#incurred a cross

[integer-0verflow]

The animal crossing effect is referring to all video game currency as bells

#it’s incurable 😔 #animal crossing #acnh

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Well at least I'm not expressing any other horrific traits pouf has <- he is willing to remain openly trans in the state of fucking florida

#''if something terrible happens at least it will be in my line of duty 😤'' HELLO?? #I would rather drop dead than go back into the closet + most people dont like conflict but #one day the wrong person will try to hand me a wooden cross and will see the pronouns on my nametag #and i suppose that's the risk I'm willing to take to make other queer people feel safe with me but #i do jeopardize my own safety to an extent by having my buttons on my bag (which no one really sees at work but #it's all public bc it's on my bag i carry everywhere) and. idk. maybe i dont wanna accidentally martyr myself? #only thinking this morning about how this is potentially more and more dangerous as time goes on and. #standing up like this will only incur further risk and maybe that's not a good thing.. #hoatm rants

[starshipsofstarlord]

“thought you were mad at me.”

“it’s a hate boner, i swear.”

summary. you and daryl, despite fighting and surviving side by side for years, have always had a tendency to get on each others nerves. the one thing he hates more than your recklessness however, is seeing you hurt

warnings. boners duh, swearing, mentions of death and turning, daryl skinning an animal, feelings, daryl being a boob man, no smut, slight angst, love confessions, implied smut

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

There were many possible things that you could do to enrage Daryl Dixon; you’d been comrades for many years and it would have been suspicious if the two of you hadn’t found a way to flawlessly get on each others nerves.

Currently you were seated in your station of living, ass planted on a kitchen chair as you endured silent treatment from the archer whom was skilfully removing the outer layer of flesh and fur from a lifeless badger.

Your arms crossed upon the aged oak of the table as you silently criticised the lack of noise - the air was tense and riddled with thick annoyance, it was difficult to breathe through. To Daryl’s dismay, your fingernails danced in an attempted rhythm upon the surface of which that were layer atop of, creating a chorus of taps that were audible within the quiet room.

The sound filled his ear drums, and his attention drew away from the black and white striped creature that was in the process of having its fur stripped from its lifeless flesh upon the counter, and he irritatedly gritted his bottom row of teeth. He was becoming tired of your reckless habits, and the fact that you cared not for making one sorry mistake that would risk your life.

Despite the countless chances that he had had, he’d never told you of the feelings that he quietly harboured towards you, he kept them locked away from your knowledge, afraid that if he were to open up, he would only lose you, or that you would reject him for his deep infatuation. And that scenario was already on the verge of taking place, you’d been foolish, and luckily escaped with only scrapes and a few bruises.

But he was angry at your carelessness, it was as though you didn’t care whether you continued to live or died. His knife slipped across the badger’s skin, creating a thin red line through the mammal’s corpse as he stared down at it, hoping the morbid sight would distract him, though the sight didn’t sway him from being mildly aware of your presence.

Each fibre of his body was tense, he knew that you were hurt, somewhere on your body that he wasn’t certain of, but you hid the destination, which only brewed furthermore worry in his heart and chest. What if you were bitten? That would be something that he would never forgive himself for, that he hadn’t been there to protect you from the most gruesome process that a human could experience.

You would either turn into a cannibalistic monster that had an imperishable thirst for anything that breathed, or you would need a deadly pressure to your brain to prevent the walker transformation from completing itself in the vessel of your body.

It was an incurable disease, and you were all infected one way or another, but the bite would only enforce the burden of becoming one of them to a faster process. Daryl’s brain was haywire with emotions, his hand forced a tighter grasp around the knife, until he released it from his grip, placing it beside the spoils of his hunt.

He whipped around, glaring at you as you seemed undisturbed by the catastrophic ramblings that his brain was swirling in by its lonesome. Your brow arched in contempt, as you hid a smirk as you had seemed to make a crack in his brooding. But instead of his silence, there was a riddle of careful treading in his determined steps that slowly but intently made their route towards you.

Instead of being flabbergastered by his sudden change in exterior motives, you remained exactly where you were, fearless of the concoction of emotions that were emitting upon his face. Your hands continued their dance, precipitating farther exasperation to coil around the stealthy archer.

“Show me.” Daryl’s tone was brisk and harsh as they fell efficiently from his lips, and you ogled at them discreetly, employing the thought of them upon your own in your imagination. With a toying smile sprawled upon your lips, you cocked your head in query, stepping up onto your feet, allowing the entirety of your weight to fall upon them.

“Show you what? How to speak to a woman, because your tactics really aren’t working Dixon?” Not everything was a joke, this was a serious situation to him, yet you could not fathom that! Your words only made him enraged with your lacking will to look after yourself. It befuddled each cell in his body to think with common sense that you had managed to live this long, but he threw that building monologue away and as far as possible from flowing off his tongue.

He cared and that was all he wanted to show you, but it was impossible when you were so… impossible yourself! “The wound y/n. I swear ta god you better not be hidin’ a bite.” The hissing undertone of Daryl’s voice shocked you, whilst during past events he had made comments of his distaste for your methods of ‘getting things done’, he had never called you out so directly.

A pang in your chest told you how much you resented him using that tone to address you, but you shook it off, understanding that he presumed that you were destined sooner rather than later to meet a set fate. “Never took you for a religious man Daryl.” You gulped in your efforts to smother your blossoming timidness, hunching your shoulders as you pushed down on your confidence to make eye contact with the man. “And I’m not bitten,” you huffed, refraining from rolling your eyes, “I can prove it to you if you want.”

“Yeah, I do wan’ tha’.” He sternly replied, and all of a sudden you felt vulnerable. You rubbed your lips together anxiously, before reaching down and bringing your hands to the end of your shirt, beginning to peel it over your head, throwing the material that now hid little from sight on the table. In the moment you felt no regret for opting to wear a bra, but you still felt the need to surround your arms around your chest, which only drew more attention to your breasts.

You craned your neck, gouging his reaction as you turned to angle your ribs to his eye-line, the prominent flush of pink and purple bruising painting your side in a tie dye artwork effect. His lips parted, as his baby blues turned their focus from their rude excavation of your subtle cleavage to your side, his pupils wildly darting around the area with both relief and disdain.

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his face with his large palm, as he realised that another part of his body continued to be distracted by his the other parts of your body that were teasing him with their supple beauty. “We should see if there’s any ice in the infirmary.” He stated, awkwardly feeling encased in the roomy kitchen. “I’m sorry, didn’ mean to make ya feel like ya had to show me.”

He felt stupid. So fucking stupid. Whilst he was never brought up in that way, he always tried to be respectful towards women, and he respected you more than most general people. If he were to voice his certain love of you now, or any when after this situation, he would look like an utter idiot.

“It’s okay.” Your voice sounded smaller now, and hated that he was the one that had burst your bubble of troublesome words. “I understand, enough of us are no longer here. You needed to make sure, and I appreciate that Dar.” You bowed your head, and luckily you were looking at your own feet, Daryl thought, as he felt compressed in his pants.

“I’ll go get ya some ice, and some pain killers.” Daryl was prepared to rush off, but as he was about to brush past you to do the errands to treat you that he had just listed, your arm swung, as your hand caught ahold of his wrist, dragging him into your personal space. On any other heart warming situation he wouldn’t have minded, you’d hugged before during hard times, but not when he had a… problem.

Instantly your y/e/c eyes shot in the direction of his face that was blooming into the shade of a beetroot. You had realised, you couldn’t not have. “Thought you were mad at me.” You teased, and Daryl felt the remainder of his body grow stiff as he released you. He would never live this down, you would never let him forget this.

“It’s a hate boner, I swear.” He attempted to save himself from your prodding smugness, however he knew all too well that was a losing battle. Your face returned to its coy assertion, aiming your mischievous smirk towards him - his erect cock was your fault, that was obvious. And you had been on a road too long without even hinting that you felt something more than seeing him as found family.

To once have thought you deserved happiness would have sounded like a sickening joke, and you would have maniacally laughed at the delirious prospect, but your hue of vibrant damage from the impact that had clashed with your side, and Daryl’s morbid assumption had reminded you that life was truly too short to waste any scrap of time.

“If you forget about the ice,” you deflected from the ache that pinched your bloodstream, “then maybe you can forget about that badger on the side too and prove that you’re not breaking a swear. What goods a ‘hate boner’ if you don’t get to prove how much you allegedly hate me?”

“Could never hate ya.” Daryl leant down and placed a peck upon your forehead, as his hand ghosted against your cheek, brushing your bottom lip with his rough padded thumb. “Now settle down, ya need some pain killers woman, I ain’t playing games no more. I ain’t lettin’ ya pretend you’re fine, can see you’re not.” He glanced down at the large bruise once again and physically winced; he knew you were in pain, anybody would be with such an infliction of harsh force.

“Then how about we stop this game for once and for all?” You weren’t sure if your words were for him or you, but nevertheless you drew your faces closer, allowing the tips of your noses to brush. “I’ve loved you since- I can’t even remember when I realised it, it just happened. And from then on, it’s something I can’t shake, and I don’t want to.” You confessed open heartedly, putting the secrecy that you had hidden for so long on the table.

Daryl felt his heart jump out of his chest, sure you’d make some infectiously teasing remarks at his expense, but he never thought that a woman like you would have the desire to be with a redneck tracker who had been born into a life that already had its share of issues. “I-“ Daryl took a deep breath that filled his wide chest, as he realised that this was the moment that he felt as though he had waited eons for. “I love ya, have done since the first time I saw ya. Couldn’ get ya outta my mind, jus’ wasn’t sure that someone like you could ever love someone like me…”

“Trust me Daryl, you can be more sure about it than your hate boner.” A laugh tumbled from your lips, and whilst Daryl adored the sound more than the tapping that your fingers had done on the table, he decided to shut you up. With his hand on finding purchase finally on your cheek, he pulled you in, meeting your lips as your mouths melted together, his opposing hand hovering over your extreme bruising as though he could protect it from the air itself.

The kiss was filled with each memory he held of you, each flashed like a tribute in his mind behind his closed eyes, as he finally felt shockwaves of passion flow between you. It was the best thing that he had experienced since the outbreak had began, and each moment of turmoil and agitation was worth it. He was finally home, with you, the person who accepted him wholeheartedly.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader

[one-idea]

Is there anything out there yet about a Nika worshiping cult trying to capture Luffy. Because there should be.

Maybe the crew comes a cross an island and the people are way to friendly. It’s giving Zoro flashbacks of Wiskey Peaks and he’s already starting to warn the crew not to trust these people.

But they’re so nice. Offering the crew food (Luffy’s sold)

and taking about a treasure hidden on the island (Nami’s all in as soon as money is brought up)

There are beautiful women who are more then excited to watch Sanji cook (Sanji’s suspicion is gone instantly)

Usopp’s with Zoro, always be cautious. But then they start complimenting the Sunny and Franky is proud to tell them about his baby and Usopp gets roped into talking about his inventions and then people are complimenting him(“come on Zoro-bro lighten up.”)

Brook is entertaining while Sanji cooks, both wrapped up in the tasks and the women around them.

Chopper’s been distracted by all the people complimenting him

The only people still on guard are Robin, Jinbei, and Zoro (no matter how much sake they put in front of him he’s not going to drop his guard. Not when the people seem really focused on his captain.

Robin is indulging the crowd but her eyes are sharp waiting for the Betrayal to come. It’s how she survived for so long and she’s not losing her crew.

Jinbei’s been around for a while and while he starts to drop his guard. (His captain and crew seem content to enjoy themselves, relaxing might not hurt) he hears some whispering of Nika in the crowd. He can’t pin down who is talking or what is being said but he’s not letting his guard drop until he knows their intensions.

Zoro is staying pretty close to Luffy as he watches over the rest of the crew. One of the villagers hands Luffy a drink and he downs it without thinking. And then he starts choking.

His hand goes up to his throat and he can’t breath. There’s no air making its way in. Zoro’s attention is immediately on his captain. Holding him up and trying to figure out what is wrong. The crowd starts to push in towards them and Zoro is quick to draw Wado Ichimonji holding Luffy close with his other hand and calling for the crew.

He can’t draw Sandai Kitetsu yet, she’s screaming for blood and he is to but he can’t give in to that impulse until Luffy is safe with another crew mate and they know what’s going on. It’s the same reason he doesn’t draw Enma who calling for the death of anyone threatening their king. Wado Ichimonji is protective of Luffy, loyal as Zoro and while she also wants to kill anyone who harms their captain she’ll wait until Luffy is out of harms way before demanding blood

The crew quickly gets between the crowd and their captain. Chopper quickly realizing the Luffy’s been poisoned.

Robin demands the antidote, already holding several of the leaders with her devil fruit ability. But the leaders laugh and tell them that there isn’t one. Why would they give him something with an antidote when they were trying to free Nika.

The crew starts to spiral at the first part, there has to be a cure! But then the second phrase registers. What do they mean free Nika?

Jinbei asks, more demands an answer. He can hear Luffy’s struggling gasps getting weaker and weaker and the whole crew is ready to burn the island down if they stop.

The leader smiles and goes on a tangent about how they have waited for Nika and they know he resides with in their captain. And that their prophecy says that to free Nika they need to kill his host.

Right now Nika is suppressed by his hosts consciousness but if the host life is put in danger, if he is about to die Nika will come forward and keep the body alive. They want to bring Nika forward. If they wounded Luffy then Nika would only stay in command until the wound healed. But an incurable poison. Nika will be in control for the rest of time. The sun god will return. And all it will cost is the life of their captain. They should be honored that they get to witness this glorious moment.

The strawhats are losing their minds. They can’t be serious. That’s not how devil fruits work. If they don’t give them the antidote right now they will all die!

Jinbei cuts through all the yelling and tells them they are wrong. He’s seen Luffy at deaths door before and Nika didn’t awaken.

But just as he finishes his sentence. Luffy’s body spasms and he goes rigid before his body goes lax and he fall deathly still. Zoro still has a hold of him and has to witness/feel the whole event as he called out “Luffy!” Alerting the rest of the crew.

For a moment everything is still. Then Luffy’s eyes snap back open but they are a different color. His hair turns stark white, his clothing changes as well. But it’s not like Wano. There is no laughter, no Joy. And isn’t it haunting to look at joyless Joyboy.

He rise up out of Zoro’s hold. He barly looks at his crew and when he does there is no warmth in his eyes.

This is a god that is furious at his host just being taken from him.

This is my base idea. From here I think I would have the crew go on a quest to find a cure for Luffy.

All the while Nika is standing there in Luffy’s place once they leave the island Nika is back to being Joyfull but it’s different from Luffy. They have to stop the god from running off (how do you contain freedom?) he’s laughing and bouncing around but he’s not Luffy. He knows all of them because Luffy thinks of them none stop but it’s that second degree of knowing someone, like meeting a friend of a friend. All of the warmth and love Luffy shows his crew is missing because Nika isn’t Luffy.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #straw hat pirates #roronoa zoro #one piece zolu #zolu #nami #usopp #one piece brook #Jinbei #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #nico robin #one piece franky #tony tony chopper #sun god nika #Nika cult au

[aemxnd]

the fire king | aegon ii targaryen x velaryon wife!reader

Aegon needs to have his own way for once. 

Inspired by a filthy anon request for Aegon with absolutely no limits…

WARNINGS: consensual non-consent/dub-con, basically p0rn with very little plot, canon typical incest, v fingering, squirting, physical force, p in v, language, praise, degrading, mention of virginity loss, overstimulation, aegon going from cute to angry to cute again, slightly fluffy if you squint, absolutely not proofread sorry not sorry

WORDS: 5.5k

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

Fuck this. 

Aegon’s mind rattled through the infinite curses that could spill from his tongue in that moment, yet his immutable standing as King of the realms forbade him, an invisible gag clutching at his lips.

Fuck. This. 

The council meeting had dragged on with no tangible progress, supporters whining about Rhaenyra’s uprising from her Dragonstone seat, hapless solutions to an impending battle floating in the stagnant air and looming like a stormcloud in the room. Although he’d resigned himself to his fate as their chosen heir to the Iron Throne, it brought Aegon no joy to bear witness to the endless bickering in his name. No matter how hard he protested, his mother or grandsire would soon interject with an alternative, alluding that they knew best and it would be wise to follow their instruction. A king in nothing but name, Aegon had no true command over his own destiny. Compliance came first, contentment came second. 

Fuck all this. 

Aegon’s fingers danced over the glass orb perched before him, the pad of his thumb gliding over its cool, smooth surface his only distraction from the banality of his position. Like his idly occupied digits, memories swirled of a more peaceful time spent in the bowels of the Street of Silk, when a simple cloak could conceal his identity yet the mere mention of his name would open doors closed to all but the onetime prince of the realm. Although such heady freedoms had been snatched from him with the placing of the crown upon his silver curls, there was only one thing such halcyon days of his life lacked: his Queen.

Betrothed to the youngest of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen’s heirs since the Driftmark succession, the pairing sought to publicly immortalise the union between High Tide and the Red Keep, or at least in the eyes of the slowly perishing King Viserys who longed for peace between his Targaryen offshoots before he departed his mortal body. Little did the two factions expect the couple forced together for political appearances would fall so deeply in love as Aegon and the Lady Velaryon. From the moment their eyes first met over the grand banquet at the succession, every interaction between them seemed as natural as breathing. From chaste brushes of fingers as they clanked goblets in toasts to Aegon’s uncharacteristic soft giggles as his gaze dropped comfortably to his chest before snapping back to lose himself in her lilac eyes.

The Lady Velaryon brought out the best in the drunken prince in the blink of an eye. He swore off cups and promiscuity that same night, resolving that no amount of bitter wine and fleeting company could rival the ecstasy coursing through his veins when his betrothed looked upon him as if he were the only man in the known world. 

The star-crossed lovers were wed the next day, saving their first kiss for the moment they were announced man and wife. Aegon stepped nervously toward her, reaching a hand to cup her cheek and capturing her lips, two jigsaw pieces slotting into place. In the years that followed, his lady wife guided Aegon through his father’s demise, his council’s enforcement of his claim to the Iron Throne against his father’s final wishes, and the ensuing rise of incurable ill will between House Targaryen’s fiery branches. Throughout the rumbles of conflict that would surely melt down the Iron Throne, the only constant in his life would be the Queen at his side, hands clasped at her front and a comforting grin dancing across her lips. Whatever troubled waters he faced in the day, he could always retire to his chambers to the calming brook of his wife’s arms. Although the therapeutic steady stream would soon burst into a fierce waterfall once Aegon’s hands fell upon her irresistible frame, their tidal waves colliding together among the sheets and crafting a devastating tsunami in their wake.

“Your Grace?” The distant voice of the Hand called through Aegon’s dream-like stupor, snapping his consciousness back to the dimly-lit council meeting hall. Vision focusing slowly on the Hand’s figure standing bolt upright across the table, his countenance expectant yet determined all at once. “What do you suggest, your Grace?”

“I… uh…,” Aegon stuttered, gaze darting around the table for a signal of the conversation he missed, meeting only blank faces eagerly awaiting his response. “I… think we should all… uh… retire for the evening. It is late, we have spent hours debating our next move and now the hour of the owl is almost upon us, our judgement is clouded. I order you all to return to your chambers to consider the situation anew on the morrow.”

Aegon slammed his fists on the table insistently, rising to his feet with their aid as the eyes of the room bore into him bewildered. 

“Your Grace, I strongly suggest we—.”

“Yes, grandsire, I am certain you have a veritably long-winded suggestion to raise to keep us here until daybreak,” Aegon seethed through gritted teeth, fists tightening beneath him against the ageing wood. “But I, on the other hand, have a wife I must attend to. I trust you remember what that feels like.”

A stony silence fell amongst the present number, Otto’s brows knitted together.

“But your Grace, I must protest—.”

“I dare you to protest against me once more, ser!” Aegon’s tightly coiled temper snapped into a booming roar, his bark still echoing around the chamber seconds after his last syllable left his tongue. “And I will have your head on a spike for defying the King’s orders!”

The tension in the hall was so palpable, Aegon could swear the very air hanging over the council table pulsed and swelled, taking on a deep crimson hue. His own laboured breaths from his outburst burst through the uncomfortable silence, taking deep inhales as he scanned each face to ensure compliance had fell upon them all. 

“Good, I can see we have all come to an agreement,” Aegon kicked his chair aside and bounded across to the door, bellowing on his exit: “On the fucking morrow.”

The doors on Aegon’s furious journey back to his chambers bowed out of his path in the same manner he would wish from the council, days wasted trying and failing to persuade his own trusted advisors to acquiesce to his will when he could be laying with his lady wife, or rather hammering her very skeleton into the mattress beneath him. As he meandered around identical flagstoned corridors, Aegon wrung his hands before him, pressing his thumbs into the flesh until it turned a white hot beneath the pressure. His plan of action lay before him as straight as the horizon, arriving at the door to his marital chambers sooner than he expected. A deep sigh escaped him as he laid his hand on the wood that came between him and his final destination, squeezing his eyes shut before plunging through the portal without a care for what he would find on the other side. 

Spinning to close the door against his back, Aegon discovered you surrounded by maids clutching at your heavy gown, the weight of its deep green velvet making the fabric plummet to pool at your feet as they disrobed you to your smallclothes. You spun on your heels to face your husband, your maids hurriedly curtsying in their arranged circle around you. 

“Good evening, your Grace,” you chimed sweetly, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks as your gaze fell upon the man who held your heart from the moment you first met. 

“Leave us, ladies,” he sighed gently, not expecting to be heard. 

“Yes, your Grace,” each lady chirped, gathering the fabric from the floor and dutifully scurrying from the room. 

Aegon cast a confused glance at the flurry of ladies sweeping past him, heads bowed to avoid his vision. “Well, that was alarmingly easy.”

“Has the council finally set you free, dear husband?” You cooed, pacing gently toward him. 

“It would appear so,” he stated matter-of-factly, battling his own better judgement to revive the anger he felt before he opened the door and found the beauty of his lady wife.

“I was just trying on a new gown for Aemond’s return from Storm’s End. Gods be good you just missed the full show, I was hoping to keep it a secret for the grand occasion.”

Upon your arrival before him, you raised the back of your hand to graze against his cheek. His alabaster skin was searing hot with pent-up rage, the young king closing his eyes and dipping gently into the sensation of your cool skin melting his resolve. 

When his eyes opened again, however, his lilac gaze darkened to a pitch black.

“Get on the bed,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his jaw tensed as he spat each syllable with a sinister venom. “Now.”

“Y… yes, your Grace?” You half-questioned, scanning his face for confirmation yet finding nothing but a half-shaken resolve before treading tentatively away toward the four-poster. Two half-hearted steps later, Aegon lunged forward and briskly grasped your arms, his nimble fingers blazing a trail downwards to lock your hands behind your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“Resist me with all your might and I shall reward you with every peak you desire,” Aegon purred into the shell of your ear, planting a kiss where his words left behind goosepimples. “What word will you say to cease my advances should you feel unsafe, issa jorrāelagon?” My love. 

You choked lightly as you composed your thoughts, thoughts swirling back to the previous occasion where Aegon insisted on proclaiming a word which would enable each of you an instant escape if either of you had taken your bedroom escapades too far. In the moment those two words hung in the air between you, you were to release one another without question or complaint, untie any restraints and salve any wounds or pain that might be caused.

“S… Sunfyre, ñuha perzys dārys,” you stuttered, hardly able to hear your own words over his deafening quickened breaths behind your ear, every second of holding you to his will driving his restrained fury to the surface. My fire king.

“Good girl,” he hummed into your ear, planting another confirming kiss on your ear before stepping you carefully forward. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

Aegon’s loose clasp of your hands and gentle treads forward betrayed his demands, his careful handling of his delicate wife ensuring your safety. The sole cause of the cold dread flooding through your veins as you approached the edge of the bed was when the kindnesses would cease and the ruthless Aegon would arrive. He had only made a handful of appearances in the bedroom before, but he had always been introduced well in advance. Tonight, you had no preparation, no introduction, only fear of where his limits lay this night. 

Your knees nudged to the wooden bed frame and you instinctively swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes together in prayer for your husband’s mercy once he had fucked his frustrations into you. 

“Do not be afraid, ñuha embar dāria,” he soothed, planting another reassuring kiss into the nape of your neck. My sea queen. “I do not intend to hurt you.”

Releasing your hands from behind your back, his own traversed your frame to unbutton your smallclothes until the linen pooled at your feet, the cold air of the chamber pricking your skin as you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. Aegon gripped your forearm and spun you on your heels to face him, his eyes now blackened and menacing as they consumed the sight of you. 

“I only intend to break you.”

With a forceful palm pressed into your chest, Aegon pushed you down to the sheets, tumbling onto the soft mattress beneath you. His reckless silver curls framed his face as he towered at the foot of the bed, your thighs clenching together before him. 

“Tell me to stop,” he commanded, frantically battling to decimate his own black clothing from his frame, the three-headed dragon cast to the floor to remove all semblance of ceremony between you. “Order me to cease and I will force you to take what I give you.”

His words alone sent you gently writhing among the sheets as he kneeled on the edge of the mattress, the mere thought of Aegon not taking no for an answer had never really crossed your mind before. His lovemaking was always a level playing field, constant hushed queries of your current state spilling whenever you had fallen too silent for his liking. This new relentless version of your husband intrigued you, but also paralysed you to the spot with anxiety where this new facade would draw the line with you, if indeed such a line existed. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” he gloated, groaning hungrily deep in his throat as he consumed the sight before him, your anticipation of his next move utterly palpable. “So fragile, so delicate… so submissive.”

The predatory tone in his voice hitched your breaths in your lungs, coming out as ragged exhales as he crawled onto the bed, sharply nudging his knees between yours and forcefully parting your thighs, both hands braced on either side of your head and caging you to the spot. Gazing down at you through tumbling silver waves, Aegon tutted and skewed the corner of his lip in disapproval. 

“I don’t see you fighting me, dear wife. Do you perhaps need reminding that I will not continue if you do not obey my orders?”

You gulped so loud, the thrum of your throat could well have echoed around the deathly silence of the chamber. Aegon leaned to hover his lips over yours, towering over you with a menacing grin as he watched you feign a squirm beneath him. His mouth drew nearer, breaths fanning your face and you pressed your eyes closed, jerking your face to one side away from him as if your life depended on swerving his kiss.

“That’s my girl,” Aegon growled, one hand fired to grab your jaw and yanked you to face him, crashing his lips against yours and fervently pressing into you. Your false grunts of resistance vibrated into his mouth and drove him to consume you further, greedily smashing into you and nibbling at your bottom lip. “I knew you could do it.”

His fingertips digging hard into your cheeks, your jaw constricted in his grasp and your soft flesh paled to a searing hot white beneath his grip. 

“Get off me,” you snapped through gritted teeth, testing your ability to resist him by squirming and thrashing your head in his hold. “You’re power mad, Aegon, you can’t just take me when you feel like it.”

“You think so?” Aegon half-roared deep in his throat, eyes narrowing to a sinister sneer looming down over you. “I’ve spent all fucking day in that council being told what to do, I have no say in my own destiny so for once, just this once, do as I say.”

Releasing his grip on your face, his seizing hand fired down to your thigh, clutching at the soft flesh spread before him and earning a gentle buck of your hips in response. Your sensitivity prickled all Aegon’s senses, lurching his hand to your center to discover just how much your body truly craved him, only to find your sodden folds aching for his next move. 

“How is it your cunt knows you belong to me, but your tongue does not?” Aegon snapped, tracing a light fingertip over the outline of your entrance and fluttering his eyelids as you keened into the sensation. “Look at you, you’ve always wanted me to take you by force, haven’t you sweetling?”

“Fuck off, Aegon,” you scowled through ragged breaths, squirming beneath him in a vain escape attempt. “I’m only wet because I can’t remember the last time you fucked me properly.”

His eyes bulged, a cold wave of shock washing over him as a newfound venom spilled from your acid tongue. This character was so unlike you, he could swear his wife was possessed by an unearthly force. Were you being truthful? Was he not satisfying his wife for your entire marriage? Was this part of the act? 

For a brief moment, the King froze to the spot, gathering his thoughts and putting all his bets on the outcome he’d prefer. Settling for the latter result with all the hope he had mustered, he took your cutting words and buried two fingers inside your waiting heat, stealing the breath from your lungs with each knuckle breaching your folds as his finger curled fervently inside your core. 

“You’re going to regret that, my insolent little Queen,” he seethed, nestling his fingers deep inside you and filling you to the hilt. He stilled as he reached up to his knuckle, not pumping in and out as he normally would. Instead, his forefinger and little finger rested at the meeting of your thighs, stroking outside your core as he slowly started drawing his hand up and down from the sheets to the sky and plunging his fingertips into your walls, stroking the spongy surface before pulling back and slamming upwards again. Settling at an alarming pace, your body betrayed you as your hips grinded up into his touch, your thighs quaking beneath him. 

“S—stop, Aegon,” you ordered half-heartedly, voice cracking with the intensity of the building tension in your cunt. “You repulse me.”

“Tell that to your body, dear wife,” he rasped, ramping up his thrusts so that the rhythmic lewd splashes of pleasure from your core filled the chamber. “I can feel your cunt bowing to its King.”

Your weak efforts to restrain your hips to the sheets waned with every eager plunge of his fingertips into your walls, instead trying to disguise your pathetic writhing underneath him as an attempt to escape his clutches, but the more you struggled the more he chased your approval. 

“S… stop,” your feeble plea stuttered on your tongue with the building pressure inside your walls rising to a searing heat, your head sinking back into the pillows with your eyes journeying to the ceiling. The sooner you distracted yourself from watching your silver King claim you in the filthiest manner, the more convincing your rejections would sound and the less it would seem like you were nearing a faux-reluctant climax. “Let me go, Aegon, fuck!”

“Not until you let go for me,” Aegon snarled, perching on his knees and hooking a hand behind your head to force your gaze down to the action between your thighs, his fingers thrumming into your walls with his palm cupping over your bundle of nerves only increasing the pressure inside you. His ragged breaths from his exertion blended into your own stammering rhythm, battling to maintain your guise of composure as Aegon destroyed you from within. “Go on, let go all over my fingers. Soak the sheets I deflowered you on, show me how much you need me.”

His words alone sent you careering over the edge of your peak, screaming out in frustration and lurching your back up to meet him in mid-air as a tight band snapped in your core. A wave of ecstasy suddenly flooded within you and poured free from your cunt in a violent spray, following Aegon’s orders to the letter as warmth pooled into the sheets beneath you, withdrawing his fingers to watch your climax unfold. Your eyelids clenched shut with shame, drawing your bottom lip between gritted teeth and willing the ground to swallow you whole. So caught up in your own embarrassment, you could not see the accomplished grin beaming across Aegon’s plush lips or his pupils blown pitch black with lust, his expression a combination of sultry desire, predatory domination and pride over your staggering obedience.

A silence fell between you as you both calculated the event in very different ways — while you held onto a ridiculous hope that Aegon would forget this ever happened, Aegon was consumed with wonder when, or indeed if, he could make you reach that high again. 

“Do that again,” he declared, thrusting his fingers back into your dripping folds and caressing your slippery walls inside, dragging his fingers in the same beckoning manner that made your spine flex both away from and into him simultaneously. “Don’t make me wait, issa jorrāelagon.”

“G… get off me, Aegon,” you whimpered with all the strength you could muster, your mask of protest slowly slipping as you jerked beneath his vice grip on your heat, tension already rising inside you. “Y… you make me sick.”

“Now now, that’s no way to talk to the husband who can make your cunt flow like a waterfall,” his domineering sarcasm dripped like honey from his tongue, concentrating his strength on hammering inside you so hard the muscles on his forearm protruded with exertion. “You can give me another, there’s a good girl.”

“Stop, now!” You cried out with a spurt of faux-disobedient energy, desperately praying to the Seven that he could not draw another humiliating scene from you, obstinately clenching your thighs around his waist to offset the uncomfortably familiar pressure rising inside. “You can’t do this to me, Aegon!”

“Have you forgotten already, little one? I own you, you and this pretty wet cunt that’s already shaking around my fingers.” His filthy sneer accompanied a new move to a punishing pace slamming into your walls, stroking at the spongy interior as if to beckon your peak forward once more. “Just give me what I want and shut that disobedient mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Try me,” you spat without even thinking about the consequences of such a temptation, half-closing your eyes as if you would catch a glimpse of the eye of the storm in your husband’s gaze.

Sure enough, Aegon’s grip on the back of your neck released as he fired his hand to meet the valley of your hips, planting his palm in the plane of your pelvis and pressing down until he could feel his fingers plunging within you. Your strangled gasp in response suggested his new angle was working its charm immediately, your spine curving into mid-air to throw your hips up into his touch.

“That’s it,” he growled lowly, pushing deeper and pistoning his fingers faster to race you to the edge once more. “Can’t come up with a quick insult now, can you?”

“F… fuck you, Aegon!” You screamed out as your second wave consumed you, another clear fountain breaching your entrance and spilling over his waiting fingers, which he chose to run through your folds to spray your release even further over the sheets. Wails of frustration and overstimulation poured from your lips, your thighs quivering and writhing uncontrollably as the aftershocks took hold of your body.

“Soon, my love,” he cooed in a break from his dominant streak, too wrapped up in the power rushing to his head after eliciting two floods from you in quick succession. “Just give me one more.”

“N… no, please,” you begged as his fingers dipped inside your sensitive walls once more, your hips keening frantically into the sheets to desperately avoid another sensory onslaught. Your protests up until then had been false, tempting and almost goading, but that time, your senses could not withstand any more. Your folds puffy and abused, your forehead dripping with sweat, your breaths laboured and jagged. You were sure you could not produce another wave, let alone withstand his fingers punishing your core. “Please, no more…”

“Come on, little one,” his honeyed encouragement came through a softer voice than before, almost registering your overstimulation but craving one more chance at claiming you more than he ever had before. “Just one more for me, I know you can do it.”

His fingers slipped into your dripping heat with ease, gently caressing that sensitive spot inside you for a few moments before returning to his relentless pace hammering back and forth inside you. 

“Stop, Aegon, please…,” your pleas far more convincing as you began to mean the words you spilled, your voice cracking weakly as his ministrations inside your cunt stole the air from your lungs. 

“Just one more, that’s my good Queen,” he pressed, his one palm stroking the valley of your hips while the other rubbed your mound eagerly in time with his fingers curving inside your pulsing heat. “One more for me, soak the sheets again for your King.”

Your third wave arrived with a scream of his name that made no sound as it left your tongue, too exhausted to produce an audible syllable as you gushed another flood over his fingers still buried inside you, downright explicit splashing sounds echoing through the chamber in place of your voiceless cries. 

“Good girl, good girl,” Aegon praised with wonder as he consumed the sight of his digits dripping with your release as he finally withdrew from you, the sheets sodden to translucency beneath you, glimmering droplets of your climax splattered over both your thighs and his own. Your legs refused to still, quaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of the sensory onslaught brought upon you by your husband’s desperate clamour for power in his life. 

At last, he had power over one thing. But at what cost?

Brushing a tumbling silver curl from his face with a soaking hand, he reached to pay you the same kindness only for you to whip your face away from his touch. His brows knitted together tightly, a piece of his heart breaking to see you flinch from your husband so eagerly. Had he gone too far?

“Issa jorrāelagon,” he purred softly, a flush of dread cracking his voice. “Are you… are you well?”

You shot a stern gaze back at his terrified countenance, his pallor flushing to a sheer white as if the blood had drained from his face. His fingers ventured to touch your cheek again only to find you wincing away from him once more. Another piece of the King’s heart shattered. 

“My Queen, did…,” his fragile stammer signing the validity to his concern. “Did I hurt you? I… I never meant to hurt you.”

He scanned your face for a response, any response that would shatter the glass of suspense between you. Your eyes betrayed nothing, your cheeks gave away no sign, yet as his gaze journeyed to your mouth, Aegon discovered your lips ever so slightly curling into a childlike mocking grin. 

It was an act all along.

He let out a sigh of defeat and clicked his tongue in sharp disapproval. 

“You have played your hand well, dear wife,” Aegon admitted, running his still-dripping hand through his wavy locks once more before rolling onto his knees, pressing one palm to spread your thighs beneath him while the other gripped his length, palming it lightly and surging the tip toward your swollen entrance. “But you underestimate your opponent.”

In one smooth flick of his hips, his cock slipped into your heat to the hilt, earning her another strangled gasp from the bottom of your lungs. The overwhelmingly full sensation of his length finally fitting inside you like the missing piece of your jigsaw left you battling the urge to throw your arms around his neck and capture his lips with yours. For the sake of the wicked game to which you had committed yourself, your surge of energy was spent on planting your palms on his bare chest and pushing him away from you with all your might. Unsurprisingly, his body weight was immovable and your fight was futile, eliciting a sinister chuckle from your dominant husband as he picked up a rampant pace, drawing his hips back and slamming down into you with a brute force. 

“I don’t want this, Aegon,” you lied, your faux-protest delivered through a clenched jaw at the same time your thighs gave up their battle and spread wide for his languid thrusts to reach you easier. “I don’t fucking want you!”

“If you truly don’t want me, why is your cunt singing my name?” Aegon played his hand so eloquently for a man whose eyes were gently roving skyward at the feeling of your walls welcoming him so warmly, wrapping around him and choking his every piston deep into your heat. “Say the word and I will set you free, but until then I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

You swallowed thickly, his menacing nature such a contrast from the doting husband who only moments before had feared his own strength on your body, the man who had broken before your very eyes at the mere sight of your seemingly authentic rejection. He revelled in your wilful resistance, but each time he doubted whether you truly meant the sentiments behind your actions, Aegon Targaryen crumbled. 

“No!” You cried out, gently writhing your hips in a false attempt to escape him but only succeeding in grinding up into Aegon and slipping his cock even deeper inside your heat. “Please, no!” 

“As you wish, my sea queen,” Aegon confirmed with an accomplished grin, rearing his hips to deliver a punishing thrust that stole the breath from your lungs. “Think you can give me one more?”

Your gentle shake of your head acted as both truth and a lie at the same time — your resistant facade suggested you didn’t want to reach your peak a fourth time, your overstimulated cunt certainly did not feel as if it could deliver another flood of fluids, yet you somehow craved another chase of that ecstasy with Aegon splitting you open so perfectly. 

“Good, I knew you could take it for me,” Aegon growled, curling his hips to plunge inside you so deep that his cockhead nudged impatiently at your cervix, leaving a hollow tension in your stomach in his wake. “Gods, your cunt is still so tight around me, you feel like the heavens.”

You whispered his name like a secret sacrament, inaudible over the wet slapping of skin and Aegon’s eager groans as he impaled you. Unfortunately for you, Aegon had read your lips. 

“That’s it, little one,” he gloated gleefully, pouring every inch of his length within you in devastating curled motions. “Your King has you now.”

“F—fuck,” your broken stammer betrayed the tight coil of searing heat building in your core and constricting your walls around his cock in the same way your thighs clamped around his waist. “Fuck, I’m…”

“My dear sweet submissive Queen,” he cooed softly, pummelling into you with a newfound energy and leaving you both gasping for air. “Chase that high again, I know you can give me one more.”

With his next merciless plunge into your cervix, you instinctively flung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to capture his lips, screaming into his mouth you toppled over your peak and flooded over his cock, the clear jet of your ecstasy spilling from your folds and soaking his length until his sack of stones dripped with your release. A hungry growl rumbled on his lips as his hand travelled to where your bodies joined, splashing his fingers through the fountain of your climax feverishly spilling over him as he continued to pummel inside you. 

“That’s it,” he drawled lazily into your mouth, his syllables catching on his tongue and rolling slowly onto yours. The veins traversing his length protruded and prickled as his own release neared, jolting and twitching inside you as he continued plunging into you. “Now take everything I give you like a good girl.”

His last sound signalled a stutter of his hips, his own climax flooding inside you and pouring his seed as far in your cunt as he could reach. Aegon deepened your kiss to disguise his own explicit moans, lazy growls echoing into your mouth as he jerked softly into you, his peak flooding your insides with a familiar warmth you knew so well, but this time, the sensation was unrivalled. 

“I… I love you,” Aegon’s fragment whisper against your lips sounded fragile once more, his dominant alter ego well and truly buried with his seed inside you. Refusing to withdraw his length as if the action of leaving your folds would draw a close to the moment between you, Aegon continued kissing you as feverishly as the night you first met. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whispered back, hands trailing into his silver waves and tugging gently, clamouring for contact after refusing to touch him ever since he laid you on the sheets, now sodden and cold beneath you. “Always.”

Aegon’s kiss came to a sudden halt, his eyes firing open as a realisation swept over him. Tearing his lips from yours, his eyes frantically searched your lips for a response before his enquiry even left his.

“Did you mean what you said?” His fearful query came from beneath furrowed brows and puppy-like pleading eyes. “Do I truly not fuck you properly, my sea queen?”

“My fire king,” you sighed contentedly, tightening your thighs around his waist and drawing his softening length deeper inside you. “If that is what I have to say to get you to do that, you can expect to hear it every night.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x yn #tom glynn carney fanfiction #tom glynn carney #tom glynn carney imagines #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #hotd

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Birthright - Itachi & Sasuke

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, incest, shower sex, bickering lol

A/n: Day 30: Incest! The month's almost done omfg!

Word count: 1.5k

Read on ao3

You loved your family.

And, certainly, your brothers loved you — perhaps too much. 

Itachi’s lips lingered for too long when he kissed your hand. Sasuke’s hand always ended on your thigh at dinner. Itachi’s compliments were flirtatious, heated. Sasuke claimed you were his by birthright. The other Uchiha men from the compound knew better than to pursue or proposition you, lest they incur the wrath of your siblings, the strongest the clan had to offer. 

It was too much — they were too much. But, you would be lying if you claimed you didn’t enjoy some part of their toy, being the rope in their perennial game of tug-o-war. 

You held your head under the showerhead, hoping the hot water would cleanse you of your sins, that the steam might peel the depravity clinging to your skin. You knew what you would do: you would go to Itachi and tell him you would marry him, bribe him, whatever. Just let this end. It was impossible to breathe under the weight of their constant attention …

Shhlack!

The shower curtain blew back. You gasped, spun, fixed your eyes on —

Itachi and Sasuke stood before you, fully nude, smirks curling their lips. 

You crossed your arms over your breasts, too shocked to figure the motion as futile. “What — What are you doing here?” 

“We were thinking …” Sasuke was shameless, eyes lowered to scan your nude body.

“What kind of sibling would I be if we didn’t help you wash off?” Itachi finished for him. His smile was innocent, sweet, handsome, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. 

“If you’d let us,” Sasuke said. Shrugging, he added, “You can always say no.”

You ignored the drool pooling your mouth. They were pure shinobi, refined muscles, blessed with the handsome features of the Uchiha men. Seconds ticked on. Your heart drummed with them. Could you go along with this?

Itachi’s shoulders relaxed. Disappointment. “If you’d rather not —”

“Yes.”

Their eyes brightened. 

“Gods, yes.” You sighed. “If it will satiate you two, make you less aggressive, t— then yes, yes!”

“Save the begging,” Sasuke said. “You might need it soon.”

Itachi chuckled at his brother’s quip, but gave you no time to protest or question your decision further as he stepped into the empty space across from you. He silenced your surprise with a kiss. Your hands grazed his arms as they looped around to embrace you. Sasuke was next, stepping in after his brother. You cracked an eye open; Sasuke eyed you hungrily, blacker-than-black eyes curtained by hair catching the shower rain and dousing his toned body —

“Mm!” Your foot popped as Itachi surprised you with the sly invasion of his tongue. 

“Hm.” He smiled into the kiss. His hold on you tightened, a hand wandering to grope your ass, your thigh, compelling you to wrap a leg around his.

“You’re hogging her, Itachi,” Sasuke chastised.

“Correction: I’m getting her ready for you.”

You gasped; Itachi’s hand cupped your vulva lovingly before sending two fingers to tease along the length of your slit.

“Something tells me that’s not just shower water,” Itachi teased.

“Mmm …” You moaned, closed your eyes against the delightful sin of Itachi’s fingers curling inside you. 

“She probably would’ve satisfied herself if we hadn’t come, Sasuke.” Itachi walked his fingers back and forth, chuckling when you arched into him, lips parting. “We’ve only been here for a few minutes and yet …”

You parsed the movement taking place as Itachi pleased you; Itachi moved aside to admit Sasuke, and he recaptured your lips. Both of them fondle your breasts, one for one of their hands. You let your head fall back into the shower wall, and you open your eyes to see Sasuke knocking Itachi’s hand away and claiming your pussy for himself.

“I thought I taught you to share,” Itachi said. 

Sasuke broke away to glare at his brother, the tip of another quip on his lips — before you curled a hand around his hard cock and pumped him with intent.

“A — Ahh …” Sasuke leaned forward, brows drawn together. “(Y/n) …”

“Enough, you two,” You said. “Seriously, remember what I said.”

“She’s right,” Itachi said, gave Sasuke a look.

You rolled your eyes. There had to be some way to shut them up. An idea struck you. You gripped Sasuke’s hips, situated him against the shower wall, while situating yourself in the center, between either brother. Sasuke eyed you with skepticism but said nothing. Itachi pressed into you, his long cock piercing your thigh. You stopped him from coming any closer before settling on your knees.

“Ahh.” Itachi seemed to catch your drift. “At least I taught someone to share.”

“Will you let that go — oh …!”

Your lips sucking on the tip of his cock silenced Sasuke. You pumped Itachi slowly, each sensual stroke easing the tension hidden beneath his composed veneer. You opened your mouth wider to admit Sasuke’s cock, bobbing your head to take more of him as your tongue slipped to massage his underside. Itachi sighed as you massaged his balls, grazing the tip of your nails as you trailed your hand to his tip to restart the whole process. 

“You’re very good,” Sasuke breathed out. You flicked your eyes up to him. He followed the ministrations of your hands with an intensity that went straight to your cunt. “This is why you’re ours.”

You popped Sasuke from your mouth, took him in your mouth — halfway, before releasing him again. Again. Again. Sasuke groaned, the sound arising from the pit of his stomach. You couldn’t bear the throb between your legs; you slipped a hand to relieve your clit, massaging the nub as you popped Sasuke from your mouth on last time before alternating to Itachi — 

“No,” he murmured as your tongue swept over his cockhead. “No, I’m — too close …” Itachi’s heavy-lidded eyes transferred another cryptic message to Sasuke — before saying it outright: “Take care of her, Sasuke.”

Sasuke helped you to your feet. His harsh kiss sent stars behind your eyes. You startled; the shower wall was cold compared to your heated, drenched skin. 

“Be careful with her,” Itachi said, smiling faintly. “She is our sister, after all.” 

Sasuke’s movements were so fast, so purposeful. A blur; he pressed you to the wall, a hand propped your leg over his waist, his cock catching into your entrance, his cock sliding in — 

“Oh — ah …!” You clung to Sasuke’s back. He took no mercy on you — supposedly because he could feel how sobbing wet you were from the inside — and thrust into you. One, two, three, each thrust harsh, but when you only bit into your lip and gifted him a moan for each he kept with preferred pace. “Sasuke, oh, oh …!”

“She’s so tight —” Sasuke’s breath caught as he fucked into you. 

“I can imagine,” Itachi said. You turned your head as Sasuke attacked your neck with kisses and love bites to see him watching, flushed and stroking his cock. “I — have — imagined …”

A few more thrusts and it was apparent none of you would last much longer. You leaped into Sasuke’s arms, legs wrapped fully around him. You threaded a hand in his hair, another clutching his shoulder, and pulled at his scalp. Sasuke hissed at the delicious pain of it and fucked you harder, his hand lowering to flick at your clit. You sighed, resting your forehead against his. 

A blink and Itachi was at your side. Sasuke’s head dipped into your neck so Itachi might capture your lips again. Both of their hands fought for possession of your clit now, fingers knocking and weaving. You stroked Itachi’s cock, feeling him twitch into your hand. He fucked into it, peppering your jaw and eventually the back of your ear with kisses. 

“Yes, mm!” You bounced with the power of Sasuke’s thrusts. “Fu — Sasuke — please!”

“She’s asking nicely, Sasuke.” Itachi fondled your tit, pinched the nipple. “Cum for us, (Y/n). Do what big brother tells you.”

The prickle of the shower water, your two gorgeous brothers kissing, licking, touching and fucking you all became too much. You threw your head back as you came on Sasuke’s cock. An extraneous warmth hit your stomach and you knew Itachi had come to his end by watching yours. Sasuke pulled out of you at the last moment and jerked his spent onto your thigh. The evidence washed away in the shower as the three of you caught your breaths.

Itachi was there, coaxing you out of your reverie with gentle caresses. “You are incredible.”

You smiled, embraced Sasuke. His head rested against your cleavage before the vulnerability must have chafed against him. He pulled away.

You stopped the shower, rainfall coming to an abrupt end. You raised eyebrows at them. 

“We good?”

“Perhaps,” Sasuke said. “You're still ours, anyway.”

“I agree,” Itachi said. “If anything, this has made us want you more now than ever.”

You sighed. You caressed either brother’s wrist, smiling to yourself. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#itachi smut #sasuke smut #naruto smut #itachi x reader #sasuke x reader #kinktober #naruto x reader #naruto x you

[superhaught]

Incurable Cravings (Chapter Two)

(GIF by goodtitsbigheart)

Pairing: Regina x Reader

Warnings: makes reference to previous explicit content, mention of eating disorder, mild angst/arguing

Word Count: 2500, Part 2/?

Part 1 / Part 3

Regina and Reader reflect on their past as they try to be close again.

This is now an AU where Regina George and Leighton Murray are twin sisters split up in a custody battle.

Regina turned the light in the closet on and pulled her phone out. She examined herself in the camera app and adjusted the way her hair fell around her shoulders, “meet me at my car after school.”

You watched her apply a fresh layer of lip gloss and touch up the edges of her lips then she met your eyes, “this is the part when you respond.”

“Oh, yeah… okay. I’ll meet you.”

Regina put her phone away and stood up straighter as she reached out and began fixing your hair and swiped her thumb over your lips, removing the traces of her lip gloss from your skin, “I’ve always liked your hair… it’s not fair that you have these curls naturally,” she mused. 

“Thanks…” you whispered softly.

“Why are you being all weird now?”

“What? I’m not being weird.”

The blonde rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest, “yes, you are. Just a minute ago, you were being all bold, like I’ve never seen from you before. Now, you’re all terrified and squirrely.”

“I’m just… processing.”

“Well, do that shit later. It’s ruining your glow.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Nevermind.” Regina put her tube of lip gloss back in her bag and then slipped past you to exit the janitor’s closet, “My car. After school. Don’t disappoint me.”

She didn’t give you time to issue a response. She left you and strutted off to show up fashionably late to her 5th period class. 

You took a deep breath. Your mind was reeling but Regina was probably right, you should put it all out of your mind for now. At least until school was over. At least until the two of you could talk more in depth about what happened, which, you prayed you would have the chance to talk later when you met her for whatever she was planning. 

You slipped out of the closet and began to head in the opposite direction of Regina, toward your locker, until you were grabbed by your shirtsleeve and pulled aside. 

You sighed when you saw who it was: Janis. 

She stared at you, as if expecting you to immediately offer an explanation. 

“Janis, what?” You asked, annoyed.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ What the fuck just happened between you and Regina?”

“How is that any of your business? You haven't talked to me for three years and now you just expect me to spill?”

Janis relaxed at that, “well… I guess I just thought, when it comes to Regina…”

“Well you thought wrong, Janis. I’m late for class.” You pulled yourself out of the girl’s grip and walked away.

You felt bad for being cold to Janis, but Regina was the reason your friendship didn’t survive in the first place. There was no way that you’d be able to get along now that it was even more complicated. Janis would have to figure out how to be okay on her own. 

The rest of your day seemed to move at a snail's pace. You watched the clock as you sat through your calc and stats classes, waiting for the dismissal bell to finally ring and let you go. 

You’d never packed up and got out of the building faster. A quick text to your mom of “going to study at a friends’” was enough to explain why you weren’t coming straight home, and like an obedient little puppy, you walked over to Regina’s Jeep in the student parking lot. 

She was there waiting for you, leaning against her door and swinging her keys around her index finger, “good, you still know how to listen.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, “where are we going?”

“My house, duh.”

“Kay. I bet your mom will be surprised to see me.”

Regina sighed, “I’d rather her not see you at all… but that’s unlikely… just get in, will you?”

You started to make your way around to the passenger side, “No Gretchen or Karen?”

She gave you a judgemental expression, “did you somehow lose all of your sense when you fucked me? Jesus Christ… no. It’s just us.”

“Jeez, sorry Gina.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” Regina sat in the driver’s seat and turned the engine on, “whatever.”

You got in and Regina turned the radio on before leaning over and buckling you in herself. The simple act gave you butterflies. You cleared your throat and turned away from her while she checked herself out in the rearview mirror and put on her sunglasses. 

“Ready?”

You nodded and then she peeled out of the parking lot. Once she was on a long stretch of road, she took one hand off the wheel and put it on your thigh. Your breath caught in your throat and you stayed quiet and still for a minute but then couldn’t help but break the silence when she came up to a red light. 

“When was the last time I was at your house, do you think?” You were being deceptive by asking. You knew exactly when the last time you were there was. 

“I don’t remember,” she shrugged. It was barely perceptible but you caught it, her eyebrow twitched. She was lying. She remembered, too.

The last time you were at your house was also the last time you were all together. It was the party. 

Spin the bottle was Regina’s suggestion because of course it was. You and Janis had no idea that Regina had a plan to manipulate the entire night. Regina knew that Janis was in love with her, but Regina didn’t want her to be and she was pissed off at Janis for something. 

Like always, Regina got exactly what she wanted. She spun the bottle and it landed on Janis. Regina kissed her and then immediately stabbed Janis in the gut, revealing the brunette’s crush in a very painful way. Regina pretended to make it about some guy, but it wasn’t about the guy at all. 

Janis ran off crying. You glared at Regina and said, “that was awful, Gina,” and began to run after Janis but Regina stood up and grabbed you, dragging you to her bedroom before you could comfort Janis. 

Regina squeezed your arm and shut her bedroom door. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory, apparently this was a pattern for the two of you. 

“Why are you mad at me? I did this for us, now it can just be you and me.”

“What are you talking about, Regina?” You asked. 

“Aren’t you sick of Janis’ stupid crush ruining our time together?”

“I never said anything like that! Janis is our friend! You shouldn’t have done that, Gina.”

“Well, I don’t care. It’s done. I’m done with her.”

After that, everything went to shit. Janis was a wreck. Regina was a nightmare. You couldn’t be in the middle of it anymore. Any hope you might have had of the three of you recovering was dashed in the chemistry lab fire incident. 

You went your separate ways, then. You never really forgave Regina but she wouldn’t leave you alone. Janis avoided you both like the plague most of the time. You knew that something crazy happened last school year when that new girl, Cady Heron, came to school, leading up to Regina’s accident. But you honestly took it as a reprieve. Your academic stress last year was killing you, so having Regina off of your back was wonderful. But that didn’t stop you from leaving a basket of her favorite treats on her front porch while she was recovering. You didn’t know what else to do.

Regina pulled into her driveway and you looked up at her house in awe. Had it gotten bigger?

Regina got out and came over to open your door for you, “come on.”

You followed her inside and Ms. George was right there waiting for her daughter’s arrival. The woman nearly dropped her glass of wine in shock, “oh my fucking god is that who I think it is?!” She screeched and ran forward, setting her wine glass down before trapping you in a hug.

“Hi, it’s nice to see you again,” you said, awkwardly patting her back.

She squeezed you and shook your body side to side then pulled away, “let me get a good look at you, oh my goodness, you’re even prettier! Don’t you think so, Regina?”

“Mom, can you like, chill, please? Jesus…”

“Sorry baby,” Ms. George let you go at that point, “well, welcome home, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re back. You two have fun, I’ll be up with snacks in a minute.”

Regina grabbed your hand and dragged you up the stairs to her room. It was frighteningly easy to fall back into old habits. You set your bag down in the same spot as you always did and crashed onto her luxe bed like you always used to, while Regina examined herself in her floor length mirror. 

Regina poked and prodded at her face and neck for a moment and then Ms. George came into the room with a tray of food. 

“Here you go, my lovelies,” she set the tray down on the bed, “and I brought your meds, honey.”

Regina flashed her mom a glare and then returned her attention to herself in the mirror. Ms. George sat criss cross on the bed across from you. 

“Thank you so much, I’m starving,” you said, helping yourself to the chips and juice. 

“What have you been up to lately?? Regina never talks about you anymore, tell me everything! Are you dating anyone?”

You laughed, “I haven’t been up to much besides school, if I’m being honest. I’m making college plans and trying to do some more volunteering on my breaks. I’m not dating anyone right now,” you glanced at Regina quickly and you caught her raising her eyebrow curiously, “don’t have time.”

Ms. George asked you some questions about college stuff and then Regina shooed her away. The blonde came and sat down on her bed and took the small medicine cup off of the tray and dry swallowed the small handful of pills all at once. 

You gave her a look.

“What?” she asked.

“Come on, what’s going on?” you gestured to the cup as she set it back down.

Regina rolled her eyes, “it’s just stuff I have to take now, since the accident. Painkillers and stuff for my heart, don’t worry about it.”

You frowned, “you can’t tell me not to worry.”

“Can you drop it, please? I’m not in the mood.”

“Fine.” You helped yourself to more food, “aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” she said, shrugging. She started scrolling through her phone absentmindedly. 

“Regina…” you began.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you… you know…”

“Am I what? Do you think I can read your mind?”

“Are you restricting again?”

“I’m sorry, does fucking me make you think that you suddenly have the right to be on my case now? Back off, will you?”

“Then what the fuck is this? We can have sex but I can’t care, now? Is that it?”

“I don’t know!” She snapped, smacking the mattress out of anger. “I don’t know, okay?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know either. You had no idea what the fuck this was. You leaned back against her pillows and sighed, “I’m sorry, Gina.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I just… if I’m going to be in your life again, I hope you’ll talk to me. Like we used to… that’s all.”

“I understand… I’m just not used to it anymore.”

You nod.

“Can we work up to it?” She looked at you with wide eyes. There she was. That vulnerable, sweet Regina that you used to know.

You smiled softly, “yeah.”

Regina slid closer to you on the bed and cuddled into your side, letting you wrap your arm around her back. She opened tiktok and started scrolling through her fyp with you. 

You rested together for another half hour and then you convinced her to let you work on homework and she even let you help her with her math assignment. 

“It makes so much more sense when you explain it,” she said. Successfully solving a problem. 

“I charge fifteen dollars an hour for tutoring,” you tease.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” she shoved your shoulder and chuckled, “I’ll pay in kisses.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhmm… is that acceptable?”

“Hmm…” you grin, “I think some kind of kisses payment plan can be arranged…” 

Regina leaned in and gave you a light peck on the mouth. You smiled and turned your attention back to your book. 

“You know, don’t think that this makes up for the past three years of relentless bullying you’ve subjected me to…”

She smirked, “you would be a lot more convincing if I actually believed that a part of you didn’t enjoy it the whole time.”

You stuck out your tongue at her and she mirrored the gesture. You both laughed and you felt grateful that it felt light and easy at this moment. 

The sun began to set and you finished up with your homework. 

“Gina…”

“What?”

So, Janis tried to confront me in the hallway earlier… after we left the closet…”

Regina groaned, “of fucking course she did… she just won’t give up.”

“You hurt her… really bad… I mean, can we blame her?”

“It’s not like she’s fucking innocent!”

“What even happened that pissed you off so much? You never told me…”

The blonde rolled her eyes, “it’s a long story… and not mine to tell. It had to do with Leighton.”

“Leighton? Your sister, Leighton?”

“Yeah, who else?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t know Leighton and Janis had anything to do with each other.”

“Like I said, it’s a long story. All you need to know is that Janis dug her own grave and she should have known that I was gonna burn her for hurting my baby sister.”

“Your twin sister,” you corrected.

“I’m older,” she responded indignantly, “I’ll tell you more if Leighton says it’s okay.”

“Alright. How often do you two get to talk nowadays?”

“Not as often as we’d like. And we never get to see each other because mom and dad can’t even communicate. We have plans for being more in touch after graduation.”

You nod. She continues, “I’m worried it will be weird, though. I mean, we’ve had our own lives for almost five years now. She already knows where she’s going to school… early decision to Essex… I just feel like we’re the ultimate nature versus nurture experiment and now it’s like we’re not even related.”

“She’ll always be your sister. I’m sure you have more in common than you think.”

Regina nods slowly, not meeting your eyes. You hear Ms. George shout from downstairs that dinner is ready. 

“Gina, promise me you’ll eat something. For me, okay?” You give her your best puppy-dog eyes in hopes of convincing her. 

“I hate when you do that…”

“Pretty please?”

“Fiiiiine… ugh, I hate you.”

“I lo-” you catch yourself and pause, “I care about you… that’s all.”

She leads the way downstairs and you don’t know if she noticed your slip up.

Next Chapter

#regina george #regina george x reader #regina george fanfiction #renee rapp fanfiction #mean girls 2024 #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #incurable cravings #regina george lesbian #wlw

[readychilledwine]

Hey. It's me again. I was wondering if you could write something. Where reader is taking care of her younger siblings because her father who was a single dad had died due to some illness which she has now and it is going to kill her. The ic notices last minute. Az is just pissed because she is his wife and she made up a lie to break his heart. You can decided if there is a cure they found or not. Thanku. Hope you are doing well

I'm convinced you want me to break Azriel's (and my) heart, and I almost did it this time 👀👀👀👀

Losing Forever

Warnings - illness, mentions of death, heartbreak, losing a family member, angst with a happier ending than originally planned, mentions of medical procedures and blood. Ps- there's a little hint of Azris in there if you squint. 👀

A/n - I changed the ending of this two or three times, and I'm not 100% happy, but that's my inner perfectionist. I seriously considered something less happy, but I think I mentally care about Azriel having a happy ending way too much.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Madja stared at you in silence. "Where and how?" The healer finally said before pulling any books she could. "Y/n, where and how?"

She had confirmed your fear as you began to pick at the loose skin on your nails. "My father had written for me," you went into the story, the old healer looking at you every so often as she flipped through page after page.

The conclusion was the same. Illryian Fever. You had heard of it wiping whole camps clean. Incurable, deadly, and incredibly painful for the affected. "You cannot go home. You could pass this to Nyx, Rhys, Azriel, or Cassian if they get too close to you." You nodded. "I will keep looking, y/n, but I have to go tell the High Lord which camp it was spreading through and that you have it."

Your trip home had taken much longer than you and Azriel had believed it would. He crossed his arms over his chest as Madja sat across from Rhys. The healer's face was pale. Her hands shaking with nerves. "Not that I am unhappy to see you, old friend, but why are you here?" Rhys leaned back a brow raised.

They heard her throat clear before a pregnant pause came. "Illyrian fever struck the Snowfall Camp. At least 50 are dead, countless are infected." Azriel's heart froze, and Cassian looked at him.

Rhys swallowed thickly. "Why do you have this information before I do?" He prayed to the Mother that the answer they all knew was coming wouldn't be said. "Surely, if it was spreading, I would know by now."

Madja rose a brow at Rhysand before taking his hand in hers. "You know the answer to that question, High Lord. She's in the Halls of Healing. I will not allow her to come out here. I will not allow visitors until a shield is in place." Rhys closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I need anything you can get me regarding similar strands of illnesses if there will be a small chance of saving her."

Azriel felt Cassian grab him as his knees gave out. He felt his brother lowering him to the floor. He couldn't hear Rhys and Madja trying to talk to him. Every sound was muffled as if he was underwater, his heart rate was skyrocketing, his eyes wide with panic. The sound of his heartbeat increasing became a pounding drum. The noise was all he could focus on until your soft voice came into his mind.

Just a week, my love. Father said Luka, and he had simple colds. I will be right back to you. He rewatched the moment now, replaying the subtle things in your body language. The distant look in your eyes, the way you kissed him harder than you had for any other previous goodbye.

You knew, he realized, you knew, and you lied.

After countless hours spent hunched over books and chasing away sleep, Rhys had found a way for them to all see you. He kept a shield between you all, clutching Nyx tightly to him as he tried to reach you and cried for his favorite aunt.

It had been a week with no news regarding a cure, and your body was clearly tired of fighting. You had stopped eating 2 days ago, spending hours now in the throes of sleepless dreams and fevered nightmares. He had brought the heir to say goodbye, knowing from Madja's predictions, the progression, and years of experience you had until morning unless a miracle came.

Feyre was in the room with you. Holding your hand as she sobbed heavily into the bed. She could not pass the disease unless she made the choice to shift, and the wall Rhys was offering was too much for her. She needed to hold your hand to feel your soft palms one last time. But, it was too much for him as well. The sight of you like this was eating away at him. "Feyre, darling, please." She nodded, with one last kiss goodbye placed on your forehead.

Cassian and Nesta came next. Lady Death was held back by her husband, his hand resting on her swollen stomach. He took in your peaceful face, the countless medications being pumped into you to keep you comfortable. Ness unleashed a heartbreaking cry after they had spent almost an hour talking to you, hoping your mind wasn't lost enough that it could hear them still. Cassian took that as the cue, gently ushering his wife out of the room and into the large area Madja had set up for the Inner Circle to wait in.

It went on like that until they had all visited you. Elain and Lucien, then Mor, then Amren. Eris had even come, warming your room and sheets more as he watched you shiver. He walked back into the room, kissing Elain's temple to greet his sister in law before placing a supportive hand on Azriel's shoulder.

It was not every day someone felt the mating bond fading. Numbness had taken over the spymaster, along with anger, as he found letters confirming you knew what you were possibly walking into. But you had done it for your father. Your brother.

You had done it because they had no one else. Your mother was long gone, and your sisters married off to other camps. He did not rank high enough to garner attention from healers, your half brother was merely a child, and it would have been seen as survival of the fittest.

You had risked your life to ensure their last moments were comfortable, and now Azriel would pay that price.

"Azriel," Madja said softly, "if you want to say goodbye, you need to now." Eris and Lucien all but dragged the male to your room when he refused to move, shutting the door behind him and waiting in the hall.

Azriel felt ill as he took you in. This wasn't you. The sickly pale skin, the hallow cheeks, the lack of laughter and light. He felt a knot forming in his throat as he mindless stepped as close to you as he could before the shock of the barrier hit him.

He couldn't even hold your hand in your last moments. He sat in the chair slowly. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice finally broke the heaviness of the room. "Why did you lie to me?" He felt tears damping his lashes before falling. "You are my mate, y/n. Why did you lie to me about this?"

He watched you, knowing he wouldn't get a response. "I'm fucking angry. I have to spent your last moments angry with you because of a choice you made. We could have sent healers, love," his voice cracked. "We could have sent anyone but you."

Azriel was openly weeping now. "You promised me forever, y/n. You promised me years of love, joy, and unconditional happiness." He knew you had not broken the latter of the 3. You had given Azriel countless memories. Countless moments of laughter, of warmth and love.

You had melted that icy part deep down in his soul that was slowly resolidifying as he accepted the loss and anger he felt. "You promised me forever, and you shit on it. You shit on me, on my feelings, our marriage, our bond." The coldness grew with each word. "Did you even actually love me, or was that a lie too?"

He knew deep down it wasn't and watched as your finger, the one with your wedding ring, twitched. Rhys entered the room calmly behind him. "She can fucking hear you, Azriel. She's awake," he chastised. "Do not let your last moments with her be moments of anger and self sabot-" Rhys froze, his eyes flicking to the doorway. Hope filled Rhysand's features. "Hold on, y/n. Just please keep fighting, sis."

Madja and Helion, followed by Thesan, ran into the room. Rhys pulled Azriel back and away, making room for the three of them to work. "Mother, fuck," Helion said softly as he took your hand. "This better work fast, Thesan."

The Lord of Dawn rolled his eyes. "I didn't exactly have countless illyrians lining up to test it, Helion. Especially not ones in this advanced of a condition." Azriel flinched as Thesan shoved something into the vein of your hand. A soft whimper of pain fell from your throat. "I know, lovely. I'm sorry. This might be very uncomfortable." He set a bag of clear glowing liquid on the rack. "Who's blood?"

"Mine," Helion immediately offered. "I don't want to risk you taking it home to your winged legion from potential blood contact."

Thesan's jaw twitched. "I don't know if you can handle another one, Hel."

"Use me." A calm cool voice said from the doorway. "I owe him a life debt. Use me." Thesan nodded, motioning for the owner of the voice to move closer.

Eris stepped forward and through the shield, taking the seat Helion had moved closer to you. The heir held your hand gently as Thesan tapped into his vein. "You might be here awhile, Eris." The heir nodded. "I also cannot promise you doing this will save her, but it's her best shot until Tarquin, Tamlin, or Kallias can get here. It works best with a high lord's blood."

Your breathing had evened out, and Azriel watched in silence as Thesan hooked one more needle to your opposite arm from Eris and into a different container. He back away along with Helion, watching as Eris's blood slowly began to travel the tubes and into you, and your own began to leave.

"There's a similar illness in the Peregryn and the Seraphim," Thesan began slowly. "Drakon and I figured this out many years ago. The contagion cannot survive high fae blood for some reason. We had figured Rhysand's father would have done the same, but it appears not considering the situation."

Rhys scoffed slightly. "You two give my father far too much credit on anything. Velaris is the best thing he created, with the exception of myself of course." The joke broke the tension. "How long until she's not contagious."

Helion motioned towards the bag. "The second that started pumping into her, she stopped. That is water from the fountain Amarantha tried to destroy under the mountain. It's sacred and all healing. We were hoping with how poorly she was doing it would prevent anything from progressing further."

Azriel felt the shield drop and ran to your open side. Taking a cold hand in his, feeling the weight of your ring. "This was successful in the camps. I apologize it took us so long to get here. Finding Illyrians willing to help us help them instead of accept death was-" Helion just shrugged, looking at Rhys. "You all are too stubborn for your own good. Eris, what do you want for food? You'll need it."

Rhys held his hand up. "I know where he likes to eat here. I will send you two food. I'm going to get everyone else out for a break, though. And to explain what's happening." He motioned for Thesan and Helion to come with him, squeezing Azriel's shoulder and shooting Eris one last look before shutting the door.

Silence fell between the two of them, both of their eyes locked on you. "If this saves her, you need to grovel and apologize immediately." Eris would not look at him. "I would have never said to my mate what you said to her on their deathbed."

Azriel nodded. "Why are you doing this?"

Eris finally looked up at him, before looking at you. "You came and saved me from that bitch of a queen and the deathless God, Azriel. She nursed me back to health and healed me after countless beating from my father. You are my friends, even if you do not acknowledge that. I care about you, Az." Eris paused, his eyes focused on the fire, starting it back up into a gentle blaze to heat the room again. "Besides, I quite enjoy your wife. She is wonderful. Even if you are a moody brute."

Azriel laughed lightly. Allowing silence to fall between the two of them again. His shadows appeared some time later with two books from thin air, taking one to Eris and dropping one in Azriel's lap. They then pushed side tables to the two males as Rhys sent them food.

Eris guffawed in awe as Azriel's shadows began to cut their steaks. "Is this your way of saying thank you, shadowsinger?" Azriel nodded. Opening his mouth while staring at Eris to allow his companions to feed him. "You're welcome, Azriel. She looks better already." And you did. Color had slightly returned to your face. Your lashes occasionally fluttered against your cheeks.

They welcomed in quiet again, finishing their meals and desserts before a soft knock came on the door almost an hour later. A shadow opened it, and Eris's face almost fell before he chuckled through his breath. "You are not the one I was expecting."

The scent of rain and fresh cut grass hit Azriel. Had this been a different circumstance, Azriel would have shielded you, protectrd you, but he knew there was only one way this male got in, and that sacrifice from Rhysand shocked him.

"My schedule clears easily these days." Tamlin placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder. "You look like shit, Azriel." The shadowsinger watched Thesan appear and began to unhook Eris.

The heir moved to the chair by Azriel, drinking the water a shadow had handed to him as the small puncture wound instantly healed. They watched as Thesan hooked Tamlin up to you. They watched as Tamlin's blood seemed to instantly make a huge difference. You had stopped shivering completely. Your body relaxed. You were even breathing deeper.

Thesan observed for a while. Watching as Rhys then sent Tamlin food, causing the two high lords to laugh. "Tarquin will be here by morning, and Kal will be here tomorrow afternoon. The Inner Circle is each going to take turns after you, with the exception of Rhysand. Feyre will sit in his place. Then Tarquin, Kal, then Helion and myself. I think it will take all of us since she was so advanced into the illness."

Tamlin nodded. "I apologize I was not here sooner."

Thesan shook his head. "Eris was more than enough to get her off the brink. Now, all you have to do is sit and stabilize her, and from there, we will heal her."

Thesan crossed his arms in front of his body, brows raised as he nodded to the plate in front of Tamlin. "I was informed not to leave until you ate a bite." Tamlin laughed as shadows copied their previous motions, cutting his steak like they had for Eris before holding a bite to his face.

Eris had fallen asleep, his head resting on Azriel's shoulder. Thesan grabbed a blanket, pulling it over the heir, and Azriel wrapped a wing around him on instinct as well.

"She's going to recover, Azriel," Thesan said. "Might want to start writing that apology letter. Rhys said her thoughts regarding you were not kind when she called for him. Something about stupid illyrian brutes and over egotistical bastards?"

Tamlin and Azriel laughed. Azriel didn't take his eyes off of you as you shakily raised a single finger to him. "So a fancy date, an apology letter, and a vacation. Noted, my love."

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello can I please request a scenario where the reader messes with the character by saying “I like you too” instead of “I love you too” with Hu Tao, Furina, UMP45, STAR 15 and Makoto from Persona?? Thank you!!

(Genshin Impact/GFL/Persona 5)

Hu Tao, Furina, Shenhe, UMP45, ST AR-15, and Makoto's S/O messing with them

Adding in Shenhe because I felt like writing her! (As per usual)

Hu Tao has to take a second to register what S/O had replied with.

"I like you, too"?

Hu Tao halts before her foot is out the door, turning around with a smirk and eyebrow raised.

(Hu Tao) "Oh? We're being like that today are we?"

(S/O) "Like what?"

Hu Tao taps her finger on their nose as she crosses her arms, smiling.

(Hu Tao) "I'm not leaving until you say it properly!"

(S/O) "Psh, no you won't."

(Hu Tao) "Unlike you, I don't need to be physically present at my job today, so I absolutely can!"

S/O had to relent after that. Because she was right, she would prevent S/O from leaving.

And even if they managed to get away, the prank Hu Tao would play as retaliation would probably not be worth it.

Furina pouts when S/O didn't even say "I love you back". The audacity!

Her hands move to her waist, giving a harsh glare to S/O.

Well, as harsh of a glare as Furina can manage. If anything, it makes her look adorable.

(Furina) "You don't even want to say it back to me, your girlfriend?! Oh, you wound my heart!"

S/O chuckled at her dramatic response.

(S/O) "As if you didn't do this very thing to me last week!"

(Furina) "Hmph! Fine, be that way, for I will not declare my love for you if this is the response I should expect!"

She tilts her head away and begins marching away from the door, still pouting.

It was obvious she wasn't genuinely offended, but two could play at this game!

She could actually keep this bit up for weeks, if prompted.

S/O does not, lest they incur her verbal wrath for the next month or so and demanding a ransom of sweets.

Shenhe stoically turns to S/O, noticing their lips were trying their best not to break into a full smile.

(Shenhe) "...S/O, did I do something wrong?"

They shook their heads and covered their laughter with one hand.

(S/O) "Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing, Shenhe. I just wanted to see your reaction."

Shenhe blinks and tilts her head in confusion.

(Shenhe) "What do you mean? All you said was that you liked me."

(S/O) "Oh, that's what you're referring to. I figured you were going to ask me why I said 'I like you' instead I love you."

(Shenhe) "That goes without saying, does it not? For us, it means the same thing."

S/O chuckled and couldn't disagree with that logic.

(S/O) "Got me there."

Shenhe, for her part, was still very confused.

What was the joke?

45 frowns before she turns back to S/O, adjusting the hair out her face.

(UMP45) "Wow, so that's what I get after opening my heart to you?"

Those words were rarely said by 45, even less so when she was about to depart for an operation.

She looked genuinely hurt, which made S/O rush up to try to ease her anger.

(S/O) "S-Sorry! It was just a joke-"

They were interrupted when 45 broke into a smirk and cut them off with a kiss.

(UMP45) "Mhm, and so was that. Now, say it properly this time, would you?"

Both of them chuckled lightly before S/O gave the correct reply.

(S/O) "I love you, too."

(UMP45) "Not so hard, was it?

STAR pouts when she hears S/O's response, making her face them.

STAR had a hard time saying it without blushing madly, and this time was no exception.

So to get that in response?

(ST AR-15) "Hey, that's not funny!"

S/O barely held back their amusement, making STAR's annoyance grow.

STAR flicks their forehead gently, taking care to not put too much of her T-Doll strength into it.

(ST AR-15) "S-Say it, already!"

With a tight hug around her, S/O gives in, but still laughing.

(S/O) "Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist. Love you too, STAR."

(ST AR-15) "Good..."

She squeezes them back before leaving the room.

Makoto hesitates on departing, taking in what S/O had replied with.

(Makoto) "Like me?"

(S/O) "It's what I said!"

Makoto looks a bit disheartened at the response.

(Makoto) "I see..."

Before her mind could wander, it was brought back to S/O when she heard them chuckle.

(S/O) "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad! I just wanted to tease you."

Makoto's blush crept up on her cheeks for a brief moment before she cleared her throat.

(Makoto) "Ah, my apologies. I suppose I'm still getting used to this kind of banter in a relationship-"

S/O cut her off by giving her a kiss on the cheek, making her face burn red for a different reason.

(S/O) "Don't apologize. You're cute when you blush."

Makoto stammers over her words before simply sighing and smiling back.

(Makoto) "I'll just take the compliment...Next time, I should play a joke like that on you."

Which would be easy, if she had a sense of humor.

#genshin impact x reader #girls' frontline x reader #persona 5 x reader #hu tao x reader #furina x reader #shenhe x reader #ump45 x reader #st ar 15 x reader #makoto niijima x reader #hu tao genshin impact #furina genshin impact #ump45 gfl #st ar 15 gfl #makoto niijima #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons #persona 5 headcanons #persona 5 imagines #shenhe genshin impact

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home || Part Three

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of parental death

Summary: Azriel and Y/N cross of two tasks and get to know each other a little better.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

If Azriel had thought a week ago that he would be sitting outside a small cafe with flowers overflowing in hanging baskets waiting for Y/N to come out with drinks, he would think it was a completely made up scenario in his head. But it was his reality. The air was cold but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle, but Y/N was wrapped up in her scarf, thick coat and gloves and shivering as she sat in her chair, placing a mug of coffee in front of him. 

As he looked at her, he did feel bad. The only reason they needed to sit outside was because of him. There was nowhere inside the cafe where Azriel could sit comfortably with his wings. Azriel watched as Y/N pulled out a seat and sat down opposite him, cupping her mug between her two gloved hands. She raised her gaze and met Azriel’s slightly concerned one. 

“What’s with the look?” Y/N asked, her voice slightly muffled by her scarf. 

“You can sit inside,” Azriel said. “I can stay out here.”

Y/N frowned. “Absolutely not! We are completing that list together. It will not be together if I have my coffee indoors while you sit out here all on your own.”

“But you are shivering,” Azriel said.

Despite the many layers Y/N wore, there was still a small shake to her body that Azriel could tell she was trying to hide. “I will be fine,” she answered. “Now, how do you want to tackle the tasks?”

Azriel took a sip of his coffee, the small chill in his body slowly warming. He was used to the cold temperature yet the warm drink still felt satisfying spreading through his body. “I don’t know. I haven’t even read the whole list.”

Y/N held out one of her gloved hands. “Give me the list.”

Without any questions, Azriel handed over the list and Y/N unfolded it and placed it on the table. She shuffled her chair closer to him, the metal scraping against the cobblestone street. While Y/N’s eyes were on the list in front of her, Azriel’s were on her. He still couldn’t believe that someone was willing to do any of these tasks with him. 

“We can cross a lot of these off in one go,” Y/N said. “You can easily do number one and number thirty at the same time.”

“What are those?” Azriel questioned.

“Read a book and relax,” Y/N said. “In fact you can easily pair number twenty two with it as well. Have breakfast in bed.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how I could have possibly done that by myself. I would need to go to the kitchen and make the food then go back to my room. It would be easier to just sit at the kitchen table.”

Y/N giggled and Azriel turned his head toward her. “What’s so funny?”

“That you assume that I will make you breakfast in bed.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant, I just…”

Y/N placed her gloved hand on his forearm. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But I will be expecting you to make me breakfast in bed too.”

“There will be no doubt about that,” Azriel replied, his gaze falling to the list once again. “So what shall we do about the theatre one? As far as I know the theatre in Velaris is currently under construction.”

“Well, there is a theatre in the Summer Court, it’s right on the beach. It’s gorgeous! My father was originally from the Summer Court and he took me there when I was child. I try to go back on occasion. It’s a way to remember him.”

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, placing his hand on top of her gloved one.

Y/N smiled, yet it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen suddenly or anything, he caught an illness that was incurable, even the best healers couldn’t help him. For a year I was expecting it but even when it happened, it was a surprise.” 

“When did it happen?” Azriel asked. 

“Nearly one-hundred years ago,” Y/N answered, looking at where Azriel’s hand rested on top of hers.

Azriel looked at Y/N, truly looked at her. Despite her happy and calm demeanour, there was a certain sadness lurking beneath the surface. Something within him wanted to take all of that sadness and pain away and make sure that she never had to feel it again. 

Y/N cleared her throat. “So, how about we tackle two of these tasks today? One obviously being the coffee and the second could number seventeen, cook dinner? Only if you want to, of course.”

Azriel smiled. “Of course I want to.”

The smile that spread across Y/N’s face was unlike anything Azriel had ever seen. It felt as if a warm blanket had been draped across him. “Great,” Y/N said. “We can buy some ingredients and go back to my apartment. Unless you want to do it at yours?”

Azriel thought of his apartment. The lifeless rooms that held no meaning to him. He had moved into it when he began to feel like he was intruding on Cassian and Nesta. Every morning he would have breakfast with the two of them and he could tell that both of them were too polite to mention that they just wanted breakfast for the two of them. 

His small apartment was the first and only thing he looked at before he bought it. It did its job well enough and that was all Azriel was after. Now…he only craved a home. Somewhere where memories are etched into the walls and floors. Somewhere where he could make his own memories…with his own family someday. Y/N’s apartment was the closest thing to that. Even if he hadn’t even fully looked around it, just from the living area alone, Azriel could tell it was well loved and lived in. He could tell that it was a home, not just a building. 

“No, your apartment is fine with me,” Azriel answered.

Y/N nodded and folded up the list and placed it within her own pocket. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that simple action. She was really in it for the long haul with him. This complete stranger he met not even twenty-four hours ago. 

“I don’t have a particular recipe in mind but when we buy the ingredients, we can just improvise,” Y/N said, taking a sip from her coffee. 

Azriel agreed and lifted his own coffee back to his lips, smiling as he took a sip. The feeling of a real smile still felt foreign on his face yet he was getting used to it. As he looked at Y/N wth her thick scarf, gloves and coat he couldn’t help but smile a little wider. He wasn’t expecting to be caught but as soon as Y/N’s eyes met his, she smiled in return. Her quiet laugh was the only sound he could focus on. 

“What?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, I just…you weren’t who I expected you to be.”

Azriel frowned. “What do you mean?”

Y/N shrugged. “I just didn’t expect the shadowsinger of the Night Court to be all smiles and laughs. It’s far from the way others talk about you.”

Azriel deflated a little in his chair and Y/N’s eyes widened. “Not that it’s a bad thing. I was just expecting you to be…broodier, I suppose. But you seem to smile a lot. It’s rather beautiful.”

Her compliment sent another faint blush across Azriel’s cheeks. He hadn’t received attention like this from someone for quite a while. It was nice. 

“I-thank you, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

Y/N waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t need to thank me for a simple compliment you know damn well is true. Just look at those dimples.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “You are ruining my reputation here.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It was ruined the moment that gorgeous smile appeared on your face.”

Azriel’s cheeks began to ache. He tried to fight the smile away but he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “when do you want to buy the ingredients?”

Y/N quickly glanced at her coffee, it was nearly empty. She lifted it to her lips and took a final sip. “Now, if you are ready too?”

The coffee in Azriel’s mug was gone, only a tiny amount remained, not even enough for a mouthful. “Let’s go.”

As the two stood to their feet, Y/N suddenly gasped. “Wait, before we go.”

She dug in her pocket and pulled out the folded list and placed it down on the small wooden table. “We can now cross one thing off.” She handed a pencil to Azriel. “You can do the honours.”

Azriel took the pencil from her grasp, her fingertips brushing against hers. He expected her to pull her hand away the moment they made contact but she didn’t. In fact Y/N didn’t even pay any attention to the scars on his hands. All she did was look at him with an excited expression on her face. Azriel didn’t want to recall his hand. 

“One down, twenty-nine to go,” Y/N said as Azriel reluctantly pulled his hand away to cross out the task.

“Twenty-nine to go,” Azriel repeated.

Originally thirty tasks seemed to be a long and pointless list but now as he stared down at it, he couldn’t help but think that it was too short. He was only one task down but he had found that he hadn’t had as much fun or smiled as much as he had in a long time. The way Azriel felt; he never wanted the feeling to end. 

“Let’s go and get the ingredients,” Y/N said, tucking the list back into her pocket. “There was a recipe my parents used to make that I loved when I was younger. If that’s okay with you? If there is something you would like to make, just tell me. They are your tasks after all.”

“That sounds perfect to me, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

She smiled and linked her arm through his. “Then let’s go, shadowsinger. Let’s show the rest of Velaris how intimidating you are with that gorgeous smile.”

Azriel couldn’t help but blush. 

***

The moment Y/N and Azriel entered her apartment, it was getting dark outside. Their trip to gather ingredients for their meal took a lot longer than originally anticipated. The two of them simply enjoyed strolling around different stores with one another. The domesticity of it all made Azriel’s heart soar. 

“So,” Azriel said as he peeled potatoes. “Tell me more about yourself, Y/N. I’m sure you have spent more time talking about my smile than you have talking about yourself.”

Y/N laughed as she nudged Azriel out of the way to reach for the carrots next to him. “I can’t help it if your smile takes my breath away and I find it hard to speak.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but remained silent. 

“In all honesty, I’m not too interesting,” Y/N said.

“Liar,” Azriel said, nudging her with his elbow lightly. 

“I’m serious!” Y/N exclaimed. “I just have a simple job.”

“What is it?” Azriel asked. “You haven’t mentioned anything about your job so far.”

“I haven’t? Hmm, must have slipped my mind,” Y/N said and began to chop up the carrots. “If you must know, I work in a music shop. I teach lessons there on occasion too.”

Azriel smiled softly. “That is not simple.”

“It really is,” Y/N replied. “It’s nothing like a job defending this court and keeping it safe.”

Azriel frowned. “It may not be but it is a beautiful job regardless. What do you teach?”

“Mostly piano and violin,” Y/N answered. “I mainly teach children but sometimes I get some older fae request lessons.”

“How long have you taught them?”

“Probably close to a century now,” Y/N replied before sighing. “Before that I simply worked in a bakery.”

Azriel gleaned over and noticed her eyes glossed over in sadness. He stopped peeling the potato immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N said, though it was clear she wasn’t. “It’s just…the reason why I started to teach children to play music is because it is what my father taught me. From the moment I could walk he began to teach me piano. I was awful at first and I hated playing it. But I soon fell in love with it.”

Azriel placed his hand gently upon hers, squeezing it to offer some comfort. Y/N’s eyes snapped to his hand then to his eyes. A small smile appeared on her face. 

“That piano over there was his,” Y/N said, glancing to the corner of the room where a piano resided covered in a layer of dust. “I haven’t been able to play it since he passed.”

“It is a beautiful piano,” Azriel said. 

Y/N smiled. “It truly is. My mother gifted it to him for their mating ceremony.”

Azriel smiled. “She must have truly loved him. It is a beautiful gift.”

“She did,” Y/N said. “I don’t remember much of my mother, she died when I was only two years old. But I do remember the love she had for my father. And from what I vaguely remember and from what my father told me, she loved me very much.”

Azriel smiled. “Your parents sounded wonderful.”

“They were,” Y/N said sadly. “My mother was Illyrian, you know?”

“Really?” Azriel asked, looking to her back, seeing if she had hidden wings she hadn’t told him about. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N chuckled. “A lot of people don’t realise. I was born without wings, not even the power to summon them at all.”

Azriel looked down at the potato he held in his hands as he realised he had gotten caught looking for the most distinguishable feature of an Illyrian. 

Y/N brushed her hair behind her ears. “My ears aren’t as pointed as the High Fae’s either, but not as rounded as yours.”

Azriel looked at her ears, at the tips that seemed different to any he had seen before. Though he was rather distracted by the jewellery that decorated them. 

“So it seems that we have something in common, Azriel,” Y/N said. 

Azriel looked away from the jewellery that decorated her ears and back to her eyes. “It seems that we do.”

Y/N smiled before picking up her carrot again. “Tell me about yourself now. I feel like I’ve spoken about myself forever.”

“There is not much to talk about,” Azriel answered. 

Y/N groaned. “Come on! You are what? Over five-hundred years old? There is surely plenty you can talk to me about.”

“You are not that much younger than me!” Azriel exclaimed. “There is surely more fot you to talk about too.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “You should never assume a female’s age, Azriel. Now, tell me about yourself. Remember I am holding a knife, I might not be able to do anything with it, but remember I am holding one.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“What are your hobbies? What do you like to do except flash that smile about?” 

Azriel nudged her gently before cutting into the potato. “I am…not really sure what I like doing.”

“Come on,” Y/N said. “There has to be something.”

The shadowsinger shrugged. “I like reading, I suppose.”

“Great, that’s a start,” Y/N said. 

Azriel placed the potato in the pan and moved onto another but found himself at a loss for words. What did he like to do? In his feelings of loneliness he had seemed to abandon everything he enjoyed doing in favour of taking on more tasks and missions to distract himself and keep himself busy. He was sure that he hadn’t picked up a book for his own pleasure in quite some time. 

“I honestly can’t think of what I enjoy doing,” Azriel admitted. “It’s been a while since I have done anything for my own personal pleasure.”

Y/N looked up at him, something akin to empathy in her eyes. Azriel looked away quickly and continued to peel the potato. “I normally just ask Rhys to send me on more missions to fill my time.”

“You need to take time for yourself,” Y/N said, lowering the carrot once again. 

Azriel scoffed. “I’ve taken enough time for myself. All I ever am is by myself.”

“I never mentioned anything about being by yourself,” Y/N said. “Do the things you enjoy doing but invite someone along.”

Azriel looked down at her, his eyes calculating before his shoulders slumped. “It’s difficult. Every conversation I have with my family now is all about their family. I just feel so…behind.”

Saying exactly what he was feeling aloud made everything real but at the same time lifted a small amount of the weight on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay to be behind, you have a long life Azriel. You don’t need to catch up with your family, you can take things at your own pace,” Y/N said, toying with a carrot shaving. 

“Y/N, I am nearly five hundred and fifty years old,” Azriel said. “If I was destined to have a family, surely I would have been blessed with one by now.”

Y/N shrugged. “I am four hundred and ninety eight. If I were destined to have a family, surely I would have one by now. It doesn’t matter when you begin your family, Azriel. What matters is that you are ready to start it with the right person.”

“You’ve never found that person?” Azriel found himself asking. 

Y/N shook her head. “I thought I did. It was a long time ago now but he was from the Winter Court and I was in love with him and he was in love with me.”

“What happened?” Azriel asked. 

“We grew apart,” Y/N replied. “He was part of the Winter Court’s army and was constantly busy with his duties where we would have no time to see one another. We still loved one another but we weren’t in love with one another. It ended amicably, I was even invited to his wedding. When I saw them, that was the love that he deserved, not the surface level love I was offering.”

“What about you? I guess you haven’t found that person either?” Y/N questioned.

Azriel thought of Elain. “I thought I did too. But we were not compatible at all. After the initial…lust passed, we were left with stale conversation. She is a great friend now, though. There has been no one since.”

“There’s another thing,” Y/N said. 

“Another what?” 

“Thing we have in common,” Y/N responded and shuffled over to the other side of the kitchen and poured glasses of wine out and passed one to Azriel. “To our loveless lives.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh and clinked his glass against hers. “To our loveless lives.”

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @naturakaashi @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @ithan-holstroms-girl @meshellexplosionmurder @nightcourt-daydreaming @brujitafantomarico @qinfeii @pinksmellslikelove @schultzlindsey5 @mell-bell @we-were-beautiful @fightmedraco @glitterypirateduck @lostinpages13 @actuallyacerrr @poetryinshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @topaz125 @acourtofbatboydreams @luvmoo @daily-dose-of-sass @applerubyy @tonysttank @just-a-social-casualty-1 @scatteredstardustt @samaxraph99 @i-m-in-loki-s-army @katlyndawn51 @skyesayshi @iamjimintrash @reverieinthestars @witchymomfrien @oliviajdjarin @tele86 @sfhsgrad-blog

- strike through could not be tagged -

#acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fluff

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Helloo !! ^^ Its me again ahaha 🙈

Feeling you with the number of RQs ! (': i have a lot of unfinished ones too, and I FEEL SO JORRIVLE FOR SENDING ONE in knowing that💔💔😭😭😭😭😭😭, but this has been in the forefront of my mind 😵‍💫. Please don't feel pressured to respond! 🫣 I won't blame you if you'd rather not to ☺️🙌//

...

Yandere Outlaw, having abducted reader, not at all having had anticipated the strength of their connections.

While reader isn't necessarily strong themselves, they have a strong family, a line of uncles and brothers that are feared across the West for their brutality, their violence, and most notably, their loyalty. This is especially jarring given that reader is the youngest in the family, so of course they would be overprotective over them, as weren't they just the baby of the family, their sweet lil pumpkin?

It's why they are second only to Outlaw himself in terms of criminality, notorious instead, however for how they are willing to kill for blood feud, and to wreak havoc in a bid to avenge anyone that crossed the path of their family member(s).

Now picture this: having heard of reader's abduction, to describe their reaction as fury, rage, even wrath, would all be an understatement. They would be getting together, coordinating a plan, and intending to shoot the damn bastard dead, as scum like him should pay for messing with the wrooong criminals.

Now this brings me to my question: what would Outlaw's reaction be to waking up one day to see not a trace of their darling, their hostage rescued by their cowboy brothers and uncles? (Or something more creative than this,, ^^"" ", i doubt that theyd leave him with lungs and eyes, let alone ALIVE after locating his whereabouts and saving their sweet lil pumpkin, thw baby of the family. My imagination can only take me so far an idk 😓💔)

Would Outlaw go after each individual member of the family down, on a furious witch-hunt in a bid to rescue their darling? After all, Outlaw has been on countless raids riding solo with nothing aside from a horse and his trusty shotgun, became infamous for being the West's deadliest gunslinger, has eliminated the wealthiest businessmen and robbed them of all their money, and made a career out of being a criminal.

Or would he accept defeat? This is clearly not a family to mess with, and it was a miracle that they hadn't put his beheaded head on a stake and set it on fire, condemnimg his corpse. He'd have to be a fool to risk this, wouldn't he? Was reader, his darling, really worth that risk?

Would love to hear your thoughts ! ☺️💞

ALSO SORRU FOE THE REALLY LONG ASKS I FEEL SO BAD BC I GDT CARRIED AWAY JDJSJAJAJASSS 😭😭🙏 PLS FORGIVR ME AAAAAAARRHEHSS

My sweet Anon, we simply must find a name for you ! Your ideas cannot go without an identity to which we can attribute their creation ^^. Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful mind with us <3 !

♡ This occurrence is very in-character for the Outlaw to encounter; albeit never on such an intimate level.

♡ He’s made enemies out of every criminal in the West – namely for resigning them to a life imprisoned while making off with his loot, gifting them a sentence he’d have served himself were he not so adept at the skill of escapism. In the early days when he first started working with other criminals, at least; he’d never make such a mistake now.

♡ You see, the Outlaw is the very definition of work smarter, not harder. So while he may seem as if he’s given up his pursual of you by hanging back, letting you go back to your family and re-integrate with civilised life, he’s tracking you. Watching you. Anticipating your every move.

♡ He’ll find you – eventually – but he won’t swoop in to retrieve you at the first opportunity; he knows that this will simply incur another rescue effort and his imminent execution.

♡ He’ll start to pick off the male authority figures in your family, starting with the weakest (however large and imposing they may be). 

♡ He knows that, without the leader, the pack will scatter, meaning that there will still be some of your family he missed during his executions – members who could still come looking for you upon discovering your kidnapping (again).

♡ Sure, picking off the weakest ones will put the strongest on-edge, but it keeps them packed together – around you – right where he wants them.

♡ The Outlaw knows of the Reader’s family’s reputation. He’s even met them during the occasional heist; opportunists by trade in their willingness to jump upon the corpse of the Outlaw’s victories as soon as his back is turned. But he also knows none are as keen and accurate a marksman as he, and he uses this to his advantage.

♡ While the Outlaw specialises in short-range firearms, he is more than capable with long-distance ones, too. And, once he lures your protectors away from you, he’ll ensure their execution is swift and unforeseen. He’ll perch atop a sturdy tree branch and steady himself, bringing the head of whoever fell for his diversion into the sights of a Whitworth he dusted off and brought from home.

♡ The minute he knows you’re all alone – that your uncles and brothers and cousins are too busy painting the town red with their bodies to stow you away – is when he’ll swoop in, plucking you out of bed and slinging you over his shoulder as he had all those months ago during your first meeting, winding you as he throws you atop his horse and bolting off into the horizon.

♡ So, to put it simply, Anon: yes. To the Outlaw, you are absolutely worth the effort.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

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#sweet as an angel #yandere #original yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere outlaw #yandere outlaw x reader #yandere writing #yandere blog #tw yandere

[drdemonprince]

Is "safe sex" even real? Never done it so idk but you mentioned risk profiles once. I feel like demographically I've got a higher risk profile and the anxiety about that really prevents me from going and trying anything. Do you think that's overly anxious in a negative way?

"safe sex" is a really misleading and binary term. There is never any guarantee of safety in anything we do. Every choice we make comes with risks. Hell, choosing not to connect with other people sexually (if you have any desire to) does ITSELF come with its own risks and costs over time.

The chase after perfect, guranteed safety will only lead to us feeling powerless and afraid, because it is an impossibility. All that we can do is inform ourselves of the risks, mitigate the risks we are the most concerned about and that affect others, and then knowingly accept what risks we still face as the cost of leading a full, enjoyable life.

When we inform ourselves about risk mitigation, we learn there are certain steps that we should probably take to protect ourselves and others if we are engaging in behavior that carries risk. If you're having sex with a complete stranger, it's probably smart to use a condom. If you have sex regularly you might want an HPV vaccine or to be on PreP to prevent HIV transmission. When you meet up with people you should get tested for COVID. You should get vaccinated against COVID. If you want to get suspended in rope from the ceiling don't use a hardware store $3 carabeener, get the good shit from the rock-climbing supply store. Things like that.

But even if you use a condom, you might get herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. Even if you never have sex, you might already have herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. I've had several of those things, including some of the "scarier" sounding ones, and they're really not that big a deal. They're just a thing that happens in life. Most people have them. You pop a Valtrex when you have symptoms, you shove a suppostiory up your vulva when it itches, you sleep without underwear on, you communicate with partners, you move on with your life.

Sure, I do what I can to avoid the risks I am most concerned about. I take PreP right now because not getting HIV would be preferable to me. But I could still live if I got it. I am informed about the realities of living with HIV today, which makes that fear more manageable. It is easier for me to make carefully considered and yet realistic decisions surrounding my risk profile because I can confront the realities that scare me and learn more about them.

The body is not separable form its environment. We are connected to our surroundings and the people around us, and our bodies get sick, catch viruses, grow old, get messy, and die inevitably and return to the earth. With our one life, we each have to choose what is most important to us and what potential costs we can stand. But with each year that passes, a cost to our bodies is already incurred, and there's nothing we can do to prevent aging and death from coming our way.

So what would you like to do while you are around? Would you like to have sex with condoms? Go on PreP? Get the HPV vaccine? Take random loads in a glory hole? Make out and dry hump with a cutie at a party and catch her cold sore? Cross the street in the dark after looking both ways? Go out dancing so late that your sleep is disrupted for the whole week? Get your heart broken? Have a great all-consuming love? Have children? Endure a torn labia while giving birth? Try psychedelics? Go on a swinger's cruise? Get a UTI from spermicide? Roleplay online instead of meeting in person? Fuck people with a strap-on?

The choice is yours. And no choice you make will be perfect or come without risk. No life is safe. Accepting loss is one of the necessary tasks of leading a life. But you can educate yourself, reflect on what you most want out of life and what you fear, and then take steps to demystefy your worst fears and mitigate the risks that loom largest to you and the people you care about.

Whatever you decide, I hope you have some fun.

[merakiui]

YES! I Love the idea of Floyd being all awkward with the person he's pining for. His poor heart is just so full of love for you and he doesn't know what to do. Everything is so complicated, and he wishes he could just pick you up and take you instead, nice and simple.

orz orz soft non-con with a very lovestruck Floyd who knows it's bad and knows you'll hate him and he's so so sososososooooo sorry, but Shrimpy feels too good and he can't stop. :( he's such a softie with a big heart and he loves you so much, so it's impossible to let you go even though you plead and beg and cry. But he just shushes you, kisses your tears away, and tells you it's okay; he's here for you. Don't cry. <3 but no amount of sweet nothings or gentle touches can distract you from the fact that this is the third time he's cum inside, and he still doesn't seem ready to stop. >_<

But that's to be expected when he's spent so many months watching you and pining from afar and occasionally chatting with you when you happen to cross paths, which only fuels his obsession. Floyd's father will pay your parents quite the handsome sum so that this entire debacle can be swept under the rug. Floyd never really leaves you alone after that, and your parents are too fearful to incur Mr. Leech's wrath should they do anything he may find unfavorable. Somehow you find yourself forced to date Mr. Leech's son in an effort to appease everyone. ;;;; and unfortunately for you he has two sons. Twins. And the other is just as bad as Floyd. T_T

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: noncon

[spdrvyn]

im begging for miguel x reader where he’s sick/tired/woke up from a nightmare and is in desperate need of shooting. so she takes care of him - pure domestic contentment- grooming him/washing/shaving/brushing hair/towel drying/changing clothes (and socks 🥺)/feeding him - doing everything to relax him and make him feel loved

solace in your sweetness

summary: in the deep trenches of the night, miguel wakes up due to night terrors and you're very deadset on comforting him. no matter how many times he denies you that.

tags: hurt/comfort. very sweet and fluffy. reader isn't a spider-person. fem!reader.

notes: i love this request so so much, i have been ITCHING to do it. thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy reading this one!

Miguel didn't really have nightmares when he was younger. On the occasion that Gabe would bother him to watch a scary movie, there would be instances where he had them, but it wasn't a regular occurence. How naïve was he when he thought that he'd be able to leave those behind in his youth?

It started simple, he would be in the barren, empty streets of Nueva York. Before he would slowly watch every thing dissolve around him, glitch by glitch, pixel by pixel, unable to do anything but to just stand there, before he fell into the abyss and woke up.

The darkest part of his mind had always managed to make the scenario more horrifying, another time it was zombies, another time it was zombies again, but of only Gabriella. There was even a version where he was being chased by the other dead version of himself. He consulted many articles, read and bought a lot of books, and even tried meditating, but none of it worked so he just decided to live with it for a while. It wasn't like they happened every night, no big deal.

Though, it was a big deal to you. Which was his true fear, he didn't want you to fawn over something so trivial. He didn't want you to go out of your way to take care of him, despite how much it would fill the big, gaping hole in his heart.

So when he jolts awake from another night terror, he keeps himself as quiet as possible. He slowly looked over to the side of your bed, relieved to see that you were still in a peaceful sleep. He shifts silently and keeps his footsteps light as he makes his way over to the kitchen for some tea. The calming, minty aroma sweeped his senses, but it'd be better to work right now instead of relax.

He went back to the bedroom, setting the teacup down on the bedside before pulling out a small tablet. He winced as it opened, the brightness of it hurting his eyes even with glasses on. After lowering it, he immediately goes to rifle through his files.

That is until he felt the weight of your head on his shoulders, you looked up at him with a frown. "You're working."

"I am," Miguel spoke like he was caught with a hand in the cookie jar. As embarrassed as he was, it was too late. You should probably be going back to sleep, he remembered that you also had work early tomorrow. "I just got thirsty, go back to sleep, cariño."

A bald-faced lie, would you believe it or would you not? Your brows furrowed and your pout deepened, it made Miguel's palms sweat. Moments like these forced him to think if you really did have superpowers, there were too many instances where it seemed like you read his mind word for word.

"Why are you lying to me, Miguel?" Shock. It was his face, wasn't it? "Did you have any another nightmare? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Miguel's pride had shattered, you were too good at this. A little more and you'd be unmasking every single villain in the city. "You need to be up early, I just didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep." He closed his files and turned off his tablet, this was his fate now.

You all but groaned at his remark, kicking the bedsheets off of your body before stamping out of the bedroom. "Where are you-"

"Stay there, don't move an inch." He didn't want to incur God's wrath, so he obeys. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillows, his smell picked up on the scent of food being freshly cooked. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but by the lord, it smelled delicious.

Miguel was left there to wait for a while, this sort of reminded him of his younger days too, granted a lot more blissful. There were times when he was younger where Gabe had nightmares too, he'd come knocking on Miguel's door, asking if he could stay there for a while or if he could play video games with him.

To which Miguel would begrudgingly agree, but he normally tried to keep Gabe as uninterested in whatever they were doing as possible so that he could fall asleep already. This usually resulted in him falling asleep then Miguel having to sleep on the couch, but it was whatever. I mean, he only stopped doing that at the young age of 11.

So now being the one taken care of, it made Miguel feel like there was an outside force tipping the scales. After being a caretaker, one way or another, his whole life, having you step in and take him for a breather was like seeing a fish head on a lion's body.

You came back soon enough with a plate and spoon in hand, it was made clear to Miguel exactly what you were cooking. Tomato sauce with meatballs, you diced a small bit of the beef with the spoon before scooping some soup up, bringing it close to his mouth. "Ahhh,"

"I can eat on my—"

"Ahhhhh."

"For shock's sake—" he quickly took a bite, his eyes lit up as he swallowed. "It's good."

You smiled knowingly, finally allowing him to feed himself as you handed him the plate. "I know," then your expression hardened. "I'd like to talk to you about what you dreamt about, if that's okay with you." Miguel sighed, reaching over to the bedside to take a long sip of his tea.

His heart told him that it was perfectly fine for you to know about what was troubling him for so long now, but his mind, his rationale, told him to shut his trap about anything that could cause you any sort of worry or distress. When he doesn't respond to you after another moment, you lean in closer.

"Miguel, I'm always going to worry about you." You whispered, "That's just how I am, but it's because I love you. I love you so much that I can feel how much you're hurting even when you're trying to hide it from me."

"I love you too," he closed the gap to press a kiss to the crease on your forehead, you released a short breath. "I just- I don't know how to say it, I guess."

You placed a hand on his chest, "I can put the pieces together, I just want you to get this off your chest." He wished he had the ability to deny you, you're his weakness, especially when you bat your eyelashes and look at him so sweetly like you have all the love in the world to give.

He tells you as much as he can about his dream, it's all a mess. There were many parts that he wished he could just go back and erase, he didn't even want to go through with this idea in the first place. But you were so... understanding of him, it felt creepy. Not creepy, that wasn't the right word, but it was unsettling.

Being comforted by someone else always made Miguel feel like the other person had a 'holier than thou' attitude, that or he was horribly pitied to the point where he didn't want to keep opening up anymore. You carried none of those qualities, you simply nodded, listened in pure silence, but you'd chime in with some remarks every now and again. He doesn't know how he got so lucky with you.

You gave him some advice. Miguel's experiences were gut-wrenching which resulted to his night terrors, but you could share the sentiment. To some degree, at least. The advice was to just talk about it, letting that feeling build over time and dreading the next time you fall asleep would result to more casualties in the long run. And that if he had no other people to turn to, you were the first on his roster (granted he'd talk to you first anyway, but that's besides the point).

After putting away his empty plate, you joined him in bed again, it's probably still very late into the night, only three hours until you get up for work, but you didn't mind as long as you got to spend it with Miguel. However he wishes to.

The feeling of yours lips on his forehead, face nuzzled into his hair while your fingers drew shapes into his back.

The way he wrapped his arms around your hips, slotting one of his legs in between yours, and the sound of your heartbeat.

He falls into a blissful sleep, knowing you will protect him from the horrors that lurk in the shadows. For once in his life, Miguel has been taken care of and he's so glad that it's you.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #fluff #hurt/comfort

[yandere-toons]

HENRY BOWERS

Platonic & Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: child abuse and neglect, strong violence, bullying, implied alcoholism, reference to divorce, emotional abuse.

PLATONIC:

As soon as his father drinks himself into unconsciousness or throws him out the door, Henry stalks down the street to where he thinks his friend might be. Explaining nothing of his sullen demeanour, he places himself in the middle of whatever they are doing, dragging them into a more private area if their current activity is too public or not to his liking. From there, the hope is that his friend will act in a way that comforts him without him having to ask for it and risk further humiliation.

There are two possible outcomes here, depending on how his friend treats him and who else gets involved. If they accept his presence without prying, Henry will shut down and remain silent for a while, riding out the emotional storm around someone he now has a reasonable chance of trusting. If they stonewall him or others interrupt, Henry will revert to his hostile bully persona and never mention the event again, as it has become a new source of shame for him.

Henry reveals a watered-down version of the truth when pressed for answers, but even then, he refuses to tell the whole story out of a desire not to relive it, not to be seen as a whiner, and not to show how profoundly it has affected him. After all, a history of cruel reactions from his father and the small-town mentality of Derry have taught him that emotional vulnerability is a dangerous mistake of the stupid and weak.

Despite this, it becomes increasingly clear that Henry is stalling for time when the subject of going home creeps up on him. He would much rather stay out all day and night with his friend and the gang, cruising town with Belch at the wheel, forgetting what awaits him when he sets foot on the family farm. But Henry knows only too well that Butch's wrath will double if he has to go looking for him.

Henry will threaten and, if sufficiently provoked, maim anyone who shows an interest in his friend. His worldview is more than a little misanthropic, as his good memories are few and far between, and his father and the community at large have taught him to hate anyone who challenges his idea of the norm. As such, he sees this as a favour to his friend, ridding them of all the scumbags who would inevitably trap them in an unwanted relationship.

But deeper down, in the places that have never quite healed, the places he never talks about, Henry is afraid of powerlessness. He despises the thought that his friend would abandon him because of someone else, as his mother did, so he does not give them that option. Anyone who tries to plant the idea in their head that they should cut ties with him, or worse, leave town, he beats as if it might save his life.

As far as Henry is concerned, no one offers a better source of companionship than he. He is fond of yelling this supposed fact and more at his friend when they refuse to drop everything and join him at a moment's notice. Seeing this as an affront to his authority as well as a personal insult, Henry cannot take it, especially when it happens in front of people, and tries to hector them into submission.

If any of Henry's accomplices disagree with his methods, none will be too honest about it. Henry displays an unabashed willingness to hurt anyone and everyone who comes between him and his friend. Other bullies have required stitches courtesy of Henry and learned to turn tail at the sight of him or them, and the last concerned citizen to intervene was left with a concussion.

Although Henry is a little more lenient with his gang, he still has rules about what kind of interactions are acceptable. Some of these rules go unspoken until one of the other boys crosses a line he did not know had been drawn. On the first day, Patrick Hockstetter lost his right to be alone with Henry's friend and incurred a death threat from Henry after Patrick made advances towards them and asked if they would like to share Henry with him.

Spending time with other people sounds like a waste of energy to Henry, but spending time with the Losers is so inexcusable that he expresses it in the only language he knows: violence. His need to anticipate his father's unstable emotions has made him sensitive to any sign of displeasure in others, which Henry receives in abundance from one of the Losers, Richie Tozier. Tozier calls him an obsessive freak when he cuts one of the kids for staring at his friend.

ROMANTIC:

His only frame of reference is his parents' disastrous marriage, now separated, and the couples at school he enjoys breaking up with shoves and jibes. Henry can be demanding in everything he asks of his partner, putting them in the untenable position of bearing the brunt of his emotional hunger. It is an overwhelming and confused mess of mixed signals and frustration that has built up over years.

Much of Henry's attention-seeking behaviour and unpredictable aggression stems from the fact that he is both ashamed of his struggles and less and less successful at repressing them. When he still tries, it manifests itself in violent outbursts and, in the context of this relationship, defensive anger when his partner does not immediately and completely fulfil his needs.

There are few things Henry would hate more than being compared to his father, so he refrains from using this level of violence with his partner. However, he retains a distinct bullheadedness in the many arguments that do break out, usually over Henry's desire for them to give up any part of their life that distracts from him.

Under no circumstances is Butch to know that Henry has a partner, let alone meet them. He would rather die than have them see what a so-called coward he becomes around his father, and the thought of them being caught in the crossfire of one of his father's explosions makes him want to stick the knife in Butch's throat a little sooner.

At the first sign of Butch's approach, Henry pulls away from his partner and tells them that if things get heated, they should go with Victor and wait for him at a distance. Victor is disturbed by Henry's extreme view of the relationship but is wise enough not to say so to his face.

Watching his partner suffer abuse at the hands of a family member ignites a rage in Henry that stems from his unfulfilled desire to take revenge on his father. He flashes back to when Butch similarly hurt him, reopening the last wound he tried to numb by avoiding his home and seeking out his partner. Every punch Henry lands, every slash with the knife, is almost like getting back at his father for all the scars he gave him.

Henry refuses to feel remorse for those he attacks, as Butch would never apologise for the damage he inflicts and once even rewarded Henry for his violent actions. After making his partner drop a science project in the hallway, the child he forced to eat dirt had it coming. The classmate who sat next to his partner at lunch - a seat reserved for Henry, regardless of whether anyone else knows it or whether he feels like taking it that day - deserved to be thrown to the floor and humiliated in a way that will haunt them forever.

Competition, real or imagined, is unforgivable and will be met with swift, if not disproportionate, retaliation. The first line of defence is a barrage of verbal abuse, escalating to physical assault unless the pest flees the scene and swears an oath never to speak to his partner again. From there, Henry will order his cohorts to hold the person still while he carves, stones, drowns and breaks whatever he finds most offensive.

Part of a community that frowns upon physical closeness between friends, Henry seeks in this relationship the emotional intimacy and affection that his father never provided. He denies having such needs when anyone suggests otherwise, insisting that he only stays with his partner for superficial reasons and would not miss them if they were to disappear one day.

Despite his claims of indifference, Henry displays a violent resentment towards those who befriend his partner, perceiving these individuals as a threat to his importance in their life. This fear speaks to his underlying insecurity of not being in control, the same insecurity that drives him to suspect the worst in people and defend or assert himself accordingly.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

#Yandere #Yandere x You #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Headcanons #Yandere It #Yandere Henry Bowers #It x Reader #It Imagine #It 2017 x Reader #Henry Bowers x Reader #Henry Bowers #Bowers Gang #The Bowers Gang #It #It Movie #It 2017 #It Chapter One #It Stephen King #Fanfiction #Imagines #Reader Insert #Gender Neutral Reader #Yandere Writing

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 4: These Words Are All I Have So I'll Write Them]

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, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, prostitution, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), pregnancy, methods of ending pregnancy, speaking High Valyrian at a third-grade level, no Larys Strong this time yay!!!

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Dance, Dance” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.7k.

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! 🥰💜

She gives you a new dress to replace the one that is sopping wet and algae-stained from your tumble into the fishpond: a deep gory maroon, low-cut across the chest, a slit up to your thigh. It is the most revealing thing you have ever worn. You keep crossing your arms and tugging at the fabric, trying to make it cover more of you, incurably out-of-place in this room, this world. The madam is seated at her desk and jotting down notes in a thick, ancient book. When you steal glimpses of her words, they are messy and often misspelled, the script of a child. If you had parchment, you could write a letter. Your hands itch for it; your fingers flex to grasp nothing.

A woman glides into the madam’s bedroom—a tiny kingdom where no men exist—and hands you a cup of tea. She appraises you with a swift, intrigued glance; her hair is long and coppery red, her belly rounded out. She is perhaps five months pregnant. The madam casts her a stern look and the woman dutifully vanishes. “What is this?” you ask as you take a sip. It’s hot, lemony, bitter. “Moon tea?”

The madame chuckles. “No. We have moon tea for if that doesn’t work.”

Because I’m going to be doing things that could result in a child. Because I’m going to be violated here, again and again, I who was so terrified of being possessed by even one man.

The madam says: “Can you play any instruments?”

“No.” You draw into yourself—eyes and ears and the pores of your skin—every detail, every tapestry on the walls and creaky board of the floor and shift in tones of voice, anything that could help you escape. You are a traveler in a strange land. You have no map, no compass. You can bandage burns and set bones, but you know nothing about brothels in the suffocating, squalid entrails of a city.

“Sing or dance?”

“Not well at all.”

A furrowed brow. “Can you sew?”

“Barely.”

“Cook?”

“No.”

Disappointment, palpable and shaming. “Can you read or write?” the madam asks, scratching disorderly lines of black ink into her book.

“Both.”

Now she has perked up a bit. “How well?”

“Fluently.”

A raised eyebrow. This is unusual. “Any other languages besides the Common Tongue?”

“No.” Then you add desperately: “But I know about medicine! I’ve studied herbology and wound tending, and I can act as a healer for the women here, I can—”

“You could, perhaps,” the madam says, smiling with sad, aged patience. “But that is not what the prince regent intended.”

You stare at her, aghast, petrified. There is no swaying her. You consider revealing yourself and attempting to bribe her with the renowned Celtigar fortune, but this is inadvisable. It is one thing to be raped; it is another to be raped and then murdered and then probably raped again. The Greens are the true heirs of the throne in this establishment, which means Rhaenyra and all those who aid her are traitors. Already you have overheard the women gossiping about King Aegon. They do not appear to fear or dislike him; on the contrary, they fret over him like anxious mothers or wives. They hope his recovery is quick. They are grateful he survived. They wonder if he will return to visit them again soon. They do not seem to be under the impression that he is vile, amoral, cruel, a threat, a curse. When they look at him, white hair and ocean-deep eyes, they do not see a monster.

“You aren’t bleeding currently,” the madam continues.

“How do you know that?”

“You didn’t ask for a rag when I gave you that dress.” New words springing to life on those yellowed pages, pricelessly valuable and yet forbidden to you. “Ever borne children?”

“No.”

“Are you a maiden?”

You can’t decide how to answer; you aren’t sure if either reply will help you. You settle on the truth. “Yes,” you admit tentatively.

“Good. We can charge more for you.”

“Wait, no, I’m not. I’ve been with lots of men.”

The madam laughs, shaking her head as she makes her notes. Her necklace and earrings jangle merrily, too large, glinting and gaudy. “Have no fear. I will make it easier for you. I will find a slight, young lad to be your first. He won’t be too big, he won’t last too long. And if you’re fortunate, he’ll even be handsome!” Her prominent, pale eyes go distant; she is orchestrating myths, the trade she deals in like some women sell silk or wool. “A soldier home on leave, perhaps. Looking for a taste of dwindling innocence before he marches off again to be butchered by a Costayne or a Darklyn.” She snaps back into the room. “It will be over before you know it. You’ll be more underwhelmed than anything else, trust me.”

You picture it, red, rust, rage, resignation: the impossibly large stain of blood on your cousin Theodora’s bedsheets. “What if I’m frightened? What if I cry?”

The madam shrugs. “Some men like that. It will convince them of your inexperience.”

You gape at her. “That’s appalling.”

“That’s the world we live in.” She sets down her quill, closes the book, and stretches out her back as she stands. “Follow me. I’ll show you around.”

There are rooms where the women sleep, rooms where they get ready, servants to arrange their hair and moonlight-silver mirrors and a cluttered array of cosmetics and closets bursting with sheer, sensuous gowns. As the madam momentarily diverts her attention from you to scold a servant for knocking over a tin of rouge made from ground cinnabar, you swipe a small stick of kohl eyeliner off a table and tuck it into the pocket of your dress. You might be able to write with it.

What is that pocket supposed to be for? A vial of perfume to mask the sweat of men, mint leaves to clear away their taste? A cloth to mop their mess off your thighs? You shudder, then trail after the madam as she floats out into the hallway.

There are bedchambers, six or seven of them, but the doors are shut. You can smell incense burning; you can hear moans and wet slaps of flesh beneath plucks of harps played by servants. Outside there is a courtyard where women sit on the stone rims of fountains simpering and stroking men’s beards, necks, chests, thighs. It is surrounded by a wall nine feet high. Armed guards pace through the maze of rose bushes and elm trees and proliferate quilts of ivy, keeping uninvited men out, keeping women in. They are protected from their own ambitions of some other kind of life. They are prisoners. The sky above them is a mosaic of spilled wine and gold; the sun is setting.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the madam leaves you in the care of the same woman you saw earlier, long coppery ringlets and a bastard in her belly. The dress she wears is a cleaner red than yours, not blood that has dried and flaked but a heart that’s still beating. She is chopping vegetables and tossing them into a pot boiling over the fire. The long wooden table is strewn with carrots, onions, potatoes, leeks, mushrooms, fresh dark green herbs.

She flashes you a wily smile. “Our cook dropped dead last week. We’ve yet to procure a new one, so I’m making myself useful. All the house laments.”

You laugh and join her, though you don’t know the first thing about working in a kitchen; you pick up a knife and begin slicing through a carrot. It takes more muscle than you anticipated.

“On a cutting board, you idiot,” the woman says kindly, passing you one.

“Sorry. I’ve never cooked before.”

“What? Never?” Her auburn eyebrows spring up. “Where did you come from?”

The cliffs, the sea, salt and waves and mist. “The Crownlands.”

She is studying you with interest as her blade hovers over a half-chopped leek. “Were you a handmaiden to a lady there, or…?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whoever I was, I’m not the same person anymore.”

“No,” the woman agrees softly. “None of us are, I suppose.”

You glance down to her belly. You don’t wish to offend her, but you are curious.

“Go on,” she prompts. “You may inquire. I am well aware of my predicament whether you speak of it aloud or not, I assure you.”

“Did the moon tea not…expel the child?”

“No,” she sighs as she resumes hacking away at the leek. She speaks with vague, weary fondness. “The lemonweed tea did not prevent it, the moon tea did not kill it. I nearly died of fever and vomiting myself, but the child held on. It’s alive in there, I can feel it kicking sometimes. A fierce little thing.”

You nod, still gazing at her belly, undeniable evidence of the act that built it. The copper-haired woman is almost certainly younger than you, and yet she knows exactly what it means to be opened by a man, pillaged, conquered, used, left. This time tomorrow, you will know it too. “The madam let you stay?”

“Not very enthusiastically, but yes. I cook, I clean, I do the shopping in the market. She does not fear letting me venture out into the city. She knows I have nowhere else to go. I only have to entertain clients if they ask for a pregnant woman. Some men have a particular liking for that, you know.”

You did not know. “Right.”

“Besides, there might be some advantage in it for the madam,” the woman tells you. She grins. “When the child is born, there’s a chance it will have the silver hair of a Targaryen. Then the madam could approach Otto Hightower for a reward of some sort, money, protection. Royal bastards have never been more valuable. Little princes are dying left and right.”

“King Aegon’s?” you say numbly. “The child could be his?”

“Yes, obviously. Who else?”

So Aemond does not frequent this place as a customer. You wonder how he met the madam.

Aegon was here before the war began, you think, blood hot in your face, your guts twisting and nauseous. How many women know what he feels like, tastes like, sounds like when he is moaning in pleasure instead of agony?

The copper-haired woman is staring at you quizzically. You have to say something. You hear your voice like the distant cry of a crow through fog: “What was he like? The king, I mean.”

She considers this. “Drunk. Sad. But perfectly pleasant. I wouldn’t mind serving him again. He’s well thought of on the Street of Silk. I do hope he recovers. I think Rhaenyra would hang us all from a gallows. She knows Daemon has a wandering eye, and she’s not the type of wife to look the other way.”

You are trying to clear it out of your skull, like a room full of smoke: Aegon was here, Aegon was here, Aegon was here. “When you met with him, it was in this brothel?”

She hesitates. “Mostly.”

Mostly…? “Have you been inside the Red Keep?”

“Once. Ages ago. There is a network of secret passageways beneath the castle and behind the walls. The king has been known to use them for…well. You know.”

It should not hurt you. You’ve spent all your life listening to the tales of his failings. Yet it does, more than you thought was possible. You’ve never wanted a man before. But you want Aegon now. You do, you must, otherwise you wouldn’t be so pained by the thought of others touching him. You wonder if he feels the same way about you, if he ever lies awake at night with his stomach in knots over your nameless betrothed.

You try to focus on this moment, this kitchen, this copper-haired woman.You need to find a way out of here. “So the madam will decide what happens to your child once it’s born.”

“Of course,” she replies simply.

“You don’t want to keep it yourself? You are not attached to it?”

The woman is suddenly serious, quiet, melancholy. “I have no choice in the matter.”

She’s my chance. She’s my redeemer. “Can I ask your name?” you say.

“What my family named me is of no account. As you said, we’re not the same people anymore.” She smiles, warm like embers once again. “People here call me Autumn.”

“Autumn,” you echo. A woman with hair the color of crisp, dying leaves, the color of a dying world hurtling towards winter. “I think I can help you. You and your child, no matter its parentage.”

She does not want to believe you—hope is a dangerous, taunting creature, one that builds a home in your ribcage and then taps taps taps its claws along the ladder of bones—but she does. You can see it flickering in her small, upturned hazel eyes. “You…what?”

“When you go to the market, do you take a list with you? Of items that you require?”

“Yes,” Autumn replies, puzzled. “The madam always gives me one.”

“Do you have any parchment here in the kitchen?”

Autumn shakes her head. “The madam keeps it in her room. Shall I ask her—?”

“No,” you say. “Definitely don’t ask for any. Is there an old list lying around, perhaps?”

“Um, let me see…” Autumn rummages around the table; onions go rolling, leeks are flung aside. She snatches a tattered, folded sheet of parchment from under a pile of potatoes and surrenders it to you. “Here. This is the one from yesterday.”

You open it and lay it flat on the table. Sure enough, there is a list written in black ink; but not in the Common Tongue. The items are sketched. There’s a carrot with a cloudlike plume of fronds atop it, a bee (meaning honey, you imagine), a pig and a chicken, a round bottle with a heart drawn above it. Perfume? you guess. “These are pictures.”

“Well, of course. I wouldn’t be able to read it otherwise.”

You take the stick of black kohl out of your dress pocket and flip over the list. The back is blank. You write as Autumn watches, baffled, fascinated.

Your Grace, you begin, and then scratch it out. You start again.

Aegon,

Aemond has imprisoned me in a brothel. He knows the madam (middle-aged, brown hair, clever).

“What is this place called?” you ask Autumn.

“The Pink Pearl,” she says.

Autumn works here, if you recall her. She says the establishment is known as the Pink Pearl. Please send someone to rescue me at once. I am to be put to work soon, and I am afraid.

You pause. What will he have been told? What will he think of you now?

I beg your forgiveness for my deceit. I did not mislead you out of malice. I knew you needed help, and that I would not be able to provide it if my true identity was known. I have not done anything to undermine your cause. I have not written a word to my family. I assume they now believe me to be dead. I do not want this, but it is a sacrifice I have made so that I can continue to serve you.

Please help me. Please allow me to return to the Red Keep.

My name was a lie, but none of the rest was.

Angel

“You’re highborn, aren’t you?” Autumn says, hushed, awed. “You must be, to write like that.”

“Yes. And I am a friend of King Aegon. If he knows I’m here, he will pay for me.” You don’t know that for sure, but you have hope, that risky rattling beast.

“He will pay to fuck you, you mean?”

“I believe he will buy my freedom.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Then I will slit my own throat with one of these knives. “It’s better for everyone if he does.” You fold the parchment closed and then give it to Autumn. She takes it, perplexed but willing. “I cannot leave this place. But you can. I need you to get that letter to the king. You know the way to the Red Keep; you have been inside these secret passageways. Hand the letter to him directly if possible. If you are intercepted, ask to see the Dowager Queen Alicent or…” You debate this. Sir Criston is closer to Aemond than Aegon, but you believe the opposite to be true for the youngest Targaryen brother. “Or Prince Daeron. Tell them that the letter must be read by the king immediately, and by him only. If he is resting, he must be roused. If he is speaking with someone, he must be interrupted. Explain this and then leave. And do not allow the prince regent to see you.” Aemond’s words blow through you like a cold wind: If she tries to escape, kill her.

“This is a difficult task,” Autumn says uncertainly, the folded square of parchment disappearing into the bodice of her gown. “I cannot promise you anything. But I can try.”

“If I am rescued, I will see that you and your child are provided for. You will have your own home, one far, far away from here. You will never have to answer to the madam again. You will never have to lie with a man who is not of your choosing. Your life will be your own.”

She stares at you, dazed and wonderous. She cannot even fathom this, but she knows she wants it. You’ve begun to feel that way about certain things as well. When Autumn speaks, it is in little more than a whisper. “I would like that very much.”

“You will have my most fervent gratitude.”

“I will depart tonight after supper. I will tell the madam that I am craving apple cake from a street vendor.”

“Thank you, Autumn,” you say, lips trembling as they curl into a smile, tears blurry in your eyes.

She points to the stick of black kohl you’ve used as a makeshift quill, smirking. It’s still clutched in your dominant hand. “You’d better hide that before people start showing up looking for soup.”

Hours later, you are trying to fall asleep in a room you share with half a dozen other women who are not presently working, beds so close together they almost touch, soft snores, mattresses shifting when people roll over, a thin wool blanket pulled all the way up to your chin.

Aegon will read the letter. Aegon will send someone to rescue me.

In the darkness, your hands wander down to your belly, your hips, lower. Skating over your white silk nightgown, your fingertips press cautiously at a place where you sometimes feel an indistinct, uneasy sort of pleasure. You rarely touch yourself; you cannot do so without remembering that your body is not your own and never has been. But now, for the very first time and without any premeditation, you picture Aegon—his murky oceanic eyes, his crooked grin, his hands, his bravery, his gentleness, his shock of white-blond hair adorned with that single tiny braid—and instantly your once-ambiguous desire sharpens, strengthens, is accompanied by a wetness that you can feel blooming warm and needful beneath your nightgown.

But it’s not going to be him. It’s going to be some stranger who doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to.

You roll over onto your side and thrust your hands under the pillow, squeeze your eyes shut until they ache, try not to hear the moans that creep through the walls like dark veins of blood poisoning.

~~~~~~~~~~

All day you wait for someone to cross through the doorway of the brothel to claim you, a guard, a messenger, Daeron, Criston, anybody. But no one does. The women here keep strange hours: late to bed, late to rise, breakfast at noon, lunch at four or five, supper long after nightfall. You pick listlessly at a breakfast of biscuits with butter, honey, and blackberry jam, bacon, weak wine, pomegranate juice, lemonweed tea to prevent an unintended child like Autumn’s.

“I was stopped by a guard just outside the Red Keep,” she mutters to you in a stolen moment, huddled together at the end of a hallway by a window that opens out onto the courtyard. “They agreed to let me see Prince Daeron. He took the letter and said he would deliver it. That’s all I could do. I hope it’s enough.”

I hope so too, you think to yourself as you thank her, marveling with brick-heavy horror at how all the Valyrian ancestry and riches in the world cannot save you from the fate of being born a card for others to play, trade, bet on, use until it is worn and faceless. I hope so with everything I’m made of.

The other women take you with them to the bathhouse down the street, and in the labyrinth of sweltering pools and swirling steam you scrub yourself all over until your skin is tender to the touch. You use perfumed soaps and luxurious floral oils, not for healing but for vanity, so strange men will imagine you to be an intoxicating fantasy, so any human imperfections can be ignored. You pluck some stray hairs and trim others. You inspect each other for bruises or scratches or bitemarks that will need to be covered. No one mentions how they got them. Everybody knows.

Back in the brothel, the women show you how to wear your hair and do your makeup: black kohl on the eyes, beeswax dyed with berry juice on the lips, powder on the face to even out your complexion. Servants flit around fussing over hairstyles and switching ripped seams on dresses. Your silk gown—the one you will be raped in—is a soft, helpless, feminine lavender. You are shown to a bedchamber: flickering candles, a mountain of pillows and jewel-toned throw blankets, harp music and fresh air breathing in through the windows. You sit on the edge of the bed wringing your hands. You are waiting to be rescued. You are waiting to be harmed.

The door opens, and he enters. The madam was truthful: she has found you a slight, benign-looking young man. He smiles shyly, clanging in his light armor. He is indeed a soldier on leave from the front. He wears the crest of his family as the clasp for his cape, a white shield with a black cross. He is a Norcross, the same as the dying boy you were tending when Aemond pulled you off the battlefield at Rook’s Rest. How easy it would have been for you to not be here right now; a difference of a few minutes, a few meters, and Aemond never would have found you.

“Hello,” the man says pleasantly. He is yanking off his boots.

“Hello.” You are still sitting on the edge of the massive bed, big enough for four or five occupants. This is not a coincidence, you’re certain. But that will come later, once you have been sufficiently broken in. Your stomach lurches; you try not to show it.

Now he is taking off his cape. “You’re nervous,” he observes. There is a pitcher of wine on the table in the middle of the room. He pours two cups and hands one to you. You take it—intending to be dignified, ladylike—and then gulp it down. The Norcross laughs. “You needn’t fear me, maiden,” he says. “I am here for pleasure, not pain. I have paid a considerable price for you. You are a piece of treasure, a rare gem, and I will handle you accordingly.”

Then he reaches out to stroke your cheek, and something in you shatters, splits open, screams. I don’t know this man. I don’t trust this man. You shrink away from him and retreat to the center of the vast bed. The Norcross blinks at you, a little amused, a bit bewildered. “Sir, you have stumbled upon a great opportunity,” you tell him. “I am no ordinary woman.”

“No?” he says. But he is smirking beneath gleaming eyes, like this is a joke; and he is removing his armor as well.

“I am here as the result of a dreadful misunderstanding. You see, I have actually already been claimed. There is another man who has the right to take my innocence if he so chooses.”

“Oh?” the Norcross says. He is unbuttoning his white cotton shirt. “Who?”

“King Aegon.”

He throws his head back and guffaws, dark hair long enough to cover his ears and brush against the nape of his neck. “This is a very charming jape. Me? Getting to deflower the king’s chosen whore? Yes, yes, very good. Delightful. Delicious.” He crawls onto the bed; the mattress shifts beneath your palms. A cold sweat slicks across your skin. Goosebumps rise on your arms. He doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t want to.

“I’m not joking,” you implore the Norcross. “I am well-acquainted with King Aegon, he cares for me. I was brought here by mistake and against his knowledge. If you assist me in returning to him, I’m sure you will be generously compensated for your trouble—”

The man’s hand juts out, snags in your hair, yanks and tears at it. You yelp and struggle as he wrestles you down onto the mattress and settles his weight on top of you. “You’re mine, all mine,” he growls, smiling, playing along with what he has chosen to believe is a fantasy. “Not the king’s whore. The king has plenty of those already, he probably has thousands. But you’re all mine.”

“Get off me,” you order him, as if you are still the daughter of one of the wealthiest houses in Westeros and not some powerless, penniless woman imprisoned in ornate walls and perfumed silk; and isn’t this where you always would have ended up anyway? Flinching on some stranger’s bed as he tried to claim you, subdue you, force pieces of himself inside you?

“I will show you, maiden. The king is a cripple now. He could not satisfy you anyway. I will give you what he could not. And I’ll give it to you more than once, if you ask nicely.” He presses his lips to yours, a sickening mockery of a kiss, all flesh and no heat. He is wearing only his trousers; they could be gone in an instant. He is tugging your sleeves off your shoulders to get to your breasts.

“Please don’t do this, please stop, I’ll give you anything—”

“Everything I want is right here.”

Just let him do it, you think. I can’t leave this place, I can’t fight him off. There’s no way out. Just let him do it, and live to see if freedom will arrive tomorrow.

Aemond’s words fill your skull like flashes of lighting: If she tries to escape, kill her.

The Norcross man is pulling off his trousers. It strikes you like a closed fist: the terror, the injustice, the rage. You swing at his face, your knuckles rapping against his cheekbones. “Get off of me—!”

There is a tremendous fracturing noise, and at first you think the man must have snapped one of your bones, your radius or your tibia or your clavicle. But no: it was the bedchamber door being thrown open so violently it hit the wall behind it and cracked down the middle. And now there are footsteps, and now there are guards pouring into the room, and now the point of a blade bursts through the Norcross man’s windpipe splattering blood across the bed, the walls, the wood boards of the floor. You are shrieking; scarlet rain peppers your face, chest, hands.

“You’d take an unwilling woman?!” Aegon demands of the dying man, who gapes at him with rapidly fading eyes and a mouth hemorrhaging dark, lethal red. The king is wearing all black, tunic, trousers, boots. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face and secured with a black ribbon. You have never seen him like this before. You have never seen him brutal, formidable, furious. “You fucking animal. Enjoy drowning in your own blood.”

Aegon wrenches his sword free from the dying man’s throat and he falls face-down onto the mattress as you scramble away. And then Aegon falls too: his legs give out and he collapses to his knees, kneeling in a pool of the Norcross man’s blood, the hilt of his sword tumbling out of his grasp. You bolt off the bed and drop down onto the floor beside him.

“Aegon?!”

“Are you okay?” He takes your face in his hands—they’re shaking, they’re weak again, but just strong enough to cradle the slope of your jaw—and looks at you, turning your face one way and then the other, his eyes searching for bruises, lacerations, more fuel for the vengeful fire that blazes in him. The burn on his own right cheek is inflamed, blistering. He does not seem to notice.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, no, you got here just in time.”

And Aegon—this so-called monster, this alleged beast, this man who the Blacks swear is a villain and a degenerate and soulless—slips the sleeves of your silk lavender gown back up over your shoulders so your chest is covered. “If it’s any consolation, you’re fucking beautiful.”

“Of course you would prefer me dressed like a prostitute.”

He laughs, embraces you, holds you to him, the first time he ever has. Your arms link around the back of his neck, your fingers knot in his hair. You are so close, yet not nearly close enough; you want him completely, always. You can’t claw your way back up the cliff you’ve fallen down.

There is a commotion as the guards that accompanied Aegon to the brothel part to allow two new arrivals into the bedchamber. Aemond and Criston now stand just inside the doorway, breathing heavily from their sprint across the city. Your gaze meets Aemond’s and you clutch Aegon tighter. The king kisses your temple—so quickly and unceremoniously it feels like a habit, something instinctual, something innately right—and reluctantly unravels himself from you. He grabs the nearest bedpost and hauls himself to his feet, wincing, groaning, bracing himself against it with both hands.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Aemond shouts at his brother.

“You will not harm her! You will not take her from me!”

“Aegon, she’s not a Thorne, she’s a Celtigar! Her father sits on Rhaenyra’s council, he funds her war effort, when our men are killed it’s with arrows and steel that he paid for—!”

“We’re all different people now!” Aegon roars. “All of us! You were some pathetic runt, I was useless, Daeron was a child, Helaena was happy, Criston was devoted to Rhaenyra, Mother was her closest friend, all of us have been changed by this world and its endless goddamn misery! So she was born a Celtigar, is she to be eternally condemned for that? Is she truly irredeemable? Can no acts of service to the Greens’ king convince you of her loyalty? She saved my life!”

“Are you insane?! We can’t trust her!”

“I am the king!” Aegon bellows. “I am still the one who gets to make these decisions, no matter how unworthy you think I am!”

“She lied to you, to me, to everyone, that cannot go unpunished!”

And then Aegon responds, but not in the Common Tongue. He says something—laboriously, haltingly—in a language you recognize only from hearing Daemon and Rhaenyra converse in it. You were not aware that Aegon knew High Valyrian well enough to carry a conversation. Perhaps Aemond and Criston weren’t either; they exchange a brief, astonished glance. The guards’ eyes dart between the king and the prince regent.

Aemond replies, his tone cutting but his words swift, seamless, graceful, fluent. Aegon stumbles his way through a sentence or two, pausing several times to conjure the correct word. Aemond says something else, an effortless litany of syllables your forebears shared. Aegon forces out one last plea. It sounds painful; it sounds like a confession. Aemond stares at his brother, perhaps scandalized, perhaps merely stunned.

“Alright?” Aegon pants, in anguish now. His hands are like talons on the bedpost, the force of his fingernails leaving white scratches in the wood. “You get it? You understand?”

“Fine,” Aemond says, low and bitter.

“You will not harm her. She stays in the Red Keep. Promise me, Aemond. I cannot rest until you do.”

Aemond nods, glaring down at the floor.

“Criston?” Aegon presses. “Promise me. If he breaks his word, you will stop him. I command this. I am your king.”

“I promise, Aegon,” Criston agrees, willingly enough.

“Good,” Aegon says. “Good.” And then he blacks out and crumples to the floor. The guards rush for him, but Criston tells them to stand back. He stoops low, lifts the king, throws him over one shoulder and carries him. Aemond fetches his brother’s fallen sword. You follow them out of the brothel, staying as far away from Aemond as you can. You pause just long enough to peek into the kitchen.

“Autumn?” you call, and she looks up from the chicken she’s been coating with herbs and butter. “I’m leaving now. You’re coming with me. Get your things.”

“What things?” she says, grinning. She cleans her hands and trots after you, one palm resting on the swell of her belly, her copper sea of hair streaming out behind her.

Inside the Red Keep, you inform the servants that Autumn will be staying as a guest of the royal family and that she is to have a room near yours. Then you hurry to Aegon’s chamber. He is sprawled across the bed, writhing and moaning. Grand Maester Orwyle is administering milk of the poppy. Criston is stripping him, heaving off Aegon’s boots and trousers before gingerly removing his tunic to reveal bandages red with blood around his shoulders. He has torn the half-mended flesh there. He suffers, he heals, he suffers again.

“Angel?” Aegon chokes out, reaching for you with tears flooding from his eyes.

“I’m here.” You take his hand. “What hurts, Aegon?”

“Everywhere,” he gasps.

You tell Orwyle: “Give him another dose.” And a second goblet of milk of the poppy is emptied down the king’s throat. Within a minute, he is mercifully unconscious again.

Criston looks at you. “What’s wrong with his face?”

“Sunlight. The rest of his burns were covered, but not the one on his cheek. Fresh burns must be kept out of the sun. He knows that.” You unwrap Aegon’s bandages; his wounds need to be cleaned and re-dressed.

“Oh, seven hells,” Criston whispers, covering his mouth with one hand. There are four or five ruptures around each shoulder, thin bleeding crevices that branch out like the legs of a red spider. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles off to order servants to fetch water, vinegar, honey, linen, more milk of the poppy.

“I should have done better,” you say, and your voice breaks. “I should have used more rose oil on his shoulders. I should have made him stretch three or four times a day.”

“You’ve tended to him tirelessly,” Criston says gently.

“I shouldn’t have lied about who I was.”

“I don’t see how you could have saved his life otherwise.”

“Go find Alicent,” you say. “Explain what’s happened, but don’t bring her to visit him yet. It will only upset her.”

“Yes,” Criston agrees, and leaves.

Outside, the sun is setting, and all the world is the color of dragonfire. Grand Maester Orwyle returns with servants and supplies. As you are dabbing at Aegon’s wounds with cloths dripping with water and vinegar, Daeron appears in the bedchamber doorway. His eyes—large and expressive like Aegon’s, but more crystalline, less dark—are shimmering and wider than you’ve ever seen them.

“Is he dying?” Daeron asks, sounding fearful and very young.

“No more than usual,” Aegon rasps; and that’s how you know he is awake again.

When Aegon is cleaned, bandaged, and soothed once again with milk of the poppy, the two of you are left alone. You perch on the edge of the mattress and can’t stop touching him, his left hand where his dragon ring glints in the flickering candlelight, his disheveled silver hair that still has that little braid you made for him. You don’t know what to say. You worry that if you begin talking, everything will spill out like a monsoon or a rogue wave, things you can’t take back, things you don’t fully understand yourself.

“House Celtigar, huh?” Aegon murmurs drowsily, smiling. “I’ve never been so happy to see a crab in my bed.”

And it hits you all at once: I would take every last drop of pain for this man. I would slit him open and drain him of it, swallow it down, assume the debt. I would carry every burden, every red flare of agony and ache in his bones. I would learn the art of self-loathing if he could forget it. I would trade fates with him, threads cut and crossed and burned to ash.

“What?” Aegon asks. He’s watching you with those storm-blue eyes, glassy with pain and poison.

Why wouldn’t you send someone else in your place? Why would you go yourself? Why would you injure yourself so grievously, so senselessly? “Why would you do this for me?”

“You are the only person I’ve never disappointed. I’d like to keep that going if I can.” He takes your hand and laces his fingers through yours. “You’re so far away.”

You lie down on the bed and curl up beside him, careful not to put pressure on his fresh wounds. You place one palm on the center of his bandaged chest, the other against his unburned cheek. Aegon pulls you in closer until your noses are nearly touching and you swing one leg up to rest on top of his; even then, he keeps a hand on your thigh, as if to make sure you don’t leave. The other twists into your hair and stays there. Aegon dives into a deep, starless sleep and you doze next to him. When you catch wisps of dreams like fireflies in a child’s grasp, you hear crashing waves and see dragons pitching into the sea: Vermax at the Gullet, Arrax into Shipbreaker Bay.

Why did Aemond have to murder Luke? Why did he have to start this war?

Something wakes you, a sound, an indescribable shift in the room. You open your eyes and turn to see Aemond, arms crossed and back propped against the opposite wall. You rise as carefully as you can so you don’t disturb Aegon, untangling yourself from him like he’s something catastrophically fragile, a spider’s web, a splintering pane of glass.

You stand and take several steps towards Aemond, only so you can speak without waking Aegon. “What do you want?”

“I fear I did not conduct myself particularly well yesterday,” he says. “I may have acted…impulsively. Unwisely.”

“Your capacity for self-reflection is truly inspiring.”

Aemond frowns. “I’m being serious.”

“I’m not interested.”

“If we are to be on the same side of this war, we should learn to understand each other.”

“I don’t want to understand you. Your mind must be a horrible place to live.”

He stares at you with his sole remaining eye, cold and hurt and wrathful and hopeless.

You ask softly, knowing that only Aemond can tell you: “What did he say? Back at the brothel?”

Aemond does not answer for so long that you convince yourself he’s not going to. At last, he decides to extend a peace offering. “He said that he cannot live without you. Or that he wouldn’t want to. I’m not certain which he meant. His High Valyrian has always been terrible.”

Then Aemond walks out of the room without another word.

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