt.

"What was that?"

"I said: like brother, like sister, you sadist."

Amelia snorted.

Grey's Masterpost

#grey's anatomy #amelia shepherd #derek shepherd #amelia x reader #amelia shepherd x reader #derek x reader #derek shepherd x reader #amelia x derek #derek x amelia #reader #reader fic #daughter reader #daughter!reader #mine

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

how about poor reader asking friends for help about how to confess to their crush... only for said crush hearing them "confessing" to their nemesis (all gets fixed later I just want to laugh a bit 🙈) feel free to ignore if it's not something that speaks to you it's ok. hope you find some inspiration soon 🥰

eren jaeger overheard you ‘confessing’ to jean. he wanted to shrivel up and die but most of all, he wanted to beat the shit out of jean. he bursts in, fists clenched and you have to explain to him just what’s going on so he doesn’t kill jean.

armin arlert wants to cry when he hears you telling someone else just how much you liked them. he was sure there was something between you two. he’s confused when you do end up confessing to him, when he realized what was happening, he was flattered you had to rehearse.

mikasa ackerman’s heart crumbles when she hears you. she decides to not say anything about her feelings to you and instead tries to convince herself she doesn’t have any towards you.

jean kirstein is furious, that jaeger has ‘stolen’ something from. ‘out of all people, EREN?’ he yelled. you had to calm him down as eren laughed. jean felt super embarrassed about it, turning bright pink.

sasha braus just kind of thinks ‘oh.’ her heart sinks and she decides to go on with her day, despite how sad she was.

connie springer overhears you confessing to jean. he’s more concerned in your taste of men than he is heartbroken. he lectures you on why he’d be a better match than jean. everytime you try to tell him you like him, he just keeps talking.

reiner braun heard you admiring ymir. he’s so furious, devastated, and alone. he doesn’t understand how ymir gets all of the girls. ymir, of course, doesn’t tell him that he’s the one you actually like. she decides to keep him in the dark until you tell him.

bertholdt hoover isn’t the confrontational type. he lets it be, trusting things will work out when they’re supposed to. he’s baffled when you gave him the same speech you gave another. you tell him you were just practicing and his cheeks flush.

annie leonhardt shrugs her shoulders when she overhears you telling someone the depths of your heart. she gives you the cold shoulder until you muster up the courage to tell her but she doesn’t believe you. you really have to convince her.

ymir doesn’t fret when she hears you confessing your love for reiner. she’s not worried about him; she knows she’ll get you, one way or another. she’s not easily deterred.

historia reiss fights the tears coming to her eyes. she tries so hard to keep being her usual cheerful self but she’s so upset, you take notice. she explains to you and you laugh which causes her to punch you in the arm. then, you tell her the truth.

levi ackerman is going to straight up murder zeke. there’s no if’s, ands or buts. goodbye, zeke.

zeke jaeger knows levi is humanity’s strongest soldier but he’s not the best looking one, so he’s confused. he interrogates you head on about your ‘crush on levi’ and you want to smack him in his face for eavesdropping.

erwin smith feels deeply betrayed overhearing you confess your love to his enemy. somehow, he thinks he deserves this and that he didn’t deserve you. he’s awed when you reveal the truth and he curses himself for being so silly.

click here to read my jean fic, i promise you’ll like it

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #aot headcanons #aot smut #aot fanfiction #snk headcanons #attack on titan headcanons #aot fluff #aot fanfic #aot x reader #attack on titan fluff #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #aot hcs #attack on titan hcs #armin arlert #eren jaeger #zeke jaeger #jean kirstein #connie springer #sasha braus #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #ymir #historia reiss #levi ackerman x reader #eren jaeger x reader

[aphroditelovesu]

There’s not enough Persephone x Reader. I need Yandere Persephone

❝ 💐 — lady l: we need it, anon. I made these headcanons of her as a romantic yandere and I hope you like them!! And it's 4 am where I live and I haven't slept until now and I have to wake up at 6 am... 🥰

❝tw: obsessive behavior, mention of stalking, manipulation, implied murder.

❝💐pairing: yandere!persephone x gender neutral!reader.

Persephone is very subtle and calm about her obsession. She has a calmness and a gentle, peaceful aura that makes anyone let their guard down around her. The goddess is so soft and so gentle that it is so easy to trust her and fall in love with her.

She was so beautiful and so sweet that everyone fell in love with her at the same time and how could they not? It was not only her beauty that was overwhelming, but her kindness and care were appreciated and desired by all the gods of Olympus, but even so, she was never interested in them.

Persephone wanted to love and be loved in return but no god or goddess left her enchanted enough and there was still her mother who was very protective. But it wasn't just that, the goddess of spring wanted to have an overwhelming love, someone to love for the rest of eternity and she knew that none of these charming gods were that person.

And after years turned into centuries, Persephone had lost hope that she would find someone she loved so intensely. The goddess of spring had resigned herself to her fate of spending eternity at her mother's side. That is, until she sets her eyes on you.

You were a normal human and had your life like any other, a mundane life without much drama and you liked it. You liked the tranquility and calmness of your life and were satisfied with it. You loved spring, especially. You loved how the flowers bloomed after the end of winter and looked so beautiful. It was something almost divine.

In a way, you loved Persephone without even knowing her. You caught her attention during a sunny day, you were in your garden taking care of your plants when an unknown woman approached you and watched you. You were a little uncomfortable being watched, but decided to be polite and ask her what she needed.

Persephone was moved by that and she wasn't sure why. You had caught her attention a few days ago, after she decided to observe the flowers that grew where humans lived by herself and she found you taking care of some plants with so much care and love that she was captivated.

It was as if you took care of her, because she was the goddess of spring and you loved this season. Persephone needed to know more about you and she knew quickly when investigating her life. She was pleased with what she discovered and just needed to get closer to you.

Persephone was so gentle and subtle with her feelings that no one noticed anything seemed wrong. You fell in love with this goddess and she fell in love with you, and everything seemed perfect. Persephone was so loving and caring, that once you were in her arms, you forgot everything that had happened. You felt safe and loved around her.

She is not possessive and does not feel jealous so often because Persephone does not allow someone to get close to you. She is an emotional manipulator and knows how to deal with your feelings in the right way and not allow anyone to steal you from her. You were hers and Persephone won't let anyone ruin that.

Persephone takes very good care of you, she loves you with everything in her and all she wants and demands in return is to be loved in return. She loves to spoil you and give you expensive or simpler gifts, her favorites are bouquets of flowers. She loves going out with you and strolling through flower fields or lying next to her in silence. There was something intimate about simply cuddling under a tree full of fruit.

The goddess is a great companion, kind and so protective. There's no way not to like Persephone. She loves with everything in her and will do anything for you because all she wants most is to see you happy. It's easy to get carried away by the sweet words she whispers in your ears and the loving touches. But maybe, if you take a closer look, you might find that she's not as innocent as she appears to be.

Persephone has a dark side that few know about, only those who have done wrong with her or with you know and it's not pretty. There's no way she'd let you see that side of her, not when she wanted to make sure you stayed with her forever.

#yandere greek mythology #Yandere greek gods #yandere persephone #yandere persephone x reader #persephone x reader #headcanons #yandere headcanons #greek mythology #greek gods

[coentinim]

James' particular tastes

Or, headcanons about introducing JPM to snuff films

18+! Under 18 - bye bye or I will block u

Contains: descriptions of murder (not detailed), snuff film description (not detailed&made up), nsfw content (blowjob, fear kink, JPM is a sadistic voyeur). It's essentially pretty fluffy. Dark&sexual content ahead!

Credit for a lot of ideas to the darling @nahoyasboyfriend (check her acc out or else🔫)

James who is illiterate when it comes to technology, and completely unwilling to learn. You, his modern lover, however, have taken the initiative in making him learn. Of course you can't just show him a smartphone app, as that might scare him away. But the hotel is already full of ancient TVs, so why not start with that? James was not fond of the machines, as the Simpsons or Supersize vs Superskinny were not in his preferred repertoire, so you had to go and buy a variety of VHS tapes for you two to watch.

Of course you start with the classics - a ton of 1920s movies to help ease him into it, then a bunch of classics like Gentlemen prefer blondes or Breakfast at Tiffany's. He enjoys the movie nights you have planned for the two of you - he likes the wine, the sliver of human interaction he so misses, and the glow of the TV reflecting on your face. Seeing how the art of film changes is a nice bonus, he is an intelligent man after all, he can appreciate the evolution of the 10th muse.

After a while, you have the idea to show him a different type of movie; classic horror. He seems to like Psycho or The Shining, but not as much as the romance movies... you thought about showing him more scary and gorey films, such as Saw or Hostel, but you figured he'd get quite bored and disgusted by them. He was a killer himself, those films wouldn't entertain him one bit! The fake blood would seem ridiculous to a man as... experienced as him for sure. You figured he needed the real thing... real blood, real tortured screams, real open flesh!

After digging for a while, you found some real snuff tapes in some obscure horror (gore porn) VHS shop. Nasty, it seemed. All untitled, in black boxes, and you had asked the seller to play a bit of it before buying to check if it was real. And, as someone who dated a serial killer and practicslly lived in a murder hotel, you could tell the recordings were very real. Oh, he would love to see them, you thought. Anything for him! Even illegal murder and torture footage🥰

His pants felt awfully tight at the way she screamed and thrashed. He was an impatient killer, but he always had a fantasy of torturing his victims for hours on end. He rarely had such a privilege, though, as the adrenaline rush was too much of a temptation to really delay taking his victims' lives. He loved to see it on a screen, though. Watching the torment before the woman was shot felt like edging too him.

You expected him to watch the footage with you and tell you about some particularly memorable murder, as talking about it was one of his favourite pastimes. But instead, he just watched one entire tape (about half an hour long, of a woman being slowly tortured with various methods) with a completely straight face, not looking away for a moment.

"Replay it and... yes, here. Kneel, darling, I need you to do something very specific.", he said in a dominant tone, that syrupy voice of his dripping with lust and determination. You obeyed instantly, overjoyed that he seems to really like your gift.

He made you take him in your hands and jerk him - slowly, teasingly, making him groan in desperation. Then he gestured for you to take him in your mouth. You warmed his hard cock, salivating over it, watching as the light from the screen reflected in his wide eyes as he took in the gory scenes before him. He paid you no mind, thrusting up occasionally and making you gag in surprise. You realized he was edging himself to the girl's suffering. The thought of his debauchery was enough to make you wet, and his stiff cock down your throat definitely helped, too.

You knew the footage was ending soon, because he started thrusting into your tight throat aggressively, holding the back of your head and grunting obscenely with every hip movement. The sound of a drill piercing flesh and the woman screaming was blurred out by the noise your pretty little mouth made; all the gags and slurps. Once you heard the gunshot, you felt him finish in your throat. He whined loudly, eyes glued to the screen, as he didn't want to miss anything of the disgusting scene before him. You swallowed all he had to give, like a good darling, and you panted for air clinging to his leg. He really just took you to the sight of a snuff film; it was like porn to him... you were astounded, but positively surprised, because the warmth of his cum in your mouth and the chill of fear from watching the tape made you feel woozy. He pulled you up, so you were kneeling between his legs, hugging his torso, his hands loose around your upper back. He held you so protectively you couldn't believe the disgusting act you just witnessed. Oh, you were so perfect for him!

There were still a few tapes left...

Not tagging anyone bcs I'm ashamed of myself sorry babes! I didn't forget abt you.

#james patrick march #ahs #ahs hotel #american horror story #american horror story hotel #james march #james march x reader #ig #ahs headcanons

[teyums]

complete random thought that i wanted to share, neteyam 100% likes em a little insane. hot girls are always borderline unstable, serving jennifer’s body vibes but in a non murderous way 🥰🫶🏻

NOOO 10000%. And it kinda turns him on when you’re riled up ngl… 😗 loll the way i identify w this so much bc i literally have anger issues, someone get me a teyam STAT!!

contains: language, hinting towards events!

Neteyam sat on a stool in the corner of your shared hut, head tilted while his eyes trailed you angrily pacing back and forth through the hut, with an agenda you wouldn’t let him on.

“Baby-“ He reached out for your arm as you whisked past him and to the other side of the room, sighing to himself when you yanked it away before he could grab onto it. “Baby. Please calm down, you’re scaring me.” He chuckled nervously, gulping as you picked your bow up from the ground.

“That bitch is gonna be real scared of me when I’m done with her ass.” You laughed dryly, so involved in what you were doing that you didn’t notice him shoot up from where he was and stand to his feet at your threat.

“So what, you’re going to shoot her with an arrow because she said she doesn’t like me?” He guffawed, hands on his hips.

“No, did you see me grab any arrows? I’m going to use the wood of my bow to beat the living shit-“

He was in front of you in one long stride, his strong hands holding your biceps in place so you couldn’t move away from him. Moving his head with yours everytime you tried to look around his body. “My love, It’s okay.” He spoke slowly, dragging the last part of the word out for emphasis while he looked into your avoidant stare. “Why don’t we just take a second to calm down, hm?” He suggested, rubbing his large hands up and down the smooth skin of your arms.

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to protest, but your breath catching in your throat when his hands fell to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Why don’t you let me… calm you down, yeah?” A smug smile spread across his face at his own suggestion, it only growing wider when your eyes locked on his for the first time during this whole ordeal. Clearly indicating that you were interested in what he had to offer.

You unknowingly dropped your bow to the ground, no longer interested in your previous mission. Gazing up at him intently with big eyes and he immediately sensed your demeanor change, taking that as a sign to continue.

“Yeah, you’d like that huh?” He nodded, hands falling to grip lower and palm at the soft flesh below your waist. Sending your mind into a frenzy as you leaned into him and instinctively slid your arms around his neck.

He hummed at your dazed expression when his fingers walked inwards toward the center of your loincloth. Quickly lowering himself and hooking his hands under your thighs to hoist you up into his hold before things could go any further.

You bit back a quiet moan when his soft lips found the sweet spot on your neck, legs winding around his torso as he carried you into the other room, away from the door. Dedicated on making you forget what you were even mad about in the first place.

#neteyam sully #neteyam drabble #avatar 2 #neteyam x reader #avatar way of water #neteyam #avatar twow #neteyam x you #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam imagine #neteyam oneshot #neteyam x y/n

[greg-montgomery]

what makes hotch so appealing to you?

this is for day 15 of the marchhotchness event by @hotchfiles bc i always want an excuse to rant about why i love aaron hotchner 🫶🏻

to me, aaron = safety & comfort.

he looks like someone who no matter what the problem is he’s gonna deal with it. he’s a “we’ll figure it out together” man. you can count on him!! it just feels like he has all the answers! i’d never be scared if i had him by my side. imagine being loved by this man. it’s just !!!!

i love the “dad of the group” vibe he has. bc once again it’s that protective energy that drives me crazy. and makes me wanna be special to him.

he’s been through so so much. he’s so strong. the woman he loved was murdered and he’ll always feel responsible for that even if it wasn’t his fault. he saw her dead and had to be calm enough to comfort his son - NOT EVEN KNOWING IF HE’D FIND HIM ALIVE!

everything is always falling on him and yet he never complains? he feels like he’s not enough, he has so much on his shoulders but he only talks about it to haley in that dream he had :( “it gets hard. and i’m alone.” and yet he keeps doing his best for jack and for his team.

he’s a sweet and patient dad to jack. carrying a picture of him and haley to his trips, watching videos of him and smiling, kissing him goodnight, making cookies with him, hugging him, helping him with his halloween costumes, visiting his teacher to keep up with how he’s doing at school 🥹

he has the reputation that he’s tough and serious and all that, which like…yeah he is. he’s scary. but to the people he loves? pls let’s see how he is with penelope who is his soft spot. every time he comforted her 🥹 when he stayed with her bc she was sad and they cooked together!! when he told her she’s special and wouldn’t want her to change! when he didn’t get mad at reid for calling him a narcissist and choosing him bc he didn’t look at things selfishly. he could have been offended but his only concern was getting spencer back safe so he knew he was lying. when he was so protective of emily and said “if anything happens to her i will destroy you”. when jj was pregnant and he was so hurt she didn’t tell him :( he’s doing his best to be supportive and protective of them and he still feels like an outsider probably :( when he went to elle’s house to clean the blood off her wall. the tough love he gave to morgan bc he wanted to protect the team and make him leader of the group. he felt responsible for everyone.

and i mentioned this again but he’s lonely :( and lonely characters have my heart. you can have family and friends and still feel lonely sometimes and i think that’s aaron. and i wish i could take that away and never let him feel lonely ever again.

and ofc another thing that makes him appealing to me is that he is the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen in my entire life 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

#marchhotchness #hotch 🪐

[roxy-writes]

GIRLY DO MAFIA BAKUGOU AND KIRISHIMA X READ AND MAKE IT SMUTTY!!!!!! It's fine if you don't want to😅 BUT IF YOU CAN THAT WOULD BE GREATTTTT!!! LOVE YOU BESTIEEEEEEE 🥰

OK IM DOING IT. also i've lowkey been putting off my asks so if i haven't responded i'll get there soon lol <3 sorry

warnings: not proofread, smut, reader sits on bakugo's lap, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader has a pussy, extreme dubcon, biting, reader gets spanked, noncon creampies, reader cries, dead dove: do not eat

You sat tied to a chair in Katsuki Bakugo's office. You didn't know a lot about what was happening, just that he was a fairly well-known mafia boss and this was very very bad for you. He sat in a comfortable looking chair on the other side of his desk, his right hand man standing tall beside him. Kirishima Eijiro, who appeared way less threatening than his counterpart. But you figured he's probably just as bad as Bakugo, if not worse. You knew pretty much why you were here.

You were taking a walk somewhere, you can't remember where. The alleyway you saw was a nice shortcut, sure, but you probably should've just gone the long way. You didn't really expect to see someone being brutally murdered when you turned the corner, of course. As Bakugo turned to face you, the unknown body slumped to the ground at his feet. You sprinted away in the opposite direction, but you weren't fast enough, and that's how you ended up here.

"I was going to just kill you, but my partner here convinced me otherwise. How lucky you are. Well, I don't really know about that. You'll probably think you're better off dead once we're done with you." Bakugo says. You wonder what the fuck that might mean. "We obviously can't let you go though. You'll have to be of use to us in some other way." You're pretty sure you know what that means, based on Kirishima's hungry look. "Untie her," Bakugo commands, "not like she'll be able to escape." Kirishima moves to follow Bakugo's orders and only then do you notice his teeth. They're razor sharp, and they look dangerous. You figure things can't get any worse from here.

But of course they do. Bakugo makes you sit on his lap, the bump that you feel from under his nice dress pants rubbing against your thigh. He's changed since you first saw him, thank God, so there's no blood on him. You're frozen in place, his hands planted on your ass. There was no denying he was attractive, but this was not a situation you wanted to be in. "Kirishima, what do you say we get he used to how it's gonna be here?" Bakugo says, and fear rushes through your body. You're bent over the table in seconds, your dress being torn off your body. You want to struggle, but you know it won't do anything except anger him. He rips off your bra and panties, and your nipples harden at the cold. He beckons Kirishima over, and the red-haired man crouches down so he's face-to-face with your cunt. You're scared of those teeth being so close to your pussy, but Bakugo keeps you from being able to tilt your head to look at Kirishima. Kirishima's first long lick up your slit has you holding back a moan. "Make some noise, bitch." Bakugo spits, so you stop holding back as Kirishima sucks on your clit.

His tongue enters your hole, making you clench and keen. You're nearly forgetting about what's really happening and starting to focus only on how he's tongue-fucking you. Then his tongue's gone and his teeth are sinking into your thigh. You cry out in pain and squirm, which only seems to egg Kirishima on as he marks your thighs up. One of his big fingers slips inside of you and curls, pressing against your special spot. You cum with a cry as Kirishima licks up the blood dripping down your legs. Fuck, it aches. You hate to admit you're sort of turned on by it, but it still fucking hurts. Bakugo's already pressing his dick to your entrance and pushing in. You're still sensitive and you moan. He's bigger than you thought he would be, but he doesn't give you any time to adjust to the stretch as you expected. He immediately begins pounding into you. He shakes the desk with every thrust, and the edge of it digs into your hips.

Bakugo slams into your cervix. You make a noise of discomfort, and he raises his hand. He brings it down hard on your ass, the sting making tears form in your eyes. He does it again on your other asscheek, and you try not to make too loud of a noise in fear of what he'll do. You just whimper quietly as he fucks you. He's gonna cum soon, you can tell by how much he's twitching inside you. Oh shit, you think, he can't cum inside. You're not on birth control, oh shit, oh fuck, you think. He's definitely not wearing a condom. "No, fuck, don't cum inside, please!" you yell, but he just spanks you again. You feel hot ropes of cum coat your walls and tears stream down your face. You can almost feel him smirk. Kirishima shoots you a sympathetic look from where he was watching. You press your face into the desk and sob.

this is my 100th post lol

#kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #katsuki smut #bakugo x reader smut #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut #mafia au #dead dove do not eat

[kittyamore0]

Slashers find out their S/O has killed:

[Part 2]

A/n: IM SO UPSET BECAUSE I DONT HAVE MY REGULAR FONTS 😭 😔 A/n: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH A:n: I COULDVE JUST COPIED AND PASTED OFF THE INTERNET BUT IM TOO LAZY TO RE DO EVERYTHING 😖

CW: Murders, Sexual themes and GN! Reader.

Little note: I was going to add Lester and Bo to part 2 but I was busy while making this so I have to add them in part 3

Billy Lenz 🎄🎅📞

He’s more excited at the fact that you’re just like him, crazy!

He instantly got aroused 😃

Definitely stole some of your underwear’s (or bras) and returned them all sticky, and damp…

the way he found out was when you helped him kill Jess

”Jess, [Name], the caller is in the house,”

but you knew that

you’ve always known

so when Jess started panicking, you found it a good time to surprise her and Billy

It frightened you when she had a weapon, she could’ve killed your Billy!

So, you took the other fire poker

you stabbed Jess in the shoulder when she got dragged by Billy

I cackled when Billy yanked her hair through the stairs railing 💀

And before she could react, you slit her throat

“it’s okay, Billy,”

damn, you were always hot, but with blood on you? 😍

“[Name] saved filthy Billy…?”

you’re smart ass pinned it on Peters and he got arrested

you sneaking back to the sorority house to see Billy - 🏡 ⬅️ 🏃‍♀️💨

Tiffany Valentines 👰‍♀️❤️🧸

[this goes for her human body and doll body]

She honestly wouldn’t care, you kill, she kills, you’re even hotter when you kill.

wait, wha-

she finds it adorable and hot of you when you kill

will literally pull up a soft chair, some snacks and a face mask and sit there watching you take your anger out

“Go baby!”

”You got this, hun’!”

“They went that way!”

“Good job, woo!”

Very supportive

you were a killer when you met her

That’s how she fell in love with you!

“How many people have you killed?”

“34,”

“Hey, you know, you’re kinda cute…”

”I know,”

fell in love with you instantly.

Carrie White 🔥👩‍🎓🩸

You never kept it a secret from her, but instead of telling her that it’s innocent people, you told her that it was people that use to mock and taunt you

she doesn’t think it’s okay, but because it’s you and because they were ‘awful’ people, she pushed it away

also doesn’t judge because she did kill people with her powers, but in her defense, she was so pissed

Also accepts you because you helped her run away from her abusive mom.

every time you come home from committing mass murder, she already sets up a bath and tries to cook

her mom didn’t care about her, so she’s only learning how to cook just now

hey, at least she’s trying 🥰

you end up cooking, but she repays you with nice cuddles after !

Jennifer Check ☆💉🩸

how you met was…interesting…

you always had a crush on her

and would always get pissed whenever some boy or girl hit on her

so when someone flirting with her actually kissed her cheek

you lost it.

let’s say that they didn’t have their happily ever after

when she found out, she became infatuated with you

a really devoted, smart, and pretty/handsome person? Sign her up

she definitely confessed first

like Tiff, she also doesn’t care

you kill anyone, she kills boys, no exception

and if you’re a boy, you’re an exception

will cheer you on as well

just more lazily than Tiff

After your killings, she’ll invite you to a lake

you obviously say yes, not thinking too much of it

until you see her naked in the murky waters

definitely pushes you in

mocks you for how flustered you get

yall definitely had a good time 😏

Vincent Sinclair 🕯️🔪🔥

Vinny just finished working and he was looking for you.

a bit worried when he couldn’t find you

then he heard footsteps, your foot steps.

don’t ask me how he knows your specific footsteps

and Jesus, you were a literal bloody mess

you had about 4 limp, lifeless victims

“Vin-ny!~”

you were awfully happy

blushed a little when you happily sung out the syllables to his nickname

pointed to the 4 bodies

“well, I’d thought I’d help you with work and it’s a thank you, for um, uh, everything…”

the silence was loud

really loud

but he nodded and huffed

making you plaster a grin on your face

he’s definitely blushing under hat mask

big bear hugs after work ! ❦

#billy lenz #slasher community #billy lenz x reader #black christmas #bride of chucky #childs play #tiffany valentine #carrie white #carrie 1976 #carrie white x reader #jennifer body #jennifer check #jennifer check x reader #chucky #house of wax #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x you

[christinesficrecs]

Hello!! I hope you’re having an amazing day your blog literally means so much to me.

If this isn’t too much to ask, I would really love some angsty low self esteem Sterek fics. Happy ending only, though. It could be either insecure!Derek or insecure!Stiles, I’m good with either! I really appreciate it :) thank you!

That's so nice!! 🥰 These are only a little angsty, because I'm me. ;) And I possibly tripped over some mutual pining fics. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork | 17.3K | Explicit

In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Convenient by  exclamation | 10.7K

Stiles knows what he is to Derek: convenient. He knows that Derek isn’t looking for a relationship, just someone to have casual sex with. Which is why Stiles is so surprised to find Derek setting up a romantic dinner for Valentine’s Day.

It’s Been Four Hundred and Ninety Days by paradis | 4.4K

It’s been four hundred and ninety days, and it took Derek forever but they’re at day one again.

I Just Want You For My Own (More Than You Could Ever Know) by yodasyoyo | 16K

“What is with that sweater, dude?”

Derek ducks his head to look at it, abashed. “Uh- Mrs Hernandez knitted it for me. It’s an early Christmas gift.” He smooths it down self-consciously.

Stiles cocks an eyebrow.

“What? She’s my neighbor and sometimes I-” Derek trails off. Stiles’ other eyebrow rises to join the first, and Derek sighs. “Sometimes I help her carry her groceries."

Of course he does. One day maybe Stiles will stop being in love with Derek Hale, but today is not that day.

Hide by dr_girlfriend | 12.4K | Explicit

Stiles has been rejected so many times that it doesn’t really surprise him when it happens again. Hurts, yeah, because dammit — he’d thought Derek was the one. Heartbreak sucks, and he’s not so sure he’s going to get over it this time.

Incommunicado by WhoNatural | 5.4K | Mature

Why is Derek being so weird?

Derek looks up from where he’s adjusting his shirt back into his pants - really? - and pauses. “Stiles?”

Clearly something in his scent is giving him away, but he’s too busy swallowing against the sting of bile that has made its way into his throat and checking behind the couch for future murder victims because Derek is totally cheating on him.

Cookies, coffee and shut the fucupcakes by DropsOfAddiction | 26.2K | Explicit

“Ok. I’ve got a few shirts with me because I came here straight from work, but I think it’s going to be a tight fit. I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be but I’m not exactly the same hunky physique as you, oh grand macho werewolf,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek runs his eyes blatantly over Stiles’ chest.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek mutters, and he slams his mouth shut, teeth audibly clacking together, as if he really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by lielabell | 8.6K

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It’s clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles’s body can’t help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn’t the first– and most likely won’t be the last– hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek. 

A Little Sugar by exclamation | 4.9K | Mature

The first time they had sex, it was after Derek paid Stiles’ rent. The second time was after Derek bought Stiles’ groceries. It wasn’t hard to work out the pattern. Derek hates himself for taking advantage of Stiles and tries to convince him that any form of payment is unnecessary, but he can’t seem to break the cycle.

waiting for you to say it first by paradis | 8.2K

Four months.

Four months they’ve managed to avoid one another. Stiles quit going to pack meetings. He quit doing research unless Scott really, really begged him to. He avoided driving the road that led out to the turnoff to the Hale house, he avoided going to all the spots where Derek might possibly be. Four months, and now, here they are, standing in the Minit Mart, Stiles thinks, staring down at the grimy tiles. He can hear the catch of Derek’s breath, and he closes his eyes and breathes deep.

Safety in Silence by Survivah | 66.9K

It’s perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn’t want to be Derek’s soulmate.

Relationship Status: It's complicated by kellifer_fic | 4K | Mature

Okay, I know this is a huge stretch for you, but can you please pretend you're like, into me?

Have It All by doc_sock | 5.8K

Derek is glad that he and Stiles are fuck buddies, really. So he wants more than that. So what? It’s not like what he wants is important.

Stay, Stay, Stay by  drunktuesdays | 2.2K

He should have expected this. He knew it, knew Stiles was always in this temporarily. Derek knew it wasn’t forever. The only thing that’s surprising is that Stiles is lying about it.

Closer Than Most by Finduilas | 46.9K | Explicit

Laura organizes a charity bachelor auction to raise money for the wolf sanctuary she and Derek inherited from their parents. Derek reluctantly gets roped into bidding on one of the bachelors, and he sure as hell doesn't know what he's getting himself into when he decides to bid on Stiles.

A Question of Pack by CawCawMF | 5.2K

Stiles had always been sure of his place in the pack. That place being the absolute lowest tier in the hierarchy of werewolf pack dynamics, but he was sure of it all the same. He wasn’t necessary exactly, since just about anyone could conduct research on supernatural mythology, but his job was still important to the pack and he felt good about that. At least, that’s what he always thought. That all came crumbling down one sunny afternoon in the form of Jackson’s big mouth.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #insecure!derek #insecure!stiles #mutual pining

[roseaesynstylae]

So, the idea of the Bad Batch (minus Echo, plus Emerie) being the other half of the Nulls has consumed my goddamn mind. Therefore, as you do when an idea takes up residence in your frontal lobe for the foreseeable future, here's some headcanons.

The Bad Batch (except for Echo and Omega, who have no clue what's going on) hate the Nulls. As in, "murder on sight" hate them. From an in-universe perspective, there could be a myriad of reasons, ranging from feelings of abandonment to resentment over them having a better life. From a writer's standpoint, it's because I love me some good old familial dysfunction and angst.

The more...unhinged...tendencies the Nulls are known for manifests in the Bad Batch more as "let's jump off this cliff and use explosives to direct our fall!" and less as "hey, check out my new skin gloves!" Of course, if you push them too far, it's a different story. In order of least to most likely to pull a "lemme turn you into an art installation," it's Omega, Wrecker, Hunter, Crosshair, and Tech. Omega wouldn't do that, at least not at this point in her life. Wrecker, when enraged, goes for the just-hit-them solution. Hunter's a decent human being and usually wouldn't do something like that...Unless his kid's been kidnapped by a crazy Imperial doctor for the fifteenth time, on which point he starts becoming a little deranged. Crosshair hovers close to the line but wouldn't do it to someone unprovoked. Tech is a special case, in that he has to be pushed, but when he is, the results make the rest of the Nulls go "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST."

The Nulls want to reunite with their lost siblings and build a relationship, but that's kind of hard to do when said siblings (except Omega) keep trying to kill them on sight and none of them were built for intricate and deeply complicated emotional issues. Still, they persist. Eventually, they could probably get to the level of "awkward conversations" but it'll take a lot of work.

The Bad Batch have what makes the Nulls superior to regular clone troopers, plus their unique enhancements (which in this version are less defects and more Nala Se picking an attribute for each of them and cranking it up to 11). They feel that it makes them better than the Nulls, something they're not shy about expressing.

Emerie is the same height as her estranged (I can't think of a word that applies to this specific situation but this one will do) brothers, because I stan a tall queen.

Nala Se is smug as hell whenever she sees Orun Wa. "CT-9904 just broke all records for accuracy, CT-9902 discovered a new element, CT-9903 crushed beskar like it was paper, and CT-9901 tracked a man through five systems and a solar storm. What are your clones doing, again?"

There is no understating the sheer "wtf" that goes through the Nulls' heads when they first see Omega. But, of course, this is Omega. Imagine the cutest image of her you've seen, fanart or canon. That's what the Nulls see when they meet her. Unsurprisingly, the Nulls, who got the Mandalorian gene to adopt anything that isn't nailed down, go from "wtf" to "so smol 🥰" in roughly a minute.

Kal Skirata is in the corner. His attempt to interact with the Bad Batch did not go well. He casually calls Hunter "son," as he does with various characters, and the resulting explosion puts a thermal detonator to shame. Since it's clear that his presence is not making things better, he's sort of just in the corner.

The rest of Clan Skirata, and associates, are staying out of this. Gilamar and Vau took one look and retreated to the bar because they know better than to get involved. Everyone else witnessed one of the less acrimonious encounters and collectively decided that they are not jumping into the emotional equivalent of a pit of rabid wolverines.

Echo is the go-between. He does not want to be the go-between. But he's the only neutral party in this thing aside from Omega, and the rest of the Batch don't trust the Nulls with her.

Spare a though for 99. He raised four of these guys, often with the aid of leashes. Truly, he is an unsung hero of the Clone Wars

#star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb #republic commando #star wars republic commando #repcomm #clan skirata #null arcs #ordo skirata #mereel skirata #jaing skirata #kom'rk skirata #a'den skirata #kal skirata #prudii skirata #clone force 99 #hunter #tbb hunter #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch hunter #clone trooper hunter #ct 9901 #crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #ct 9904 #wrecker

[gulnarsultan]

Immortal Modern Reader and Yandere Conquerors, before marriage.

Of course at first Immortal Modern Reader never thought that her beloved dragons wanted to marry her and she thought that affection she was given by Conquerors was platonic. Immortal Modern Reader gave kisses to Visenya, Rhaenys and Aegon on their cheeks (you know platonic kisses) and hugs. However Immortal Modern Reader noticed that her dragons becoming more touchy and kisses and affection wasn’t platonic, but became romantic.

One time Yandere Visenya wrapped her hands around Reader’s waist and pulled her closer. “Tired?”- Immortal Modern Reader asked. Then Immortal Reader felt kisses on her neck from Visenya, at first Reader thought nothing of it, until Visenya licked her neck. “Visenya? W-What are you doing?”- Immortal Modern Reader asks with worry. “Nothing~ I just missed you”- Yandere Visenya answers.

Or when Yandere Aegon just stares at others with a look on his face explaining everyone “I’ll murder you” all because Immortal Reader speaks with someone and doesn’t give him(Aegon) attention.

Immortal Modern Reader: What was that about?😑

Yandere Aegon the Conqueror: Nothing~☺️🥰

Then Aegon gives a kiss on Reader’s lips, and leaves. Immortal Reader shocked by what just happened.

Or when Yandere Rhaenys asked Immortal Modern Reader “Y/N~ Can I kiss you? Pretty please?” Immortal Modern Reader thought Rhaenys meant a kiss on the cheek, so of course she allowed Rhaenys to do it. But Immortal Modern Reader didn’t expect that Rhaenys would kiss her in the lips. Immortal Reader was too shocked that she didn’t notice how Rhaenys pushed Reader against the wall, held Reader’s hands down, and started to kiss her with tongue. Finally awake from shock, Reader stops the kiss and asks Rhaenys “What-What do you think you’re doing?” “What do you mean? You allowed me to kiss you.”- Yandere Rhaenys answers.

Immortal Modern Reader: Yes, but not in the lips.

Yeah, Immortal Modern Reader would be shocked and definitely would be scared a little, although Yandere Conquerors won’t stop their advancement

The conquerors will most likely do so. The poor reader is in trouble with the children she raises.😅🤣😂

#yandere game of thrones #house of targaryen #house targaryen #aegon the conqueror x reader #visenya the conqueror #rhaenys the conqueror #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere visenya targaryen #yandere rhaenys targaryen