#credit belongs to the owner of these

[3dogbones]

I actually worked hard on this and it came out okayish IM PROUD ACTUALLY AHHAHAHA MY VISION HAS BEEN REALIZED 🤩🤩🤩

How the flip so people actually do long colored animations though… already felt like dying while making this my respect for animators is actually so high PROPS TO YOU GUYS

[xoxochb]

[21-roses-a-day]

MILEY CYRUS – promotional pictures for upcoming project (August, 2023)

[rings-of-power-realm]

Credit @celebrimborium

[spotsquad]

Fluster Alastor 🤣Never thought I'll ever see this.

[monchaeni]

@monchaeni

┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ 우리 리아 ⋆ ★

<33

[wolfvirago-m]

— places in the lost woods realm 1/?: コンビニ (konbini)/convenience store

Within the pocket realm of the Lost Woods, sometimes, visitors may come across the Konbini. It’s a convenience store stocked with groceries, some fresh, some old. It’s impossible to tell if you bought good food until you leave. Once you check out, the store will vanish. It can take up to a week for the store to reappear to visitors.

Sometimes an old man runs the counter. Other times a woman does. They always have useful information and rumors about the forest that could potentially help lost souls leave. 

[awalkoflife-arc]

samantha carpenter in her reputation era.

[shadesofdeviant]

Five comfort characters & Five tags!

Big thanks to @swiftiebvcks for the tag! Here's my five as promised.

These aren't in any particular order, but I'm probably slightly more biased towards some of them.

1 - TK Strand | 9-1-1: Lone Star

2 - James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes | MCU

3 - Anthony J Crowley | Good Omens

4 - Evan "Buck" Buckley | 9-1-1

5 - Aziraphale | Good Omens

No pressure tags: @rxsterek, @noxsoulmate, @chaotictarlos, @lightningboltreader & @bonheur-cafe and anyone else who wants to do this.

[21-roses-a-day]

SABRINA CARPENTER during her show in New Orleans, Louisiana. 20th March, 2023, Orpheum Theater emails i can’t send tour: second leg l NIGHT 3 © (on twitter): recklessmyron, julespowell13 & dimondsforeverr.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Dinner? A Bath? Or Me? || Honkai Star Rail Reactions ||

the thing I did for windbreaker imma do it for hsr too mehehehe just experimenting if this is well received I’ll do more

requests are open btw check my blog!

: aventurine. dr.ratio. sunday. dan heng. phainon. mydei.

cw: hints of sexual content. suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness (first time writing for some of these characters). art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

"Welcome home! Would you like dinner? A bath? Or perhaps me...?"

❥ Aventurine stills for a moment before his signature smile graces his face. You can already feel his mischievousness radiating off of him in waves as he steps closer to you, to stand directly in front of you. He acts as if he's in deep contemplation at your words. "Dinner does sound nice, I'm absolutely famished! Though, a nice hot bath does sound equally as enticing." He says with a playful mirth, trying to gauge your reaction. He's quick to notice the slight down pull of your lips - as expected of you, his smile grows wider. "Ah, the third option?" He asks like an afterthought but you know it's intentional. His face inching closer to yours while his gloved hand teasingly trails up your arm. His eyes lock you into a hypnotic trance that you can't possibly look away from. 

"Hmm and what might you be able to offer me...?"

❥ Dr. Ratio's face is serious as he digests your question. "Dinner followed by a bath would sound like the most logical option." He tells you as if he's stating a basic fact which causes you to deflate. "However..." You perk up at his words. "Exercising before eating has been known to lead to improved insulin responses and a higher fat burning rate." He speaks to you as he walks past you towards the hallway of your shared home. You feel your face grow how at his implication and use of the word 'exercising'. Then he suddenly stops to look back at you, his reddish eyes locking onto you. "Why don't we do a little exercising before dinner?" The atmosphere in the room shifting with the implication of his words. His face remains serious as he motions you to follow him.

"I simply chose the option with the most merits, that would be beneficial for the both of us."

❥ Sunday blanks out as he tries to process your words and the possible meaning behind them. As he eliminates all possible answers and lands on the one you’re most likely insinuating. His face starts to flush - his wings twitching from the urge to hide his face. "By ‘me’, are you possibly implying...?" Sunday manages to stutter out as he shyly looks towards you - awaiting your confirmation. You can't help but laugh softly at his question before nodding. Sunday matches your nod with his own letting the words sink in. The halovian hesitantly steps closer to you, taking your hands in his. "Then, may I h-have you...?" He asks you a slight nervousness laced within his voice as he brings your hands for his lips brush against your knuckles. A smile blossoms on his face as you accept. 

"T-Thank you, I promise to take good care of you..."

❥ Dan Heng freezes as you ask him this question. Keeping his face as neutral as possible. Your words immediately reminding him of a certain grey haired friend. He wonders if it was their idea to make you pose this kind of question to him. His eyes nervously shift around the room to make sure they’re really not hiding, watching his reaction. Once Dan Heng confirms the coast is clear, he clears his throat awkwardly looking away from you in embarrassment. The full weight of your words and intentions hitting him at once. “Sorry, I-I must have heard you wrong. Did you say ‘me’..?” You eagerly confirm, a smile beaming on your face. He pauses as he considers his next words, trying to come up with possible answers to your question. Your prolonged silence as you await his answer makes his cheeks grow redder by the second.

“I s-suppose one of those options does sound appealing to me…”

❥ Phainon couldn't contain the excited smile that breaks out on his face at your words. He immediately walks up to you, but before you could react to his sudden closeness. His hands hook underneath your thighs, lifting you to his press against his chest. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Feeling pleased, Phainon chuckles at your reaction. “Why, my dear. I believe the answer should be obvious.” He answers you with a bright smile as he walks over to the dining table, then carefully placing you upon it. He then places his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face as if you're his most prized possession. Your body tensing as the pad of his thumb brushes against your button lip - his previous smile turning into a smirk. 

“You don’t even need to ask, the answer will always be you.”

❥ Mydei smirks, a deep resounding chuckle rumbling from his chest. “How bold of you to ask me such a thing.” He proclaims as he slowly walks towards you like a lion stalking his prey. His crimson eyes rooting you to the spot, daring you to even try to move away from him. “I don’t think dinner can satisfy the hunger I have right now.” He almost growls to you, as if he's trying his best to hold himself back from pouncing on you right now. As you momentarily look away from him in embarrassment, he uses his fingers to tilt your chin up. "Eyes on me." He orders, his eyes swirling with want while his other hand holds your waist to pull you until you're pressed against him. You feel your breath stolen away with how quickly his lips descend upon yours.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

[beeing1alive]

Turning on Tokyo Revengers boys without knowing it pt.1

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Warning: Nsfw content, minors do not interact

Mikey:

can't help but get a hard-on when he sees you sitting on his motorbike

especially when it's summer and you're wearing short clothes

his gaze veils slightly, he draws the air through his teeth slightly and watches every movement you make

i'm not going to lie, he's never got hard so fast

Without hesitation, he ran over to you and sat on his motorbike with you, just to kiss you a little more intimately than he wanted to

you can always tell if he's Horney when he kisses you extremely kinky in public

Draken:

Gets hard the fastest when you wear his clothes

I think we can all agree when I say that he has a size kink

I mean, he just can't help it when he sees you in his clothes, which are obviously way too big for you

especially when you're wearing one of his shirts and otherwise just a pair of panties

his eyes would darken slightly and he would slowly move towards you to tell you that he has a big little problem in his trousers and that you could help him with it

Mitsuya:

jealousy turns him on immensely

I mean, I know he doesn't look it so much, but he gets rock hard in seconds when he sees you talking to another boy for a little too long

a chiselled smile appears on his handsome face and he tries as hard as he can to hide the ever-growing and pulsating bulge in his trousers, which he manages to do quite well

as soon as you and the boy are ready, he pulls you behind him, gently but firmly

the moment you arrive in a quiet corner, you are his

Baji:

nothing turns him on more than seeing you in a leadership position

I mean, when you assert yourself and do all those leader things

he'll sit still, his eyes veil slightly and he watches every little move you make

I'm not even lying when I say that he just sits there and a slight, barely noticeable blush spreads across his face as he notices his trousers getting tighter in a matter of seconds

Chifuyu:

gets hard within a few seconds if he sees you in short clothes

for example, shorts and a revealing shirt

he is just too innocent and would blush extremely and in rare cases get a nosebleed too

if he feels confident enough, he'll snuggle up to you from behind so you can feel his hard boner pressed against your bum, which doesn't make it any better for him

he'll gently give you a sweet kiss on the neck and tell you that you know how much it turns him on when you wear revealing clothes

Kazutora:

turns him on most of the time when you're sitting or lying on his lap

the first few times this happened, he was very uncomfortable because you felt it directly when he got hard and he can't hide it

when he's feeling very horny, he tries to move his hips against your bum to create friction

if you're also wearing short clothes, he'll almost come in his trousers at the slightest touch

I mean, that divine view of you, in short clothes, on his lap, pressed against his hard cock

he just can't help it, so don't be angry with him

Here is pt.2

Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. The credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please contact me.

[lilaccmilk]

naga bf! winter headcanons

contains: fluff, smut, talks of tail snd scales, cock warming, cunnilingus, heat.

being a snake he obviously need a source of warmth. he gets lazy during winters too, trying to save up his energy.

he holds you close in bed, his huge tail wrapping around you to keep you in place(his arms).

he would also follow you around wherever you go, despite constant grumbling.

his skin is a bit rough and scaly compared to you. (i have added a picture at the end for better understanding) hence why he likes cuddling naked.

blanket n pillow nests are a necessity.

whenever you’re away from him, his tail wraps around you to pull you close to him. you glare at him but he just claims that “sweetheart it’s like my tail has a mind of its own” with a cocky grin.

nsfw

remember ‘bout that naked cuddling? yeah never is only cuddling, his cock is always nuzzling into your folds. “won’t go any further my love” he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

he stays true to his promise and goes for cock warming.

doesn’t really fuck you that much during winters (unless he is in heat), opts for fingering you or eating you out.

cockwarming at almost all times is a must.

loves eating you out. him being a naga, gives him the advantage of having a long tongue. makes you cum quickly. but doesn’t stop until the sheets are soaked, tears are streaming down your face from the overstimulation and your hands are trying to push his face away. he just looks at you with a lazy smile, resting his face on your thighs, giving occasional kisses to your swollen cunt.

note: this picture does NOT belong to me, credits to the original owner. I found it off of Pinterest.

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 4

Summary: after your conversion with your father, you just wanted to be in peace. Especially since your husband name day is close.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The water was warm, steaming against her pale skin as she reclined in the tub, the scent of lavender and rose oil wafting through the air. Elira’s hands worked delicately, her touch soft as she poured water over her mistress’s shoulders, letting it cascade down in rivulets. The bath chamber was silent save for the occasional splash of water and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Elira hesitated, biting her lip as she wrung out a cloth. Her nerves were apparent, her usual timidness magnified in the face of what she wanted to ask. Y/n smirked to herself, already anticipating whatever foolish question the girl was about to utter.

“My lady… may I ask something?”

Y/n opened one eye, watching her through half-lowered lids, her expression languid and amused. “You may,” she said, her tone carrying a sharp edge of mockery, as if daring the girl to test her patience.

Elira hesitated again, then quickly stammered out, “Why… why did you choose to marry Prince Aegon? He’s just a child, my lady. If—if I were in your place… and a man like Lord Jason Lannister wanted to marry me…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing red. “I would have accepted.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Y/n laughed—a sharp, derisive sound that echoed off the stone walls. It was not a warm laugh but one laced with scorn. She turned her head slightly to look at Elira, her lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Of course you would,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s the difference between us, Elira. You’re a peasant. A frightened little girl who would gladly sell herself for a crumb of comfort and a pat on the head from some bloated fool with a golden lion stitched to his chest.”

Elira’s head bowed, her hands trembling slightly as she dipped the cloth back into the water. Y/n continued, her tone growing sharper, each word a dagger aimed at the girl’s pride.

“But I am Y/n. I am a Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the rider of Vermithor, the princess of dragon stone. I don’t need a man’s protection, nor his gold, nor his pathetic little affections. I don’t need anything from a husband save for two things: a pretty face to sit on and a hard cock to ride.”

Elira gasped softly, her eyes widening, but she said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.

Y/n leaned back, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub, her smirk deepening. “But if you’re so curious about my decision, I’ll enlighten you.” She tilted her head, her voice softening into a conspiratorial tone, though the mockery remained. “I choose Aegon because he’s a child. A boy with no power to tell me what to do, no authority to make demands of me.”

She let her words sink in for a moment before continuing, her eyes gleaming with cold, calculating ambition. “And more importantly, he’s the firstborn son. He is father's heir, whether my father likes it or not. I may not have a chance at the throne, but Aegon does. And I will mold him. Raise him exactly as I wish, shape him into who I want him to be. And when that day comes, when he sits the Iron Throne…” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I will be the true power behind him. I will be queen.”

Elira’s hands faltered, the cloth slipping from her fingers and sinking into the water. She stared at Y/n, her face pale, clearly unsettled by her mistress’s words. But Y/n only laughed again, throwing her head back, her voice ringing with cruel amusement.

“Now,” she said, her tone suddenly light and airy, “be a good girl and fetch me more hot water. This bath is growing cold.”

The woods were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant cries of birds. Y/n walked beside Ser Criston, her irritation growing with every step. Hours had passed, and they’d yet to find anything worth hunting. So fucking annoying. She tightened her grip on the bow in her hand, the frustration threatening to bubble over.

She was about to complain when her ears picked up something—soft footsteps, the kind that didn’t belong to animals. Her gaze narrowed, her body tensing as she held up a hand to stop Criston. Then, she heard it: her sister’s voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind.

Rhaenyra.

Y/n’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, her sharp violet eyes catching movement through the trees. She crept forward silently, motioning for Criston to follow. As they approached, the figures came into view: Rhaenyra, her silver hair gleaming even in the dappled light, and beside her, that hulking brute Harwin Strong. But it wasn’t the sight of them that made Y/n pause—it was the majestic white hart standing just a few feet ahead of her sister, its antlers rising like a crown from its head.

She grabbed Criston’s hand, holding him back before he could move. “Be quiet,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips curved into a smirk as she watched her sister. “And don’t make a sound.”

Y/n crouched low, her eyes fixed on Rhaenyra. Come on, sister. Kill it. Her heart beat faster, anticipation coiling tightly in her chest. She waited, watching for the moment when Rhaenyra would draw her weapon, when she would finally prove herself capable of something more than riding her dragon and being a spoiled cunt. Show me you have the spine.

But Rhaenyra didn’t move. The hart stood before her, regal and unafraid, and Y/n saw her sister’s hand drop to her side. And then, Rhaenyra stepped back, letting the beast go.

Y/n’s smirk twisted into a sneer, her mind filling with sharp, cutting thoughts. Of course. Of course, you don’t, you stupid cunt. What did I expect, really? She shook her head, her contempt flaring as she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. The string of her bow stretched taut as she aimed, her eyes locking on the white hart’s elegant neck.

And then she let go.

The arrow flew true, piercing the hart’s neck with a satisfying thunk. The beast reared back, stumbling as blood gushed from the wound. Rhaenyra gasped, her shock written plainly across her face, but Y/n didn’t give her a second glance.

“Finish it,” she said coldly, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Criston.

Ser Criston moved quickly, drawing his blade and putting the hart out of its misery with a single, clean stroke. Y/n rose from her crouch, her movements smooth and graceful as she strode forward, stepping into the clearing. Her boots crunched softly against the ground as she approached Rhaenyra, whose wide eyes were still fixed on the fallen hart. Harwin stood beside her, his hand resting protectively on his sword hilt, though he didn’t move to stop Y/n.

“Well, well,” Y/n said, her voice light with mockery, “what a surprise to see you here, sister.”

Rhaenyra turned to face her, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “I let it go.”

Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile. “Why? Because I needed a new cloak, of course.” Her tone was dripping with false innocence. She gestured to the hart with a casual wave of her hand. “This beautiful creature is perfect for it. Don’t you think?”

Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Y/n took a step closer, her smile widening as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, the gesture as mocking as it was intimate.

“Goodbye, dear sister,” Y/n whispered, her voice a soft purr. “Enjoy the rest of your little walk.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her crimson cloak swirling behind her as she walked back to Criston. “Bring it,” she ordered, gesturing to the hart’s body, and he obeyed without question.

As they disappeared into the woods, Y/n glanced over her shoulder one last time, catching the stunned, angry look on Rhaenyra’s face. Her smirk returned, satisfaction blooming in her chest.

Weak, little Rhaenyra, she thought. You’ll never understand. But don’t worry, sister—I’ll show you.

The ride back was slow, her mood as sour as the metallic scent of blood wafting from the stag’s severed head strapped to the back of her horse. The triumph of the kill had already faded, leaving her simmering irritation in its place. Criston walked beside her, one hand steady on the reins of her horse, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the path ahead. She barely acknowledged him, her thoughts consumed by the tedious pomp awaiting her return.

As they entered the camp, banners flapped in the wind, servants bustling about like ants beneath the royal pavilion. Y/n slid off the horse with practiced ease, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “Take care of the stag’s body,” she ordered Criston sharply, tossing him a brief glance. “The head stays with me.”

Criston bowed slightly, his armor clinking. “As you command, princess.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Her sharp eyes scanned the camp until they landed on her brother, cradled in Alicent’s arms near the pavilion. Without a word of greeting, she strode toward them, her crimson cloak billowing behind her. Alicent looked up, startled, but before she could protest, Y/n reached out and plucked Aegon from her arms.

“Y/n,” Alicent began, her tone edged with concern, “he’s just—”

“I know,” Y/n cut her off, dismissing her with a glare. “Don’t fuss.”

Aegon, his little head still bandaged, squirmed briefly in her grasp before recognizing her. His tiny arms flung around her neck, hugging her tightly. “Si-ster!” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with excitement.

Her irritation softened for a fleeting moment as she kissed his forehead, her lips brushing against the white cloth wrapped around his head. “There you are, my little husband,” she murmured, a rare tenderness in her voice.

But the moment didn’t last. She turned, gesturing for Criston to bring the stag’s head forward. The grotesque trophy swung slightly as it was presented, blood still dripping onto the dirt below. She held Aegon up slightly so he could see, her voice lilting with mock enthusiasm.

“Look,” Y/n said, holding him slightly away from her so he could see better. “This is yours. The white hart of the Kingswood, a beast worthy of a prince.”

But instead of the reaction she anticipated—delight, awe, perhaps even pride—Aegon’s lip began to quiver. His bright eyes welled with tears, and before Y/n could react, he burst into loud, pitiful sobs, his tiny body shaking in her arms.

Y/n froze, staring down at him in disbelief. “What… What is this?” she muttered, her irritation flaring. “Why are you crying? It’s a gift, you foolish boy.” She bounced him slightly, trying to quiet him, but it only made his wails louder.

Alicent rose from her seat, her expression a mixture of concern and anger. “He’s just a child,” she said, extending her arms. “He doesn’t understand.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t,” Y/n snapped, her patience wearing thin. She thrust Aegon back into Alicent’s arms, ignoring the boy’s desperate grip as he clung to her for a moment before being transferred. “Take him. If he can’t appreciate what I’ve done for him, then let him go back to you.”

Alicent cradled the sobbing boy, soothing him with soft words and gentle strokes of her hand. Y/n turned away, brushing her hands down her cloak as if to rid herself of the inconvenience. She cast one last glance at the stag’s head, her jaw tightening.

Ungrateful brat.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[angeblancrose]

♡ TS albums in TTPD design !

designed by @angeblancrose ! pls don't repost or copy without credits! pictures used, belong to the rightful owners! (fan edit only)

On the occasion of Taylor's b'day, I decided to finally post the album covers I designed, inspired by the layout of "The Tortured Poets Anthology" album cover. If you like them, be sure to heart this post &/ reblog it <3

Feel free to follow me for more TS inspired edits & designs!

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK ONE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.