#this scene was particularly striking to me

[mossangelll]

good luck on your exams! would love to hear some vi or sevika yandere headcanons

thank you so much!! my exams are starting this week and i’m pretty nervous >.<

i won’t go into too much detail, so if you’d ever want smth more detailed just drop an ask and i’ll (eventually lol) get to it :3

Yandere!Vi

one of the more ‘sane’ yanderes

tries her best to avoid kidnapping you; whilst her feelings for you are anything but normal, she still wants to feel like she’s in a relatively normal relationship with you

charms the pants off you with no trouble at all

you genuinely wouldn’t know anything was wrong with her - she seems so put together

you say yes to being her partner and that’s when you notice how controlling she can be

vi is smart enough to make sure that her less desirable tendencies don’t show up until you’re deeply entrenched in the relationship

it’s all peaches and cream until she’s punching the wall next to your head because you dared to talk to that guy at the bar

then all of a sudden you’ve got a curfew and can’t go anywhere without her

and before you know it you’re trapped inside your house because “it’s not safe out there in the lanes”

makes you get a tattoo with her name over your heart (she does the same)

however, if you’re somehow not charmed by her, she decides to turn to more…unorthodox methods

hires a street gang to rough you up a little - not enough to seriously hurt you, no, vi could never do that to you; just enough to knock some much needed sense into you

i mean, how can you not like her back???

she swoops onto the scene to save you and ensures you’re caught in her snares

the happy ever after you both deserve <3

Yandere!Sevika

sevika is an interesting yandere

she probably comes off as more of a stundete at first - she’s not the most expressive when it comes to showing romantic affection like some of the other yanderes

she keeps tabs on you, a regular at the bar, all the time but you’re convinced she hates you and must think you untrustworthy

why else would you be on her radar?

in reality her checking up on you, making sure nobody tries to be funny with you is her way of showing interest

don’t get me wrong, she can make a nun blush with her flirting skills but she’s never felt so obsessed with anyone before and doesn’t know how to process it

it all comes to a head when she has a particularly rough day at work, a few bourbons deep and she decides to take you

quite literally hooks her arms around you and carries you over her shoulders

it doesn’t matter how much or how loud you scream, it’s hopeless

she’s so much stronger than you and onlookers that watch your struggle don’t even dare to move an inch - sevika has a fierce reputation and nobody would want to anger her

can be very threatening and acts that way often at the beginning of your captivity

scolds you often and when you go on a hunger strike she rolls her eyes and force feeds you herself

you don’t see this coming but she makes you kiss her cheek before she leaves every morning and when she comes back at night

she doesn’t care if you look like you’re on the brink of tears doing so, to sevika it’s only fair she gets this when she’s busy protecting you every day

has you help her clean her prosthetic arm in pure silence

her favourite part of the day/week <3

she may be angry but at the end of the day every cruel and calculated thing she does is for your sake

[eldritch-elrics]

okay i keep thinking about this so here's another transfem james concept:

this whole thing would have to happen after the leave ending. i can't see james doing that sort of self-reflection after the maria ending, and in water, is, well, in water. this means that james's self-discovery journey happens in concert with laura in some way.

laura would probably be a bit annoying about it, especially on the clothes front. she'd drag james shopping and make her try on all sorts of stuff that's wildly out of line with what james is looking for (i can't see james changing her presentation too drastically; she doesn't strike me as particularly fashion-forward, plus, she's never getting rid of that jacket). i can imagine a scene where laura is playing fashion critic, being really judgy about most of the clothes james tries on, and james goes along with it until she realizes that laura is trying to dress her like mary. and god, that would give her some Emotions for sure.

honestly i'm fascinated by how laura would respond to james's transition in general - i can totally see her fixating on the fact that she's gaining a new surrogate mother. and i can't imagine james is all that emotionally equipped to fulfill that sort of role. it would make her miss mary in a whole new way...

half-formed thought, but: i’ve seen some transmasc james sunderland headcanons, but i wonder if transfem james might make more sense? the way i read it, masculinity is not a comfort to james at all - his biggest tormentor, pyramid head, is an ultra-macho, overbearing, punishing presence who arguably represents a side of himself that james hates & is scared of. it could also be an alternate way of taking the fact that all the enemies are women - some subconscious instinct about fleeing from (read: repressing) femininity, especially a femininity seen as unnatural. it’s definitely not the intended reading haha but i wonder if you could make something out of it. james clearly needs some sort of massive life change post silent hill, and this would be a rejection of the kind of heteronormative relationship assumptions/ideals that got james into this whole situation in the first place. so i guess the question is��� would estrogen fix her……

[rcxdirectrix]

My gift for @jaylestial for secret solenoid @secretsolenoid-revived ! Drew a scene from their fic “Steady as We Burn” in Ao3. Not exact depiction but close enough. I hope you like it! ;u;

[romanceyourdemons]

consult with me chat. how familiar would lestat be with the 90s grunge scene

[kikuism]

the reason the kaname doc is taking forever is 1) i don't know if i want the story to be lush and meandering or fast and punchy and 1) i don't know if kaname is an unstoppable force or immovable object

[ambivalence-is-me]

All I Want (One-Shot)

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Do opposites really attract? Feyre didn’t think so but Y/N and Azriel prove her wrong.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: fluff

A/N: this is kinda from Feyre’s pov, beginning of ACOMF. I’m in love with the idea of someone from the outside looking at two people in love. I’m thinking of turning this into a series? Or just more one shots? Like write about the dates, the wedding, that stuff. Let me know if anyone would be interested to read it!

————————————————————-

Feyre was shocked. Well, lately it seemed that’s all she was: shocked with a side of skeptical and scared. How else was she supposed to feel after everything she’s been through? She’s thinking of the very first times Rhysand took her to the Night Court. It was during one of those ‘’visits’’ that she first met you.

‘’She’ll help you with anything you need’’ he had said and that you did.

Feyre had taken one look at you and didn’t really know what to think. Physically you didn’t look like a threat, you were beautiful (it seemed there weren’t ugly faes) and your posture was relaxed, like you weren’t standing in front of the Cursebreaker but just another fae. You were smiling kindly at her, no judgement in your eyes and then you started talking.

And you never really stopped.

You were a yapper. Answered all of Feyre’s questions as best as you could and more. You walked her through the court’s history, culture, customs, everything. On her second meeting with you, she had concluded you definitely weren’t a threat. Instead, you were easygoing, kind and just freaking…happy? It seemed like you were always shinning, that nothing can bring you down. Feyre had tested that after a particularly bad day when Rhysand was driving her up the wall. But instead of running away, you stayed and helped her, saving Rhys from another shoe-throwing incident.

You had this soft and gentle angle that reminded her of her sister Elain. But you weren’t quite as graceful as Elain. You were louder, clumsier and upbeat, not afraid to strike up a conversation with anyone about anything. And you definitely weren’t like her sister Nesta but she could tell you shared her observation skills.

Truthfully, for Feyre, you were a saving grace. Someone she could go to in this new world that was thrown at her. She never really expressed any of this of course, scared that if someone found out you’d be in harm's way but she kept you close to her whenever possible.

That’s why Feyre was extremely happy that you were accompanying her to a dinner with Rhysand’s family. Thanks to the information Feyre had gathered from you and meeting them beforehand briefly, she inferred that you obviously knew them but you never stated what was your relationship with them.

Which is why Feyre is now shocked to see the turn of events.

She had expected you to be close friends with them, how can you not? You were a social butterfly and if Rhysand’s family was anything like him, she was sure you had befriended all of them. And you had but not in the way Feyre had expected.

‘’Feyre darling, care to share why you look so shocked?’’ Rhysand asked her with that stupid smile of his. But she couldn’t even bother to answer him, not when she was still staring at the scene in front of her.

Again, Feyre had met these faes…briefly. She’d experience Mor’s welcoming energy, Cassian’s cheeky smiles and jokes, Amren’s silver bright eyes and of course…Azriel’s quiet and intimidating presence. The latter preferring to stay in his shadows and observe the chaos around him.

Which is why Feyre NEVER expected for him to be with…you.

Obviously Feyre didn’t know him, not at all, just what you and Rhysand had told her but she was confident that her observations of him helped her come up with an idea of him. It seemed that she was wrong.

They were all gathered in this beautiful grand room, just chatting and sipping on expensive wine before dinner. Cassian and Amren were in conversation in a corner of the room, the latter looking annoyed at whatever the big Illyrian was saying. You, Mor and Azriel occupied a big comfortable looking sofa. You and Mor leading the dialogue and Azriel, unsurprisingly, was just sitting there listening and assessing. But that’s not what had Feyre shocked. No, it was the fact that you were almost sitting on the Shadowsinger’s lap.

He had one whole arm wrapped around your waist, it screamed ‘’she’s mine’’. His other hand touching your hair softly, as if he put any more pressure on it, it would break. His eyes went back and forth between all of the faes in the room but stayed mostly on you. And Feyre didn’t know if he knew that he was smiling.

SMILING

A small soft smile that Feyre didn’t know the Shadowsinger was capable of. It made him look a thousand times more irresistible. A thought that didn’t go unnoticed by Rhys, who arched an eyebrow at her in return. But Feyre didn’t say anything, she opted to try and hide her surprise and continue on with the evening.

An evening that only continue to bamboozle her. At the dinner table, you were sitting infront of Feyre. Azriel on your left side, Cassian on your right. It was a pretty funny picture Feyre would love to paint. Your frame and sunshine aura in the middle of two big intimidating Illyrian soldiers. As she had expected, you were mostly leading the conversation during dinner. Cassian and Mor quickly keeping up with your jokes and laughter, Rhysand chimed in at times but seemed content to take it all in with a soft smile. But Feyre was observing Azriel and Azriel was observing you.

His eyes didn’t seem to wander off too much, seemingly staying on you throughout the night. He looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Honestly, Feyre had never seen anything like this up close. There were no doubts that this male was incredibly in love with you and honestly, Feyre didn’t even know how to react.

Feyre thought she loved Tamlin at one point but now, after witnessing how Azriel looked at you, just this one look, she was extremely in the wrong.

If you moved, Azriel moved. He was so attentive to your needs: refilling your drinks, serving you more food, he held your hand, brushed your hair away from your face; all of it without you having to ask once. At one point, you looked at him with a smile Feyre hadn’t seen from you before and kissed his temple. An act so simple and yet so intimate that Feyre had to look away. Small tears graced the corner of her eyes, her chest felt so…whole?

She was in a room full of so much love that it was overwhelming her. This isn’t what she expected at all.

You seemed to notice that something was wrong with Feyre. Asking her with your eyes what was wrong. But she didn’t say anything, just gave her a look that you hoped would understand that said ‘’we’ll talk later’’. And later you did.

‘’You’re with Azriel?!’’ She had all but exploded the next day when it was just the two of you.

You smiled and said ‘’Yes’’ like it was a fact so obvious that Feyre should’ve have known. But it only confused her more.

‘’But-you-you’re so…’’

‘’Different?’’ You finished. The same smile still on your face. Feyre could only nod.

This wasn’t the first time someone had questioned your relationship with Azriel. To be fair, you were the very first one to question it back when you started courting a couple of hundred years ago. Because the truth was that you and him truly were opposites. You, an extrovert and him obviously an introvert.

But it was your differences that somehow made it work, that completed each other. At the beginning it had taken time. You never seemed to stop talking and you worried that it was only annoying Azriel. But you never did, at least, he insists that you don’t. But you’ve learned to know his little quirks and expressions. You’ve learned when to stop your yapping around him, particularly only for few moments after he’s had a bad day. You’ve learned his ways, and he learned yours.

He learned to interpret the moments when you kept a conversation going because you wanted to and not because you felt like you HAD to. He learned how to ground you back and remind you that your job wasn’t to make everyone’s day brighter. He learned to take care of you, and you took care of him.

You explained all of this to Feyre, a soft smile never leaving your face when you talked about your Shadowsinger and Feyre couldn’t help but smile back.

‘’In the human world, we- ‘’..She cleared her throat. ‘’When people love each other, they get married but here that seems so…miniscule. Like, marriage isn’t enough for the love you and Azriel have.’’

It was the best thing Feyre could say because really, she didn’t know how else to compare the love you and Azriel seemed to have.

You beamed at that. ‘’I thought the same actually but our wedding day was one of the best days of my life. Right after our mating ceremony.’’

Feyre looked confused. Mating ceremony? But you only kept smiling.

‘’ We’d already been married for a hundred years when the bond snapped. Mating bonds are so special and rare, Feyre’’ You looked at her.

‘’I was already blessed to have found a male that loved me and all of my loudness. And then, to be gifted a mating bond with him?’’ You shook your head as if you still couldn’t believe it.

In truth, even many years later, you still couldn’t. And that was all Azriel. He made you feel so incredibly happy and whole. He still made you feel like a fool, as if you’re a female who’s experiencing falling in love for the first time. And perhaps that’s why the shock Feyre had felt still hadn’t left. Because she couldn’t comprehend how you and Azriel made it look like it was just yesterday that you got together. Like you were still in the honeymoon phase.

Feyre had seen married couples in her village. They fought and yelled at each other frequently, almost never held hands and especially didn’t show public display of affection. But what you and Azriel had didn’t look like that AT ALL.

Later, after you had left saying ‘’Azriel said he had a surprise but I’m pretty sure I know what it is. I don’t care what his job description is, I can find out what he’s planning!’’, Feyre was still processing your love story.

It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem real that two people/fae could love each other so much, who would do absolutely freaking anything, including die, for each other. After her experience with Tamlin, Feyre wasn’t sure if she’d ever have what you and Azriel have. Deep down inside, she wanted it. She felt like she didn’t deserve it, specially after what she’s done but…she hoped that maybe one day, however far it may be, she would have someone who would look at her like Azriel looks at you.

[aeralux]

"Bet You Wanna (love me now)" - Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader (Targaryen!Reader)

Summary: Alys Rivers, the bastard whore who has plagued your arranged marriage to Aemond from the very start. But every woman has her limits, and you have reached yours. In a harsh ultimatum, you finally get her banished. But from whom was Aemond to seek pleasure now?

Warnings: SMUT 18+; targcest; mentioned infidelity; profanity; degradation; intense sex scene; fingering; breeding kink; angst; mentions of murder; canon mean Aemond

Words: 11.1 k

Notes: The reader is Targaryen with white hair (mentioned as Daemon's daughter), no other description is mentioned. If you do not like this content, do not engage with it.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Alys. It has always been Alys Rivers—the baseborn witch of Harrenhal, whose allure captured the heart of Aemond Targaryen.

In the noble life, it was hardly an anomaly for a highborn Lord to indulge in the pleasures of mistresses and whores, particularly a Prince of the realm. Yet Alys was no ordinary concubine. She had trapped your husband's affections long before you had even graced his side as his wife, and now her ghost continued to haunt you in the halls of the Red Keep. Her presence plagued not only your marriage but threatened the very fabric of your family.

You could endure the role of the resentful wife, having inherited your father's indifference—Daemon taught you all too well that a woman's worth was often measured in the fickle affections of men. However, misfortune struck when you bore a daughter. A daughter, born in a time that could not be worse, coinciding with the moment Alys also delivered an heir to your husband—a bastard boy with black hair.

You had given the Prince a sweet, delicate child with the striking features of Valyrian heritage and silver-gold hair; you had hoped that his devotion would grow anew with this gift of lineage. Oh, how mistaken you were.

In the wake of your child’s birth, Aemond turned his back upon you—a move both cold and calculated. Once you had fulfilled your purpose as a wife, you found yourself and your precious daughter cast aside as though you were no more than commoners unworthy of his regard. After the difficult experience of childbirth, your husband’s visits reduced to a mere whisper of presence. He had no further reason to seek your bed.

Meanwhile, Alys basked in Aemond's undivided admiration. He lavished her and their bastard child with affection and attention, caring for that boy of hers with an affection that often seemed to eclipse the rightful love he should have shown your trueborn daughter. The irony was not lost on you.

As your daughter's first name day drew near, you could feel the rage within you reach its climax. That wench had enjoyed the delight of your husband's affections for nearly two years now, and your patience had frayed to its end. It was far past time that you seized control of your fate—and the fate of your daughter—whether your husband would consent or not.

Fights were all too common between you and Aemond. You refused to remain silent while he insulted your dignity and that of your precious daughter. His bold displays with his mistress, treating her as a cherished lover, were a constant insult, especially as he neglected his rightful heir and wife.

Once again, he had opted to waste an afternoon with his two bastards instead of honouring the presence of his legitimate daughter. Fuelled by resentment, you strode intentionally into the gardens, ready to confront him and demand the respect your daughter deserved.

"How dare you act this way after showing such disgust for Jacaerys and his brothers?" You hiss, your gaze boring into him like a dagger.

You take a step closer, and your smaller frame does not diminish the threat you pose. "Now you go and bed a baseborn harlot, and she bears your son, no less!" You spit out venomously.

Your voice rises to a scream as you get right up in his face. "Treat me however you wish, but if you continue to treat our legitimate daughter with disregard..." you growl, your words dripping with barely contained rage. "I will gut your whore and feed your bastard son to Cannibal, make no mistake. And our precious girl and I will watch him scream as he burns."

You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear as you whisper the promise, your tone low and deadly. "Do not test me on this, Aemond. I am not some meek little maiden to be trifled with. I am a Targaryen, the daughter of the Rogue Prince, and I will stay true to my words. Choose your actions wisely, or face the consequences."

With that, you push past him roughly and storm off, your heart pounding and your mind already plotting your next move. This cannot stand. Your child will not suffer at the hands of that vile creature - not if you have anything to say about it.

Aemond's eye narrows dangerously at your threats, his jaw clenching as he takes a menacing step towards you. The violet of his good eye seems to darken, swirling with anger and desire.

"You dare threaten me, wench?" he growls, his voice low and menacing. He grabs your arm roughly, yanking you back towards him. "I am a prince of House Targaryen, and you will show me the respect I deserve!"

His grip on your arm tightens painfully as he leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your face. "Your daughter is a pitiful whelp, just like her mother. She's lucky I acknowledge her at all."

"As for that 'baseborn harlot'..." he sneers, his lips curling in disgust. "She provides me with pleasure that you never could. At least she knows how to obey her prince."

Suddenly, his hold on you shifts, one hand sliding down to grab your ass possessively. "Perhaps I should remind you of your place, wife. Maybe then you'll learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours in check."

You push Aemond away forcefully, your eyes flashing with rage and defiance. Your slender fingers dig into his chest as you shove him back.

"I find no pleasure in feeding a dog that gets his treats from someone else," you scoff, your voice dripping with disdain. The corners of your mouth curl up into a smirk.

Your long white hair whips around your face as you turn your head, a mocking laugh escaping your lips. You step closer, your form exuding an aura of dangerous grace. Leaning in, you purr, "If you dare show Alys in court... trust me, her little powers have nothing on fire. After all, witches burn, my dear husband."

You pull back, your gaze boring into his with unwavering intensity. Your hand reaches up to stroke his cheek, a falsely tender gesture that belies the threat beneath your words. "Choose your actions carefully, Aemond. A Targaryen princess is not so easily cowed."

Aemond's eye narrows at your defiant words, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He grips your wrist tightly as you stroke his cheek, his nostrils flaring in barely restrained anger. Suddenly, he spins you around, slamming you against the nearest tree trunk. His body presses against yours, pinning you in place as he leans in close, his voice a menacing whisper.

"Careful, little girl," he hisses, his breath hot against your neck. "You may be a Targaryen, but I am still your husband. And husbands have the right to punish their wives when they misbehave."

His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip possessively. "Perhaps I should remind you of your duties. You're here to bear me, sons, not make empty threats."

Aemond's lips brush against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr."And if you think I'm afraid of your father's reputation, you're mistaken. I've faced dragons, little dove. What makes you think you can threaten me?"

He nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Now, why don't you run along and tend to your brat?"

With a rough shove, Aemond steps back, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and desire. He adjusts himself, his posture strong and commanding as he looks down at you. "Remember your place, wife. Or I might just have to take drastic measures to ensure your obedience."

You walk away without another word, a cruel plan already taking shape in your mind. You stride purposefully towards the kitchens, your long white hair flowing behind you.

Inside the bustling chambers, maids scurry about, preparing dishes and tending to various tasks. But your sharp gaze locks on Lyra, one of your servants. You approach her discreetly, pulling her aside.

"Lyra," you whisper urgently, your light violet eyes boring into hers. "I need your help with something important. Tonight, before Aemond retires, ensure that his bastard drinks Hemlock tea. Not enough to kill him, but to make him very ill. And keep this between us."

You press a purse heavy with coins into her hand. "You'll be handsomely rewarded for your service."

With that, you turn and leave as abruptly as you arrived, your mind already turning to the sweet revenge that awaits.

The maid's eyes widen in shock at your whispered instructions, fear and curiosity dancing across her features. She nods silently, a small, nervous smile playing on her lips as she watches you leave, clutching the promise of reward.

Satisfied that your plan is in motion, you make your way back to your chambers. But as you step inside, you're greeted by an unexpected sight - Aemond, lounging on your bed, a smug grin on his face.

"And where have you been, my dear?" he drawls, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "I was beginning to worry that you'd run off with another lover."

You glare at him, your violet eyes flashing dangerously as you cross your arms over your chest. "Unlike you, I don't parade my lover through the castle halls. And unlike you, my lover is a Lord, not some bastard."

You spit the words at him, your voice dripping with loathing. Rolling your eyes, you let out a mocking laugh. "Going through the motions of being a doting husband must be so tiring for you. Why don't you run along and spend some quality time with your precious little Alys? I'm sure she's waiting for you eagerly."

Tonight, he'll learn the foolishness of undervaluing you. He'll see that you meant every word and that if he continues to neglect your daughter, his bastard son will pay the price.

You incline your head, a fake smile playing on your lips. "Well? Are you going to leave, or do I need to call the guards to remove you? I wouldn't want to cause a scene. You might be a prince, but I'm a princess, and my guards listen to me."

Aemond's face darkens at your words, his jaw clenching as he rises from the bed. He stalks towards you. His movements are predatory until he's standing mere inches away. His good eye bores into yours, filled with a mix of anger and intrigue.

"Careful, little dove," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You play a dangerous game. You think you can manipulate me with your words and your petty threats?"

Suddenly, his hand lashes out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "I am a dragon rider, a prince of House Targaryen. I've faced worse than you and your little schemes."

Aemond leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "But by the gods, I admire your spirit. It's been far too long since anyone dared to challenge me like this."

He pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as it roams over your face. "So tell me, my feisty wife, what do you propose we do about this... tension between us?"

Your smirk widens into a wicked grin as you deliver your parting shot. "Well then, seeing as you've repeatedly said how I 'fail to pleasure you', I suppose I'll simply have to take matters into my own hands."

You raise an eyebrow, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "My guess is you'll scurry off to Alys' quarters, forcing her to cater to your every whim. And while you're busying yourself with your precious whore..."

You pause, letting the anticipation hang in the air between you.

"...I'll be here, enjoying the company of my lover. We'll fuck on every surface of this room until I can't walk or speak. Until the only word I can remember is his name as he brings me to ecstasy again and again."

You lean forward, your voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "Have you ever stopped to consider that perhaps the problem isn't me, but you? That maybe a man who appreciates my skills, who shows me the respect and appreciation I deserve, might find me to be quite satisfactory indeed?"

You toss your head back and chuckle, the sound tinged with bitterness. "But then again, I doubt a man like you would ever understand the concept of mutual pleasure or satisfaction. You're far too focused on your desires to bother with mine."

With that, you turn on your heel and stalk towards the door, your long white hair swishing behind you. You pause and glance back over your shoulder, motioning for him to leave.

"Enjoy your evening, my lord. I certainly intend to."

"You think your little lover can satisfy you more than I can?" he mocks. "You forget, wife, that I am a man who has taken cities and slain men. I don't need to be grateful for anything." He strides over to you.

Suddenly, he spins you around, pressing your back against his chest as his arms wrap around you in an iron grip. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "But perhaps you're right. Perhaps I haven't been... attentive enough in our marital duties."

One hand slides up from your waist, cupping your breast roughly through your gown. "Let me show you what a real dragon can do, little dove. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll forget your name, let alone your lover's."

Aemond's teeth graze your neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. "What do you say, my wife? Shall we put your claims to the test? Or are you all talk and no action?"

"How do you know he isn't a 'dragon' as well?" You question him, your tone dripping with disdain as you break free from his grasp.

"If you had been a good husband and father, you'd have at least three children by now. But you decided to bed a bastard whore instead. Who has provided you with only one son, with black hair and no dragon. He is no Targaryen. He is a Rivers. And he always will be."

You fix him with a cold stare, your eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "I will have your son, do not worry your empty head... but only once the whore is gone from King's Landing."

Aemond's face contorts with rage at your words, his good eye blazing with fury. He advances on you, backing you up against the wall with the sheer force of his presence.

"You dare speak of my son that way?" he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. "He is the son of a Targaryen prince, and that makes him a prince as well. More than you can ever claim for yourself."

His hand shoots out, wrapping around your throat as he leans in close. His breath is hot against your face as he continues, "Perhaps I should remind you of your place, wench. You are my wife, and you will bear me more children, whether you like it or not."

Aemond's grip on your throat tightens slightly, not enough to cut off your air entirely, but enough to make breathing difficult. "As for Alys... she stays where she belongs. By my side."

He releases your throat suddenly, shoving you away from him. As you stumble back, he straightens his waistcoat, his posture regal and commanding. "Consider this a warning. Keep your tongue in check, or face the consequences. I am not a man to be trifled with."

You let out a loud, mocking laugh as Aemond released you from his bruising grip. "Oh, Aemond," you say, your voice dripping with disgust. "The very notion that I would fear you is hilarious. Believe me when I say that I am the last person who would be frightened by your empty threats."

Your eyes flash with a wicked gleam as you fix him with a knowing smile. "As for your precious whore, Alys... her days of bearing your bastards are numbered. Her last birth nearly killed her. Her womb is weak, Aemond. She won't survive another pregnancy."

You take a step closer, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Now, I suggest you leave my chambers."

Your hand rests on the hilt of the dagger at your belt, a silent threat hanging in the air between you. "Run along, my dear husband. Go play with your mistress and your bastard child. Just remember..." you hiss, your eyes narrowing. "You underestimate me at your risk."

With a dismissive wave, you turn your back on him. "Out. Now."

Aemond's face contorts with rage at your words, his good eye blazing with a mix of anger and... respect? He takes a stepforward, his hand reaching out as if to grab you again, but stops himself. After a moment of tense silence, he speaks, his voice low and menacing.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" he growls, his jaw clenched tight. "Playing your little games, threatening my mistress, my son..."

Aemond's eyes roam over you, a predatory gleam in his gaze. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have been too lenient with you. A dragon needs to be handled firmly, after all."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. "I will deal with Alys myself. She is mine, and no one threatens what's mine."

He turns to leave, pausing at the doorway to look back over his shoulder. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot. Consider this a warning - cross me again, and you'll regret it."

With those ominous words, Aemond strides out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering threat of his presence.

With shaking hands, you ring for your maid as soon as Aemond leaves your chambers. When she arrives, you issue your orders in a clear, even voice, though inside your heart races with anticipation and trepidation.

"Double the dose of hemlock in the son's cup tonight," you instruct, your tone bearing no argument. "Leave him teetering on the brink of death's door."

As the maid scurries off to fulfil her mistress' dark command, a wicked smile plays across your lips. They will never suspect that you alone hold the key to saving Aemond's precious bastard from a slow, agonising demise.

And what a neat little trap you've set for your dear husband. Poison his son (but not to kill him, you're not that cruel), give him an ultimatum, and then dangle the antidote before him like a carrot. All he must do is love you, truly love your daughter, and you shall release him from his desperation.

As the day wears on, you find yourself unable to focus on anything but the impending confrontation with Aemond. Every fibre of your being is tense, waiting for the moment when your plan will come to fruition.

Evening falls, and you're seated in your solar, pretending to read a book, but your mind is miles away. The sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, and you look up to see Aemond bursting into the room, his face pale and eyes wild with panic.

"Where is he?" he demands, his voice frantic. "Where's my son?"

You set aside your book, a cruel smile playing on your lips as you stand to face him. "Oh, Aemond. So concerned for your bastard, are you?" you taunt, relishing the fear in his eyes.

"He's ill," you continue, feigning concern. "Very ill. The maids tell me he's been vomiting all evening and can barely keep anything down. It's a shame, really. He's always been such a healthy boy."

You take a step closer, your voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Of course, I have something that could help. A special remedy passed down through generations on my mother's side. But..." you pause, letting the tension build. "I'm not sure I want to share it. Not until you give me what I want."

Aemond's face contorts with rage and desperation, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "What do you want?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Name your price, and it's yours."

You stare at him, your violet eyes locking with his sapphire one. The moment has arrived, the power is yours. What will you demand of the man who has wronged you for so long?

Your frame radiates an aura of controlled rage as you speak, your voice low and deadly.

"Send. Them. Away," you enunciate each word carefully as if speaking to a slow-witted child. "Alys and your bastard by dawn's light. They will never set foot in this city again, and you will never breathe their names aloud. If you fail to comply, I will ensure that your precious 'son' suffers a fate worse than death."

You pause, allowing the weight of your threat to settle over him. When you continue, your voice is dripping with scorn. "I will not be made a fool by a man who cannot control his urges. Your prick may wander where it pleases, but your illegitimate offspring is a reflection upon me. This...this abomination will be removed from sight."

Your lip curls in disgust as you look upon Aemond, the realisation of your words sinking in. "Do this, or face the consequences. The choice is yours but choose wisely. I am not a woman to be trifled with."

Aemond's face contorts with rage at your ultimatum, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggles to contain his anger. After a moment, he speaks, his voice low and menacing.

"You think you hold all the cards, don't you?" he growls, taking a menacing step towards you. "You think you can threaten me and expect me to bend to your will?"

"Fine. You want Alys gone? She'll be on the first ship out of Blackwater Bay come morning. But know this - if anything happens to my son, if he so much as sneezes out of turn, I will rain down hell upon you and everything you hold dear."

Aemond leans in close, his breath hot against your face. "And as for your little 'reward'..." he hums, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I hope you enjoy it. Because it's the last taste of victory you'll ever have over me."

Aemond is not a man to be underestimated, and you know that he will not forget this transgression easily. But for now, you have what you want. Tomorrow, Alys and her bastard son will be gone.

With a cold smile, you rise to your feet, your form exuding an aura of controlled power. Your striking eyes lock onto Aemond's as you reveal, "Give me your son. I know how to help him."

In your years at court, you've secretly studied botany and alchemy, learning to cure even the deadliest poisons, along with the knowledge of your mother's ancestors. This wisdom is your secret weapon, one that you've kept hidden until now.

You step closer to Aemond, your long white hair cascading over your shoulders as you tilt your head to the side. "Let me be clear, Aemond. I am the only one who can save your bastard son. Whatever your son has contracted seems to be fatal, but with the right ingredients and a skilled hand, he can still be saved."

"You have two choices. You can continue to play this game of power and risk losing your son forever, or you can hand him over to me. Alys might have premonitions of the future, but that is useless right now, isn't it?"

Your voice drops to a dangerous whisper as you lean in close, your faces mere inches apart. "What will it be, Aemond? Choose wisely, for your son's life hangs in the balance."

Aemond stares at you for a long moment, his face an unreadable mask. Then, slowly, the tension drains from his shoulders, and he nods once, sharp and decisive.

"You win," he says, his voice heavy with reluctance. "My son is yours. Do what you must to save him."

Without another word, he turns and strides from the room, leaving you alone with your triumph. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction before setting your mind to the task at hand.

You make your way through the castle, your heart pounding with anticipation and a hint of fear. You know what you're doing, but there's always a risk when dealing with poisons and cures. As you enter the nursery, you find the bastard child writhing in pain, his small body wracked with convulsions.

Ignoring the concerned looks of the maids, you set to work, mixing various herbs and tinctures with practised ease. You feed the concoction to the child, holding him steady as he chokes and sputters. It's a long, gruelling process, but eventually, his breathing begins to even out, and the colour returns to his cheeks.

Exhausted but triumphant, you rise from the bed, stretching your stiff muscles. Aemond enters the room then, his face etched with worry and gratitude. You hold the black-haired boy gently in your arms, cooing as you set him on the bed, caressing his hair as a mother would.

Aemond stands in the doorway, watching as you carefully tend to his son. His expression is a mix of relief and bafflement, his single eye roaming over the scene before him. He takes a hesitant step forward, his voice is soft and uncertain.

"He's... he's going to live?" he asks, his usual bravado stripped away, leaving only a concerned father.

You look up at him, your gaze is steadfast as you meet his stare. There's a moment of charged silence between you, the weight of your actions hanging heavy in the air.

"Yes," you finally respond, your voice carrying a hint of triumph. "Your son will live. But only because I chose to save him."

Aemond's jaw clenches, a flicker of anger crossing his features before it's replaced by a grudging acceptance. "Thank you," he mutters, the words difficult for him to say.

He moves to the bedside, gently taking his son into his arms. The boy stirs, his small hand reaching for his father's face. Aemond's expression softens, love and pride evident in his eyes as he gazes down at the child.

"You did well," he says, glancing up at you briefly before focusing his attention back on his son. "I... I underestimated you. Perhaps there is more to you than I realised."

It's not exactly a declaration of love or devotion, but for Aemond, it's as close to an apology as you're likely to get. You incline your head slightly, acknowledging his words without comment.

You smooth the damp cloth across the boy's feverish brow, your fingers lingering on the soft skin of his cheek. You'll never know it was I who made you sick, little one. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And neither will Aemond know.

You pull back, your violet eyes hardening as you look at Aemond with a stern stare. "I've changed my mind on one thing," you say curtly, tucking the quilt snugly around the child. "The boy can stay... if you treat our daughter with the same affection as you have him. If not..." your voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "He will be sent away to Harrenhall."

"This is the best offer you will get from me," You say, your voice laced with finality. "Your beloved son's fate rests in your hands."

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride from the room, your heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. The game has changed, and now, you hold all the cards. Let's see how long Aemond's pride can withstand the weight of his new reality.

Aemond watches you go, his jaw clenched tight as he struggles to contain his anger and frustration. He knows he's been beaten, and by his wife, no less. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but he's not a fool. He knows when he's been outmanoeuvred.

Over the next few months, a strange new dynamic settles over the castle. Aemond is more attentive to you and more concerned with your opinions and desires. He's trying to make amends to ensure that you don't turn against him again.

For your part, you remain aloof and distant, content to let Aemond squirm under the weight of your power. You spend your days tending to your duties, meeting with advisors, and always keeping a close eye on the bastard child.

Your daughter, meanwhile, seems to thrive under the new arrangement. She and her brother have grown closer, and you often catch them playing together with their maids, their laughter echoing through the halls.

One evening, as you're preparing for bed, Aemond enters your chambers without knocking. He's dressed in his riding leathers, his hair still damp from getting caught in the rain. He looks tired, but there's a new light in his eye.

You gasped sharply as Aemond burst into your chambers without warning, your heart leaping into your throat. The flimsy silk of your black nightgown clings to your curves, leaving little to the imagination, as the oppressive summer heat makes the sheer fabric stick to your skin.

"What do you think you're doing, barging in here like that?" You demand, your voice is icy despite the flush creeping up your neck.  Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you try to conceal your breasts and hardened nipples from his bold glare. "What brings you here at this late hour, husband?"

Your tone is crisp and unwelcoming despite the warmth pooling low in your belly at the sight of him. You've trained yourself to maintain this frigid facade, never letting him see how his presence affects you. But deep down, a part of you yearns for his touch, his approval, even as you keep him at arm's length.

Aemond's single eye rakes over you hungrily, taking in every inch of exposed skin. You refuse to let your posture falter, even as desire simmers beneath the surface.

"Well?" You demand, arching a brow imperiously. "Unless you have an urgent matter to discuss, I suggest you leave me to my privacy."

Your voice wavers slightly, betraying your unease. You're acutely aware of how thin the silk is, how easily he could shred it away with one tug. The thought sends a shiver down your spine.

Aemond's lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, and you feel your knees go weak. Gods, what is he doing to you? You are a princess of House Targaryen, and yet in his presence, you feel like nothing more than a mewling kitten, desperate for his attention.

"This is highly inappropriate," you manage to grit out, even as your body betrays you.

Aemond's gaze rakes over your form, lingering on the curves of your body as they're revealed by the thin silk of your nightgown. He licks his lips, his desire is evident in the hungry look in his remaining eye.

"My apologies, wife," he purrs, his voice low and seductive. "I didn't mean to startle you. But I couldn't wait any longer."

He takes a step closer. "I've been thinking about you. About us."

His voice drops to a husky whisper, and he brings his face close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "We've been at odds for too long."

Aemond stands even closer to you now, you can feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles beneath his clothes.

"I know I've been an arse," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

You're conflicted as you stand before Aemond. You want to scoff at his attempt to win you over, but the raw desire in his eyes is unmistakable. He looks at you like he wants to devour you whole, and it both frightens and excites you.

Stepping back, you try to compose yourself, but the heat of the summer night seems to intensify, leaving you feeling hot and breathless. Aemond hasn't seen you like this in Gods know how long, not since you fell pregnant and he no longer needed to lay with you.

"Is that so?" You ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've been thinking about me, have you? Now that your mistress is gone and I'm finally good enough for you?"

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his proximity. You've always found Aemond repulsive, his cruelty and infidelity driving a wedge between you. But seeing him dote on your daughter these past months has softened some of the ice around your heart.

"You're not fooling me, Aemond," you continue, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. "I know your games. But I'll admit, this newfound interest in me is... intriguing, to say the least."

Aemond's lips curl into a smirk, his good eye glittering with amusement and desire. He takes another step forward, closing the distance between you once more.

"Intriguing, huh?" he purrs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the delicate line of your jaw. "Well, maybe I'm just realising what I've been missing."

His other hand comes to rest on your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh through the thin silk of your nightgown. You can feel the heat of his touch, the promise of more to come.

"I've been a fool," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your throat. "I've let my pride and my lust cloud my judgment. But not anymore."

He pulls back slightly, his eye searching yours for any sign of resistance. But he sees none, only the flicker of desire that matches his own.

"You're a force to be reckoned with, my lady wife. Beautiful, intelligent, and deadly when crossed. How could I not be drawn to you?"

His lips find yours in a searing kiss, demanding and passionate. It's a kiss that speaks of pent-up desire, anger and passion.

As he pulls you closer, you feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your stomach, a reminder of the power you hold over him. It's intoxicating, the way he wants you, the way he needs you.

But even as you melt into his embrace, a small part of you whispers a warning. Aemond is a master manipulator, and this could all be just another one of his games.

The worries in the back of your mind fade away as you feel Aemond's rough hands grip your rear, kneading the soft flesh. He's never touched you with such raw passion, such primal hunger. Reluctantly, you admit to yourself that you love it.

You whimper into the kiss, your hands tangling in his still slightly damp hair. You need him to know exactly what he's been missing out on all this time. You want him to regret every moment he spent with that whore in the tower.

Breaking away from his lips, you trail bites along the pale column of his throat, marking his skin with dark purple splotches. With your tongue, you soothe each spot, leaving no doubt as to who now claims him.

"Now the whole court will know that the prince has finally come to his senses," you murmur against his skin, "and bedded his beautiful lady wife."

Aemond groans, his hands roaming your body with a newfound urgency. He grips your hips, grinding against you, his hard length throbbing with need.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice ragged with desire. "I've wasted so much time, chasing after foolish fantasies. You're the one I should have wanted all along."

He tears your nightgown open, baring your body to his hungry gaze. His calloused hands cup your breasts, thumbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. His mouth latches onto one breast, sucking and biting.

Your breath catches in your throat as Aemond's mouth closes around your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You gasp and moan, arching into his touch, craving more.

"So fucking perfect," he rasps, leaning down to take the other nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth.

Aemond steps back, his eye raking over your naked form. "Beautiful," he breathes, his gaze heavy with lust. "I've been a fool to deny myself this for so long."

When he releases your nipples, stepping back to admire his handiwork, you feel empty, aching for his mouth back on your sensitive flesh.

You stand before him, your torn nightgown hanging off your shoulders, exposing your breasts and stomach to his heated gaze. The fabric clings to your hips, the tear running down the front, barely concealing your most intimate place. You're flushed, your chest heaving with anticipation, waiting for his next move.

Aemond drinks in the sight of you, his eye dark with desire. "Exquisite," he breathes, his voice rough with want. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the path of the tear, teasing the edge of the fabric. "I want to rip this off and feast on you until you scream."

You shudder at his words, liquids pooling between your thighs. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "Don't tease me, Aemond."

He grins, a predatory, hungry look on his face. "Oh, I intend to, my lady wife. I intend to make you forget all about that mistress of mine."

In one swift motion, he tears the remains of your nightgown away, leaving you bare before him. His eye travels the length of your body, taking in every curve, every dip, every inch of creamy skin.

"What an idiot I’ve been," he groans, his hand reaching down to palm himself through his breeches. "Seeking pleasure in another when my own wife could put all of the whores in Westeros to shame."

He walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, pushing you down onto the silken sheets. Aemond stands over you, his tall frame looming above you, his gaze burning into you.

"Then why did you?" You demand, your voice sharp with disdain. "I'm not the naive girl you married. I've become a woman since we last shared a bed."

Your legs fall open as you sprawl before Aemond, baring yourself to his hungry gaze. The cool air kisses your heated skin, raising goosebumps across your flesh. You need him to see what he's been denying himself, to foolishly chase after lesser women.

Aemond swallows hard, his eye roving over your body, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. "A woman indeed," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "A goddess."

"Do you have any idea how many lords and knights in this realm burn with envy?" You purr, your voice dripping with bitter amusement. "All because they'll never have a chance at a wife like me. Yet you, my husband, were too blind to appreciate the treasure right in front of you."

You arch your back, pushing your breasts up and out, an offering to the god of war. Your long white hair spills around you like a dark halo, framing your face. You can see the regret and longing in Aemond's eye as he drinks in the sight of you.

He moves to stand at the foot of the bed, his hand trailing up your calf, over your knee, and along your inner thigh. "I was blinded by lust, my lady wife. Blinded by pride, by jealousy, by my own need to prove something."

His fingers brush against your slick folds, and you gasp at the contact.

Aemond's fingers delve deeper, parting your folds, teasing your entrance. "I saw the lust in their eyes, the way they looked at you when they thought I wasn't watching."

Aemond's touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. You moan his name, your hips bucking up against his hand, desperate for more.

Aemond chuckles darkly, his fingers continuing their maddening dance against your most sensitive places. "Did you like that, my dear? The way they stared at you like a piece of meat? The way they ached to have you?"

"Yes," you breathe, your chest heaving with each ragged inhale. "They made me feel desirable when my husband couldn't."

The words escape your lips before you can stop them, fueled by the hurt and anger still simmering beneath the surface. Your hips buck up desperately, seeking the satisfaction Aemond's teasing fingers deny you.

"Fuck," you snarl in frustration, your nails raking down his forearm. "Stop playing games and give me what I need."

You fix him with a defiant glare, your eyes flashing with challenge. "Unless you're too fucked up to perform now that you've realized what a prize you've been neglecting all this time."

Your lips curl into a sneer, a cruel twist of your mouth. "It would serve you right if I also paraded my lover around. Maybe then you'd understand— "

Your words are cut off by your cry as Aemond places a harsh slap against your sopping cunt.

The sound of your cry, of the wet slap against your flesh, sends a bolt of lust straight to Aemond's already throbbing cock. He's never seen you like this, so wanton, so uninhibited. It's intoxicating.

"You want to play dirty, do you?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Threaten me with your infidelity? You want someone to fuck you senseless, to claim this sweet cunt as their own?"

He rewards your crude talk with another sharp slap to your pussy, the sound echoing obscenely in the quiet room. You cry out, your back arching off the bed, a fresh flood of wetness coating his palm.

He plunges two fingers into your dripping channel, setting a brutal pace as his fingers pump in and out of you. His thumb circles your clit with a pressure that borders on painful. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

"You feel even better than I remember. Gods, if only I had known this tight little cunt was waiting for me," he growls, his fingers pumping harder, faster, stretching you open.

The bed creaks beneath you as Aemond moves, his fingers still pumping into your soaked cunt. You can feel every ridge, every callus as he drives into you relentlessly. It's almost too much, the sensation bordering on pain, but you crave it.

You try to form words, anything to snap back at him, but his fingers are relentlessly hitting your soft spot with each thrust, making you gush all over his hand. Your mind goes blank, lost to the overwhelming sensations. All that escapes your lips are incoherent mumbles and high-pitched whines.

Your brow furrows as you watch him abuse your tight pussy with his long fingers, pumping in and out of your dripping cunt with brutal force. "Fuuuck... Aemond..." you manage to gasp out, your voice ragged and desperate.

Aemond grins wickedly at your desperation, at the way you're clawing at the sheets, your hips bucking up to meet his punishing fingers. Your pussy clenches around him, trying to draw him deeper, greedy for more.

He curls his fingers inside you, rubbing mercilessly against that sensitive spot deep within. Your cries grow louder, more desperate, and he smirks at the sound.

"Fuck, you're so tight. So perfect. I could play with this pretty little pussy all night."

Aemond adds a third finger, stretching you impossibly wider. He curls them just so, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. Your juices coat his fingers, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you.

"Fuck, look at you," he rasps, his eye drinking in the debauched sight of you spread out before him, his fingers buried in your cunt. "My perfect, filthy wife. So desperate for my cock."

You clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the whorish moans that threaten to escape. You won't let him see how easily he can unravel you, how a few skilful thrusts of his fingers can have you writhing and begging like a common whore.

Your eyes screw shut as he pounds into you relentlessly, his filthy words washing over you, stoking the fire building in your core. You can't help the way your pussy clenches greedily around his invading digits upon hearing his dirty words.

It's humiliating, the way he can so easily turn you into a mewling, desperate creature with just a touch.

But gods, it feels so good. Too good. You squirm underneath him, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, begging for more even as you hate yourself for it. You are losing control, slipping further into the haze of lust with each passing second.

Aemond smirks as he watches you struggle to maintain your composure, the battle written plainly across your face. He can feel your pussy fluttering around his fingers and can hear the muffled moans vibrating against your palm.

"Shh, don't fight it," he croons, his voice a sinful purr. "Let go, my lady wife. Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He withdraws his fingers suddenly, denying you the stimulation your body craves. You whine in protest, your hips chasing after his hand.

Aemond brings his drenched fingers to his lips, tasting your essence with a low groan. "Delicious," he purrs, his eye glinting with wicked intent.

He brings his fingers back to your face, painting your lips with your juices before thrusting them into your mouth. "Suck," he demands, his voice brooking no argument. "Get them nice and wet for where they're going next."

As you obey, dutifully licking and sucking his fingers clean, Aemond works at the laces of his breeches, freeing his hard, aching cock. It springs forth, thick and angry, the head already glistening with precum.

"Look at what you've done," he growls, gripping himself in his fist. "You're mine. This cunt belongs to me."

Aemond's arrogant declaration snaps you out of your lust-fueled haze, and you roll your eyes at his audacity. "Do you think I'd forgive you that easily?" You scoff, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "It seems you don't know your wife very well, husband."

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he grips his leaking cock. "This cunt belongs to me," you remind him coldly. "And if I recall correctly, you didn't even like this cunt in the first place."

You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "You'll have to do more than just rut into me like a beast in heat."

Aemond's eye narrows at your words, a flash of anger sparking in their depths. But it's quickly extinguished by a wave of lust as he takes in the sight of you propped up before him, your full breasts heaving with each breath, your hair tumbling around your shoulders.

"You're right," he concedes, his voice rough with desire. "But I do now. And I plan to worship it until you scream."

He stalks towards you, his cock bobbing with each step. He grips your thighs, pushing your legs apart, forcing you to lie back on the bed.

"And I know you all too well, my lady wife," Aemond purred, his voice a dangerous rumble as he settled between your legs.

Aemond's hand snaked out, wrapping around your throat in a firm but not crushing grip. "You're a woman scorned," he growled, his eye boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "Angry and bitter. But I intend to change that. Make you into a dutiful and docile wife."

His fingers tightened just a fraction around your throat, not enough to cut off your air supply, but enough to make your pulse jump in alarm. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding, keeping you pinned beneath him.

"After I'm done with you," he continued, his voice low and menacing, "you'll be as obedient as a puppy. You'll beg for my touch, crave my attention. And you'll forget all about your anger, your resentment. All you'll know is the pleasure I can give you."

He hooks his arms under your knees, pushing your legs up and back, folding you nearly in half. The new position leaves you completely exposed, your dripping pussy on full display.

Aemond takes in the sight with a low groan, his cock twitching in anticipation. "Look at you, spreading yourself open for me like a whore."

He lines himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your swollen folds. "Beg for it," he demands, his voice a dark command. "Beg me to claim what's mine."

He doesn't push inside, doesn't give you any relief, just holds himself there, teasing, tormenting. Your pussy clenches around nothing, empty and aching for his cock.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you struggle to regain your composure. Aemond's dark promises hang heavy in the air, making your head spin with desire and indignation. You try to remain logical as he presses your knees practically next to your ears, your most intimate parts completely open for him.

Despite the way your body aches for him, craving his touch, you force yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes blazing with defiance. "I think it's you who should be begging," you retort, voice steady despite the situation.

Through the haze of lust that threatens to consume you, the old anger still simmers, fueling your resistance. You won't let him break you so easily, won't let him reduce you to a mewling, submissive creature with just a few pretty words and a hard cock.

A twisted smile appears on his lips. He shifts his hips, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. The teasing friction makes your hips buck up involuntarily.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy breaking you," he purrs, his voice a dark promise. "Watching that fire in your eyes fade as I drive you to the brink of madness."

Aemond's smile widens, a predatory gleam in his eye as he watches you squirm beneath him. He knows your body's betrayal, the way it craves his touch despite your protests.

He places his hand from your thigh to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a silent reminder of his control.

"Last chance to beg, my lady wife," he growls, his voice a dark rasp. "Beg me to fill this greedy cunt, to make you mine again."

He applies just the slightest pressure, his cockhead nudging insistently at your entrance. Your pussy clenches, eager, aching to be stretched and filled.

"Or shall I just take what's mine?" Aemond's voice is a sinful purr, his eye glinting with dark promise. "Claim this sweet little pussy whether you want it or not?"

The heat of Aemond's cock pressed against your entrance sends jolts of pleasure racing through your veins. Gods, you need him to break you open and claim you as his. But your pride holds firm, refusing to let you beg like a common whore.

You stare up at him, your gaze defiant, even as your body betrays you with each quivering breath. "Don't pretend you don't want this," you bite out, trying to sound unaffected. "You're just torturing yourself."

It's difficult to sound assertive when he has you pinned, your legs pushed back towards your chest, completely at his mercy. Your pussy throbs, aching to be filled, to be stretched around his thick length.

Aemond lets out a dark chuckle, clearly amused by your feeble attempt at defiance. He shifts his hips, grinding his cock against your slick folds, painting your entrance with his precum.

"Torturing myself? Oh, my dear wife, you flatter yourself," he purrs, his voice a sinful caress. "I'm simply enjoying the show. The way your body trembles, the way your pretty little pussy leaks all over the bed, despite your best efforts to resist."

Aemond's lips curve into a wicked smirk, his eye glinting with mischief and dark promise. He rocks his hips, sliding his hard length through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass of his cock brushes against your swollen clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. You can't stop the moan that escapes your lips, your body betraying your desire.

"Fuck, listen to you. So loud, so desperate." Aemond growls, his voice rough with lust.

He pulls back, removing the delicious friction, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper in protest, your hips bucking, twitching, searching for his touch. But he ignores your needy movements, his focus solely on your face, drinking in your frustration.

"I wonder," he muses. "How long will it take to break you? How many times will you cum on my cock before you're begging me to fill you? To breed this fertile little cunt?"

Aemond's words are filthy and vulgar, and they send a shiver down your spine. You hate how much you love it, how much you crave his dirty talk, his rough handling. He owns you, body and soul, and you both know it.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he declares, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm going to take you hard and fast, just like a beast in heat. And you're going to take it like a good little wife because that's all you are to me. My property, my plaything."

With that, he lines himself up with your entrance once more. His cockhead nudges at your slick heat, teasing, taunting. "Open your eyes," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Watch as I claim what's mine."

You try to look at him, but your eyes are glossy and unfocused, clouded with the haze of lust. Then, with one hard, brutal thrust, he sheaths himself inside you, stretching you wide around his thick length.

Aemond groans as your tight heat envelops him, your slick walls clenching around his throbbing length. He stills for a moment, savouring the feeling of being buried inside you, your body stretched and full of his cock. Cursing himself for not fucking your tight wet heat earlier. For wasting time with his bastard mistress after your marriage.

"Ahhh!" You let out a kittenish scream as he filled you completely, your walls clenching around him, trying to adjust to his girth. It feels as if he is splitting you open, not even moving yet, but the stretch alone is enough to make you go mad.

Your eyes flutter, rolling back in your head as a wave of intense pleasure crashes over you. You feel so full, it's almost too much to bear. Aemond's cock pulsates inside you, hot and hard.

You can feel every ridge, every vein of his thick shaft as it throbs within you. He's so deep, buried to the hilt, his pelvis pressing against yours.

His hips twitch, a reflexive movement, driving his cock deeper still. The sensation is overwhelming and exquisite, and he has to grit his teeth against the urge to pound into you with abandon.

A moan tears from your throat, raw and primal, as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Your fingers scrabble at his back, your nails digging into his skin, holding on for dear life as he impales you on his cock.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Aemond groans, his voice rough with pleasure.

He starts to move, pulling out until just the tip remains inside you, then slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt. He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust. The bed creaks beneath you, the frame shaking from the force of his movements.

"Take it," he growls, his voice commanding, demanding. "Take my cock, you filthy little slut. This is what you were madefor, to be used and fucked like a whore."

His filthy words and powerful thrusts make you lose yourself to the pleasure, your mind going blank as he fucks into you with wild abandon. You feel like a rag-doll, legs thrashing next to you as he uses your body for his pleasure, driving into you with a ferocity that borders on violence.

"Look at you, taking my cock like a good little wife," he praises, his voice a dark rumble. "So obedient, so eager to please me."

You let out a pathetic mewl, unable to form any words. Your cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and intense pleasure as Aemond's grip on your thighs remains unforgiving, pressing your knees into the mattress.

He abuses your sopping pussy with brutal thrusts, each one driving you closer to the edge. Screams of ecstasy pour from your parted lips as your brows furrow in pleasure. His thick cock stretches you impossibly wide, filling you to the brink as he claims your body with wild disregard.

Aemond smirks down at you, revelling in your wanton moans and the way your body submits to his brutal pace. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, your slick arousal easing his way as he pounds into your tight heat.

"That's it," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "My beautiful little slut wife."

Gods, had your pussy always felt this divine?

Aemond continues to pound into you relentlessly, his hips pistoning back and forth as he fucks into your tight cunt. Each powerful thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat.

Your body is lost to the sensations, consumed by the feeling of Aemond's thick cock stretching you wide, filling you so completely. You're nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. Your only purpose is to take his cock and milk it for all its worth.

"Fuck, I love this cunt," Aemond growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his release. "Love feeling you squeeze around me, love how wet and ready you are for me."

Aemond's mind races as he fucks into you with abandon, his thoughts consumed by the exquisite sensation of your tight heat gripping his cock. He can't help but marvel at how your body yields to him, how perfectly you fit around him like you were made for his pleasure.

"I can't believe I wasted all those years fucking that Rivers whore when I could have been ruining this sweet cunt every night," Aemond growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust. "Gods, you're so much tighter than her. So much better."

The degrading praise stings, igniting a fire in your gut despite the intense pleasure. "I hope you regret every second of it," you grit out through clenched teeth, your voice strained and shaky from his cock stretching you open. Each brutal thrust sends shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, making your back arch off the bed. You scream your next words, lost in a daze of lust and anger. "Would've had all of your heirs! Taken your seed into my womb every single night!"

The thought of carrying his children, of being filled with his seed night after night, sends a shiver down your spine. Why did he waste his time with whores when he could've been breeding me, claiming me?

"I was meant to be the mother of your heirs," you hiss, your nails raking down his back. "Should've been bearing your children, ensuring the Targaryen line."

The words are punctuated by gasps and moans, your body betraying you even as your mind rages.

"Regret it," I pant, your thighs shaking. "Regret wasting your seed on common whores when you could've been filling me."

Aemond throws his head back with a roar, your words stoking the flames of his lust. The thought of you swollen with his child, carrying his heirs, drives him wild with desire. He fucks into you even harder, his hips slamming against yours with bruising force.

"You would've been perfect carrying my babies. Dropping their siblings so I could fill your fertile cunt again and again." He snarls, his eye wild with passion.

The image plays out in his mind, a tantalising fantasy that makes his cock throb inside you. You, round and ripe with his child, your belly stretched and full. He, driving into your fucked-out hole, pumping you full of his royal seed, ensuring his line continues.

"I'll make it up to you," Aemond promises, his voice a dark growl. "I'll fuck a dozen babes into you, let your belly swell with my children."

The idea sends a thrill through him, his balls drawing up tight as he imagines it. He'll keep you barefoot and pregnant with his offspring, his cock buried in your pussy every chance he gets.

"You want that, don't you?" Aemond demands, his thrusts growing erratic, his climax approaching. "To be bred like a bitch, to carry my children? To give our daughter sisters and brothers?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, furious at yourself for desiring exactly that. To be round and heavy with his child, constantly full of his seed. But gods, you do want it. You want it so badly it hurts.

"Yes," you whimper, your vision blurring as your cunt clenches erratically around his thick shaft, drawing him in deeper.

You meet his gaze, your eyes wild and pleading. The unshakable, unfriendly wife he once knew is gone, replaced by a desperate, needy whore.

"That's it," he growls against your lips. "My little wife, begging for her husband to fill her up."

A shameful part of you hopes this new side of you will make him see you differently. Make him desire you, want you, maybe even love you. The thought is intoxicating, to be truly wanted by him.

Your cunt spasms around him, gripping his cock like a vice as you imagine it. He is constantly buried inside you every night, pumping you full of his seed, ensuring his heritage while you serve your true purpose.

Aemond's eyes blaze with triumph as he sees the desperate need reflected in your eyes. He knows he's broken you, reduced you to a quivering, wanton mess, begging for his cock and his seed. It's a powerful feeling, knowing he has this control over you, that he can make you crave his touch above all else.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth, claiming you from the inside out. His hips continue their relentless pace, pounding into your tight heat, driving you closer to the edge.

Aemond's cock twitches inside you, his climax building, his balls drawing up tight. He's close, so fucking close to spilling himself inside you, to marking you as his once and for all.

"I'm going to flood this pussy," he promises, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "Paint your insides with my seed, make sure it takes root. You'll be dripping with my cum, and everyone will know who you belong to."

The thought sends a shiver down his spine, his cock pulsing with need. He wants to ruin you, to claim you so thoroughly that you'll never crave another man's touch. He wants to fuck you into submission, to make you his in every way possible.

His filthy words, combined with the brutal, near cervix-pounding thrusts, finally push you over the edge. You throw your head back with a keening cry, your body wracked with violent shivers as you come undone beneath him. Tears stream down your face, your eyes rolling back from the sheer, overwhelming intensity of it all.

Aemond groans as your pussy clenches around him, the rhythmic squeezing of your walls pushing him over the edge. His hips stutter, his thrusts becoming erratic as his climax crashes over him.

"Oh, Gods!" You sob, your voice high and broken.

Your pussy clamps down on his cock like a vice, rippling and fluttering as you ride out the waves of ecstasy crashing through you. At this moment, you are not a princess or a lady, but a wanton slut, put in her place by her husband's cock. And gods help you, but you love it.

"Fuck, yes!" he roars, his cock pulsing and twitching as he spills himself inside you, painting your walls with his hot, thick seed, your pussy clenching down on him like a fist.

Jet after jet of hot cum shoots from his cock, flooding your womb, painting your insides with his seed.

"Take it," he snarls, his hips jerking with each spurt of his release. "Take my cum."

Aemond's mind goes blissfully blank as he empties himself inside you, his whole world narrowing down to the feel of your pussy milking his cock, greedily swallowing every drop of his cum.

You whimper softly as Aemond's hot seed fills you, your insides warm and tingling from his release. You can feel it trickling out around his still-buried cock, the evidence of his claim dripping down.

He rocks against you, grinding his pelvis against yours, ensuring every last drop is pumped deep into your fertile core. The thought of you, swollen with his child, carrying his heir, sends a primal surge of satisfaction through him.

Your mind is blissfully empty, thoughts scattered in the aftermath of such intense pleasure. You gaze up at him with wide, glossy eyes, your lips parted in a breathless pant. The world around you fades away, leaving only him.

Aemond leans down, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He nuzzles your skin, breathing in your scent, the musky aroma of sex and sweat clinging to your bodies.

His softening cock twitches inside you, a residual shudder of pleasure rippling through him at the feeling of your cum-filled pussy clenching around him. He rolls his hips lazily, grinding against you, savouring the sensation of his seed sloshing inside you.

Aemond's lips curl into a satisfied smirk against your neck. He can feel your body, pliant and sated beneath him, still grasping his softening cock as if reluctant to let him go. The knowledge that he's thoroughly conquered you, reduced you to a quivering mess of pleasure, sends a thrill through him.

He pulls back slightly, his single eye raking over your face, drinking in the sight of you - cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with satisfaction.

You're a vision, a goddess laid out before him, and he's drunk at the sight of you.

Aemond's eye roams over your body, taking in every curve and dip, committing the sight to memory. Your breasts, heaving with each breath, nipples pebbled and begging for his touch. The sheen of sweat on your skin, glistening in the candlelight. The way your thighs are splayed open, your pussy still stretched and dripping with his cum.

It's a feast for the senses, and Aemond is a starving man.

[oddlittlestories]

Personally, there are only two explanations

1. They (either the principle writer or someone on the team) intended Hilson to be read romantically

2. They (see above) wanted Hilson to be seen as equally important and life changing as a romantic relationship (which in modern nomenclature could easily be called queerplatonic)

Here’s one more reason I think it was deliberately door #1: in the last scene, I’m pretty sure Wilson is wearing his purple shirt.

You know. The purple shirt he wore “for someone” when he first started dating Amber. His date shirt. That he explicitly wore for House in this episode. This episode ALSO parallels (though in some ways falls short of) the waterbed episode, where Wilson’s romantic partner pushed him to get a furnishing he wants.

The framing, the costuming and the narrative all come together to heavily imply Hilson. I think it’s a reasonable conclusion to draw that it was on purpose.

S6E16 of House MD... The whole ass episode is about love and relationship. . . Except House and Wilson's story line. . ? I guess???? Like Wilson's personality is canonically poeple/House pleaser, and House asks him to buy furniture that represents who he is... he buys an organ for House.. HOW IS THAT NOT ROMANTIC YOUR HONOUR??? Like Taub's storyline is about showing his wife he loves her. The teenagers storyline is also about love, sex and relationships, and they could have easily made it a Huddy episode but they chose Hilson.. I cannot imagine a straight reason, like I'm a Hilson shipper for life, with a leniency for Hudson but... How can you even begin to explain this episode in a platonic, absolutely non-romantic way??? I am so confused by House writers.. 🤨

[starkeyisthelastname]

OHHH ANOTHER THOUGHT!!!!!!!

idk how the porn community works HALSJKS but if its a thing to like ….. ship them ig??? … how would rafe react to r’s video with another dude being posted on twitter (maybe the first vid she’s made since her vid with rafe) and everyone’s in the comments being like “omg yas this is so hot!!!” “omg this is so much better than her and rafe!!” BALJEKS IDK

the first time someone’s talked negatively about him and it’s actually effected him 😅 he doesn’t like this ego being bruised

It was rare that Rafe checked social media, he just didn’t care about what people thought. He was pornstar and was used to being judged for his career choice and especially for the brutal way he fucked his costars. It was the Twitter notification he got though, with his name and your name tagged along with someone else’s who he didn’t know that caught his attention.

He opened the video, his blue eyes darkening as soon as he saw what it was. It was some nobody with a dick half the size of his, trying to make you cum. He could tell by the moans you were giving that it was all an act, and it ignited something in him he didn’t like. Watching another man fuck you, even if it was your job wasn’t something he particularly was a fan of. He had always loved pussy and money, and never once thought of ever quitting his rather successful porn career for anyone, until you started occupying his mind all day every day. He just couldn’t bring himself to end it yet, his addiction to sex and money way too deep.

As he went to exit out the app, a comment caught his eye. “Wow. She’s a pro at taking dick.” He scoffed as he read it out loud. What dick were you takin? That clown was the size of a pinky compared to him. It was the next one down that had his head raging in a way he had never experienced. ‘Her and @therafecameron video was weak compared to this. 🤣’ He seethed, these stupid idiots comments getting to him and bruising his extremely high ego. His knee bounced rapidly, thumb at the edge of his mouth as his mind raced wildly.

It was the phone, turned into landscape mode as Rafe’s long arm aimed it down to let it capture you taking dick. His free hand was wrapped in your hair, yanking your head back as he drilled into you at a brutal speed. The makeup you had on was smeared, tears streaming down your sparkly cheeks as he had some point to prove. He didn’t exactly say what, but it was a chance to get fucked by the man you were becoming obsessed with.

“Who’s fucking dick are you takin?” Rafe asked, his voice dripping venom as he yanked your head to make you look at him. His blue eyes, peered down at you in a predatory manner as he forced you to give him an answer.

The answer you gave was incoherent, your words coming out in babbles as an insane amount of pleasure was taking over your body. Your eyes rolled back, his huge dick tearing you apart as he wrapped his fist around your hair even harder. The phone that was recording the raw homemade scene was now shoved in your face, his hand on your head forcing you to look at the lens.

You were still so pretty, completely cock drunk off his monstrous ways as you were being his good personal whore. He leaned down, mustache brushing over your ear as he looked at the camera. It was quite a sexy sight to see his wild hair and striking blue iris’s making eye contact with the phone. “Tell them who’s dick your fuckin takin.” He spoke lowly, eyes watching your face through the screen. “Don’t make me repeat myself, I swear you’ll fucking regret it.” He gritted out, toned hips slapping against yours.

You cried out, his hand removing itself from your head to force your chin to look at the camera. You had no choice but to let out a loud whine, screaming the man’s name that you just wanted as yours. “Rafe Cameron! I’m t-takin Rafe Cameron’s dick!” Your voice cracking as you clamped down onto his cock.

As soon as heard that, a smirk came to his face and his nuts tightened. He tilted your chin towards him, sloppily kissing you with his tongue as the camera caught something Rafe never did with anyone. If the kissing wasn’t enough to make people a little shocked, it was that he posted it to his Twitter account, caption reading ‘The only dick that can get her screaming 😱 remember the fucking name bitches.’

[sweetpupii]

So um just a thought

Caitlyn going to a brothel in the undercity becuse she wants to find a person deserving of a hate fuck so she can get her anger out. Que very nice reader who hasn't been working as a sex worker very long and is kinda intimidated by Caitlyn. Caitlyn fucks you good and proper, a little too much degration compared to what your used to and maybe a bit too much choking but... It was still a good fuck. Now you don't expect her to stay but to be honest your in tears by the time your both done. It was so intense and angry on her side that you feel weirdly emotional and subspace-y. Caitlyn feels really guilty because you didn't deserve her being so rough and mean so she stays and takes care of you a bit.

cw - hair pulling, choking, degradation, slapping once, oral sex ( r! giving ), reader swallows sorry not sorry, awfully written comfort at the end, mean sex !! 2.5k words, damn.

the brothel was busy as usual

smoke, sometimes shimmer, giggles, and moans in every corner. the typical sounds could be heard from the rooms with curtain doors nearest the entrance—the cheapest and most accessible option.

near the entrance it was, unsurprisingly, louder. a man was being dragged out by two burly security guards, his drunken protests echoing through the main hall. “I paid for my time!” he slurred, struggling against their grip. the guards didn’t falter, one muttering sharp threats while the other shoved him toward the door.

he didn't, in fact, pay for his time.

It was loud, messy, and entirely ordinary. scenes like this played out almost nightly, barely earning a glance from anyone else in the building.

clients tended to go with the more well-known workers, the ones with reputations built on experience and reliability. there was comfort in familiarity, a kind of assurance that the night would go as planned. the rookies, on the other hand, rarely drew such attention unless they had something particularly striking to offer.

so, it wasn’t a surprise that you found yourself at the edge of the room, sitting on one of the couches apart from the ‘seasoned’ workers. hands brushing over your skimpy outfit as you tried to get rid of boredom, fixing the mask that covered most of your face.

another quiet night it seemed.

it shouldn't be so shocking to find an enforcer uniform with a gas mask entering the brothel, it was quite common actually, but the fact it was a way fancier uniform and she seemed more tense than most was kinda off…

it was almost scary to see her without the mask; furrowed eyebrows, cold gaze, dark blue hair framing her face as she walked in.

“how much?”

your train of thought interrupted by her sudden words, blinking a bit to look back at her, getting up from the couch to greet her with a smile.

“hi, that depends on what you're looking for. we got the bubble baths, the massages, the lap—”

“just me and you for a few hours.” her tone firm as she dropped a bag of money on the glass coffee table. It looked pretty full and definitely heavy. maybe enough to get through a week without having to see any other client…

anywho.

there wasn't much time to respond because she was already making her way towards the other rooms, looking around to not get lost and find an empty one; not even bothered to see if you were following.

clients were meant to follow the workers so they wouldn't do anything dumb and dangerous. your quick steps could be heard across the corridor as you approached her, walking a bit faster to stay ahead before knocking on one of the doors.

available.

you barely had time to process as caitlyn shoved the door shut with her heel, the sound echoing in the cramped, dimly lit room. the faint glow of a red bulb overhead cast harsh shadows across her sharp features. her intensity was palpable, an oppressive force pressing against your chest before her hands ever made contact.

she didn’t ask. she took.

her gloved hand found your throat—not enough to choke, not yet, but enough to make your breath hitch. the cold material of the wooden door contrasted sharply with the warmth blooming beneath your skin. sadly, you weren’t new to rough clients, but this was different. It wasn’t playful, and it wasn’t calculated. It was raw and brimming with something darker than lust.

“wait, wait—we gotta talk first!” you managed to say while trying ( and failing ) to push her face away.

you see, you can't just come into a brothel and immediately fuck a girl; there are rules to follow:

⠀1. you gotta talk with babbette or any worker ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ available. be polite.

⠀2. you choose one ( or a few if you're feeling fancy ) of ⠀ ⠀ the services.

⠀3. talk about your boundaries as well as the ⠀ ⠀⠀ worker's.

⠀4. you pick a time limit.

⠀5. you talk with the worker you chose and see if ⠀⠀ it's going to be a fun time or just awkward.

⠀6. you pay.

⠀7. in some cases, depending on the girl, kissing is ⠀ not allowed since…well, it feels way too ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ intimate.

⠀8. the worker's mask has to stay on.

⠀9. etc, etc, etc...

caitlyn has only followed two rules so far.

“I do not care about your name,” her free hand is already discarding your mask and throwing it somewhere else. “or whatever it is that you want to talk about.”

she seemed way too serious and…pissed? it's not like you in particular had done anything to her but feels like she's capable of slapping your mouth shut if you tried something.

so better safe than sorry, I guess?

“take it off,” she demanded, nodding toward the thin excuse for a top you wore. her voice was cold steel, no room for negotiation. her eyes bore into yours, daring you to disobey.

with trembling hands, you obeyed, peeling the fabric away to expose yourself to her. she watched every movement, unblinking.

when you finally freed yourself from the skimpy uniform, she wasted no time. her hands—one bare, one gloved—gripped your waist with bruising intensity and pushed you back against the nearest surface. the table behind you creaked under the sudden weight, the edge digging uncomfortably into the back of your thighs.

caitlyn's breath hot against your neck as her knee forced its way between your legs. you gasped, unprepared for the firm pressure against your cunt, even through the thin cover of your underwear. her lips were on your neck now, trailing rough kisses up to your jawline. there was no tenderness, only a desperate, consuming need.

her hand returned to your throat, this time squeezing just enough to send your vision blurring at the edges. “you are here just to take it, aren’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and biting. “it’s all you are good for.”

the words hit harder than her grip.

shame mingled with a strange, reluctant heat that spread through your body, leaving you unsure whether to protest or submit. her knee pressed harder, grinding against you in a rhythm that stole your breath, and your body betrayed you with a faint, uncontrollable whimper.

“pathetic,” she spat, “look at you. barely touched, and already falling apart.”

every touch was firm, calculated to remind you of her control. her bare fingers found the skin of your chest, teasing and tugging at the sensitive nipple in a way that drew sharp breaths from you despite yourself.

you should say something—maybe beg her to slow down or remind her of the brothel's rules—but the words wouldn’t come. your throat felt raw, constricted not only by her hand but by the intensity of the moment. It was overwhelming, in every sense of the word.

she moved faster, her gloved hand sliding down to your hips, yanking the last barrier of fabric away with little care. there was no hesitation, no checking to see if you were ready. she just... took. the rough friction left you breathless, your body caught in a relentless rhythm that gave you no time to adjust.

her lips found yours briefly—rough and unyielding—but she pulled back just as quickly, her blue eyes boring into yours. “don’t think you’re special,” she muttered, her voice harsh but faltering slightly, as though she didn’t entirely believe her own words. her hand returned to your throat, squeezing harder this time, enough to make your head spin.

she took ( dragged ) you to the bed surrounded by fake plants and cheap, kind of intoxicating scents of the candles placed on each nightstand.

your back met the mattress as she took off her own uniform, giving you a brief moment to breathe and just stare at the ceiling. it’s gonna be a looooong night, that's for sure.

she forced your legs open to spit right on your pussy as if it wasn't already soaked—index and middle finger smearing the cool, viscous liquid across your warm, sticky skin.

the way cait pushed your knees up to your chest was rough, absolutely unbothered by the possibility that the position might be uncomfortable for you. all she cared about was the feeling of sitting on you, rubbing—no, thrusting her hips against yours in a rather aggressive pace.

poor bed, poor wall...

you didn't mean to get so loud, you really didn't, but the movements practically forced the sounds out of you! like being punched in the gut hard and holding back the painful whimper, it wasn't humanly possible.

a scoff could be heard from her as one of her hands moved from your ankle to your face, giving it a firm slap to stop you from looking away. “stop acting all shy, pretending like you aren't a strumpet.”

so what if your legs were numb, chin glistening with your own drool, bed sheets soaked and your makeup ruined by tears? you can handle another orgasm. caitlyn is not leaving this brothel until she's fully satisfied.

it was too much, and yet somehow not enough. her anger was palpable, pouring into every touch, every thrust, every bruising grip on your skin. she wasn’t just using you to satiate her lust; she was pouring her frustration, her bitterness, her everything into you, leaving you trembling under the weight of it.

when she does stop her torturing thrusts it feels like you've reached heaven for a second—not in the happy way, more in the questioning-if-i’m-alive way—your body trembled, boneless and heavy. chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, feeling like a dog in the middle of a heat wave. trying to close your legs was painful.

“open.”

jesus, this woman has stamina for days. ( total show-off by the way )

the thought flickers and dies as quickly as it came because she’s already there—knees on each side of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. you don’t even have the energy to complain or ask for a break; you just obey, your lips parting instinctively as she guides you closer.

it's so messy: wet, slurping sounds echoing with every movement, muffled whimpers vibrating against her sensitive clit. the sharp sting of her grip on your hair pulls you deeper, forcing you to follow the rhythm of her grinding hips. everything about her—her scent, her taste, her intensity—is overwhelming.

It’s a blur of sensations. your jaw aches, there's not enough room to breathe something other than her, all you can hear are her groans and your own movements, your tongue is slowing down, and your body feels like it’s on fire, but you can’t stop. heavy-lidded eyes threaten to close completely, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks.

her movements become erratic, her breath hitching with each thrust of her hips. she doesn’t stop until your lips and tongue are coated in a creamy, milky white stickiness. she pulls back only enough to press her hand under your chin, forcing your mouth shut, her other fingers trailing to your throat as she murmurs, “swallow.”

you do. every single drop.

by the time she finally slowed, deciding four rounds was enough, your body was an oversensitive mess. tears streaked your cheeks, hot and silent, and your breath came in ragged panting.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her disheveled hair. her gaze flicked to you, lingering on the tears and makeup staining your face.

the silence after everything was deafening. you couldn’t stop shaking, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as tears streaked down your face. the mattress beneath you felt too soft, like it would swallow you whole if you sank any further.

caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, her back to you at first, her head in her hands. her breathing had steadied, but her hands trembled faintly, betraying the storm raging in her mind.

she hadn’t meant for it to go this far. the anger, the heat of the moment—it had consumed her, driven her to treat you like a target for her rage instead of a person. she knew better. she wasn’t supposed to let her emotions control her.

and yet, here you were.

when she finally turned to look at you, the sight of your tear-streaked face and trembling frame hit her like a physical blow. you weren’t just a distraction or an outlet—you were human, and she’d crossed every line imaginable.

“shit,” she muttered, rubbing a hand down her face before hesitantly moving closer. her shadow fell over you as she sat next to you. “hey...” she said softly, the word awkward and unfamiliar on her tongue.

you didn’t respond, barely blinking as you stared up at the dim ceiling light. more vulnerable, and fragile than what you had been prepared for.

caitlyn’s chest tightened as she watched you. she didn’t know how to fix this—her guilt felt too big, her own emotions still tangled—but she had to try.

slowly, carefully, she reached for your hand, her touch tentative, as if you might flinch away. when you didn’t, she wrapped her fingers around yours, her grip firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have been that rough,” she said, her voice low but steady. “it was not about you. it was about me, and you didn’t deserve that.”

tears welled up again, spilling silently as you tried to focus on the sensation of her hand in yours rather than everything else. never in a million years you would've expected to be comforted by a client.

“I’ll make it right,” caitlyn murmured, almost to herself. she shifted, sitting on the bed beside you, and pulled the sheet up to clean your body a little, her touch deliberate and careful.

her fingers moved to brush damp strands of hair from your face, her thumb lingering on your temple in slow, soothing circles. “you are trembling like a leaf,” she sighed gently, her blue eyes softening as they met yours.

your vision blurry, but the tenderness in her voice and touch started to anchor you. your breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in time with her quiet encouragement.

the idea of taking a week long nap seemed really good right now.

when your trembling eased slightly, caitlyn leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. for everything.” she paused, her throat tightening. “you are more than... whatever I treated you as tonight. not a punching bag.”

god, she was the head of the nobel house kiramman but took care of her rage like a teenager out of control.

“you don’t have to stay...”

no one does because that's the whole point of paying for sex; quick with no strings attached. touch-and-go.

but the shaky tone in your feels like a stab to the heart for cait. “yes, I do. you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

she adjusted her position, pulling you gently closer against her bare chest. as careful as if she was approaching a scared cat. the warmth of her embrace was startling after the coldness of her earlier actions. “I will stay, alright?” she promised quietly, her hand running soothingly along your back.

and she did.

leaving a tip that would definitely make the other workers gossip about how good your service might be.

( even if cait did most of the job. )

masterlist

[itsclydebitches]

Just finished Good Omens 2 and I'm honestly boggling at the Aziraphale hate because yes, his decision led to the angsty cliffhanger, but it makes SO much sense for his character. Not just in a "Religious brainwashing and sunk-cost fallacy" kinda way but also a "Aziraphale has no reason to believe this isn't the perfect solution" way. That scene among the nebula is crucial because it establishes that Crowley loved being an angel—reveled in his ability to create and allow his creations to grow kinda like plants—and the only problem was that someone else was calling the shots, someone who wouldn't listen to his criticism. Aziraphale has also spent 6,000+ years watching Crowley do good, all the while forced to deny the fact that he's "nice" lest embracing his original nature get him into trouble with hell. Now, Metatron comes along with an offer that fixes everything in one fell swoop. Crowley can be an angel again, be nice without censure, his ideas and criticisms will hold weight because he'll be answering to Aziraphale, and they'll be together.

It strikes me that Aziraphale isn't there when Crowley sees Gabriel's trial, ergo he likewise doesn't see the (non)acknowledgement that there's an institutional problem up in Heaven. There just happen to have been two archangels who called it quits. Same when Gabriel blurts that phrase out to Crowley. Aziraphale has always been more blind to the ways in which Heaven is "toxic" (for very understandable reasons) and this season he's continually sheltered from new evidence of its structural problems. The plot just preaches to the choir: Crowley. He likewise wouldn't see the conflict Gabriel and Beelzebub have caused as evidence of an underlying problem because that's a problem he and Crowley will no longer share. Why would they be worried about Heaven still being unable to accept partnerships between angels and demons when Crowley will no longer be a demon? And that's something he presumably wants based on Aziraphale's memories of him and the ongoing admission that he's lonely.

The way I see it, they got what they thought they wanted at the start of Season 2. Heaven and Hell are keeping an eye on them, but functionally they're left alone. Crowley can spend all the time he wants with Aziraphale and nothing comes of that except that they're both continually named traitors and the higher-ups grumble about it. If Gabriel had never shown up, things should have been perfect based on Crowley's "Let's just run away and have each other's company" standards. Better, even, considering that they get to be together on their beloved Earth, rather than being bored out in Alpha Centauri without any sushi, plants, books, or Bentleys. And yet... Crowley doesn't strike me as particularly happy. Because, you know, based on that kiss he wants to be with Aziraphale, not just literally be with him, but the point of this post is that his "Let's run away and be an 'us'" falls totally flat when he doesn't explain that specific desire to Aziraphale; the desire to change what an 'us' means. From Aziraphale's perspective they're already an 'us.' That was the entire point of "our side" in Season 1 and now they can continue to be 'us' up in Heaven. Plus, Aziraphale likely sees this as a sacrifice on his part. He will give up his bookshop, his Earthly indulgences, take on the responsibilities of leadership (which I don't think he actually wants for a variety of reasons), and spend the rest of eternity in a place where he's felt so small because he thinks that's what Crowley wants. Crowley was happy as an angel. Crowley wanted them to be together without risk of permanent discorporation. They were able to achieve that after not-Armageddon and he still wasn't happy... so surely those two things together will do the trick. Crowley never actually articulates how he wants their relationship to change and the kiss comes much too late, when he's already rejected what Aziraphale must see as a perfect, selfless solution he's secured for them. Even if Crowley wasn't always moving too fast for him, an overture of romance isn't going to go well after that.

Is this crushing and angsty and devastating as a hiatus? Damn straight, my heart it breaking. But it's a good setup. More importantly, it makes perfect sense for their characters, particularly when they're still talking past one another. Aziraphale is someone who has always moved more slowly as a matter of course, as an angel he has remained immersed in the rhetoric of Heaven, his main avenue of breaking free of that (Crowley) has a huge communication problem (to say nothing of his own denial. He only made headway with the help of Nina and Maggie, seconds before Aziraphale shows up), and Metatron (in a no doubt incredibly manipulative manner) has just offered Aziraphale a job that presumably makes him happy AND Crowley happy AND allows him to maintain the moral this-is-how-the-universe-works perspective he's had since he was literally created. Of course he's going to say yes to all that!! And sure, there are problems in Heaven, Aziraphale isn't completely blind, but he can fix them now that he's in charge. How? Well... he'll figure that out later! Kinda like how he's been making plans on the fly this entire season. That seems logical from his perspective, right? It's not like he's gotten a crash-course in the concept of the master's tools never being able to dismantle the master's house...

[whore-ibly-hot]

'Photo Shoot'

Yan!Photography Student x GN!reader x Yan!Art instructor (Joseph and Mr. Burton)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: All characters are legal age, multiple yanderes, dub-con touching, perverted thoughts, voyeurism, student/teacher dynamics, nude photography, no real mention of specific genitals

AN: I'm so eepy right now... Also, if you like this fic, use the tags on my masterlist to find all the other Yan!Boarding School writings.

The smoke coming from the corner of the room ceases when Mr. Burton snuffs a cigarette butt out on an... ashtray? From where you're sat, you can see him putting it out on what looks more like a student pottery bowl. That strikes you as odd, but he can be very critical of others art so you can't be suprised. Cracking his knuckles and leaning back a little, he turns to you and the extremely quiet classmate beside you, Joseph.

"Alright, lets get this show on the road, yeah? Joseph, you're our camera man, I'll have you leading this thing, running the camera's and I'll give some creative direction. Student and the master, I can finally teach some actual fucking art." Mr. Burton mumbles, as Joseph quickly begins setting up the camera on a tri-pod. You feel odd about him to say the least, despite you being the 'muse', as Mr. Burrton calls you, Joseph's barely made eye contact with you. You agreed right off the bat when Mr. Burton asked you to help one of his favorite students with some anatomy shoots, you like Mr. Burton, he's funny, honest, and that's refreshing, given you worry some people at this academy have ulterior motives. Still, you had some concerns as you fiddle with the thin top you wore at Mr. Burton's request. "Mr. Burton?" you ask, and he looks up from where he's mumbling about something with Joseph. He motions for the young man to keep working as he strolls over.

"I'm nervous." You admit, hand rubbing at your elbow as an attempt to self-soothe. "I don't usually get, nude, on camera, and i-it's not that I don't trust you, sir, but-" He puts his hand up to cut you off, gently rubbing your shoulder. "Woah, woah. I get it, I get it." He assures you, tone comforting. "You're my student, and you've got great, great potential. I've been on the art scene, kid, I see the burnout path some people go down, I see the ways people exploit and get exploited. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. If you get uncomfortable, I'll pull you out. And trust me, being in the nude for art starts to feel perfectly normal after a while, okay?" He pauses, then sighs. "Okay, it's comfortable except for being cold as hell." He laughs.

You chuckle in return, but there's still a bit of worry. He can tell, and leans in. "What is it that worries you, exactly? If it's insecurity, trust me, the real artists are those marketing execs who can photoshop a skinny model and make change up the whole idea of beau-"

"It's not that sir, I promise. I'm just worried about other people seeing, you know? I'm worried about it getting spread around, or people getting bad ideas about me." You admit, face a little pale. Mr. Burton's brows furrow, and he slaps his hand down on his jeans. "Joseph, come here!" He yells.

Joseph jumps, hands shaking as he almost knocks over his tripod. "But- uh, the cameras-" He squeaks out, and Mr. Burton shakes his head. "You're one of the best photographers I've ever met, Joseph, I know damn well that cameras been set up for well over ten minutes already. Come here, don't be shy, don't be weird. You're freaking out the subject." At the idea him staying away is freaking you out just as much as him coming up to you, Joseph walks over. "H-hi." he greets, holding out his hand. You shake it, and it is particularly sweaty.

"Joseph is a great photographer, my best student and possibly one of the best I've ever seen. I assure you, he's a good kid. He's dedicated to his craft, this isn't a complex scheme for him to fence some nudes of you to the highest bidder." The young man's eyes widen exponentially as Mr. Burton makes his assertion, and instinctually puts his hands up in surrender. "No, no! I would never, ever. Do I- do I come off as that kind of creep, if I do I'm sorry."

"No, it's not that at all, I just struggle with, well, some issues like that." Joseph visibly frowns, and Mr. Burtons hand tenses from it's spot on the table.

"You are pretty creepy, Joseph." Mr. Burton admits, making the boy flush as the teacher playfully pushes his head. "This'll be good, good art pushes outside of comfort zones, yeah? Let's get all set up." He claps his hands together as he goes to stand behinf the camera with Joseph. You strip, and sit awkwardly before the camera in front of a messy brick wall with various stains and prints on it from Mr. Burton's studio. Mr. Burtons licks his lips subconsciously as he looks over your meek form, the clears his throat. "Okay, first position, mermaid pose. Lets get those legs to the side."

The shoot continues on for a while, until Mr. Burton suggests a more 'raw' shoot. That's how you find yourself posing, hands over your chest area and thighs ever so slightly parted while Mr. Burton sits behind you, also nude. You worried about it being inappropriate, mostly for his sake. "Couldn't this... I mean, I'm willing to do it if you think it'll be good art, but won't you get in trouble if people find out?" You ask, turning over your shoulder a bit. He scoffs again, and shakes his head. "No self-respecting person with credentials like mine would teach these silver spoon brats art, I'm all they've got." He assures you, going to move an arm around your waist from behind.

"What composition do you want, sir?" Joseph asks, face red as he uses every ounce of will-power to try and suppress an erection at the sight of you and the older man. He'll worry about the new and conflicting feelings later. He's got enough photos to die happy, but the fact you seem so willing fills him with a delusional sense of your interest in him.

"It's your shoot, Joseph. Take over directing." Mr. Burton calls back, and Joseph doesn't seem sure. "I don't know, sir, you have more of a vision than me, and-" Mr. Burton groans, rolling his head back like a kid throwing a tantrum. "Jesus christ, kid. How many times do I have to hammer in that you're a good artist? You can direct your own shoots-" He notices the violently red flush of Josephs cheeks, and chuckles. "Or is this more an issue of being to embarrassed, because I told you-" He waves his free arm around. "We are pushing the envelope, making something raw, pushing ourselves out of comfort zones. To be a great artist, you have to not be afraid to tell your NUDE SUBJECT, to spread their legs and bare it all." Joseph is completely silent, stun-locked by his gruff teachers comments. He begins examining the shot in the view-finder after taking a few shaky breathes.

"Alright, Sir... of course." He swallows, and his shaky hands adjust the lens. "I want to-to try and delineate from what other people think nude shoots are, away from like... porn and stuff. Raw, but intimate, I think." Mr. Burton nods for him to continue, and seeing the interest in your eyes at his creative direction, Joseph gets a little more confident. "If you're okay with it-" He addresses you now. "I'd like Mr. Burton to be able to touch you, nothing too invasive, just a kiss on the neck or the shoulder, maybe letting him hold your thigh?" Joseph keeps his tone soft and asking, sure to imply you can say no.

"That's alright, I trust him." You mumble, looking at the gruff art instructor and seeing to your surprise a soft look on his face. "I'm honored, little muse." He teases, and the nickname makes you flush. "Oh, and you too, Joseph, we've not talked much, um, but you seem really dedicated, I'm sure I'm in good hands."

Shit. Well, so much for keeping his dick down, but at least he doesn't think you can see from the way the lighting is set up. He nods, and you shiver, feeling a cold pair of lips and a thin stubble scratch at the surface of your shoulder. "Are they cold?" Mr. Burton chuckles, placing a few more small kisses as you hear the camera shutter snap. "I'm sorry, I can't control the thermostat in here, all this money and they can't afford to make sure I don't freeze my dick off doing my job." He's always so grumpy, even when he's trying to be sweet. You close your eyes and try to relax into the feeling. It escalates occasionally, hands on your thighs as he kneads gently at your flesh, occasionally making a complaint about something or picking at Joseph, who keeps making an odd series of grunts, but you assume he's just breathing heavy from being so focused.

It culminates in you being positioned over him, as if playing the playful or dominate role in some sort of erotic moment. Mr. Burtons hands rest on your ass, his firm yet not fully erect cock a little too close to your hole. You're chest to chest with him, and while he's relishing in the feeling, Joseph makes a hand motion, and he knows its time to pull away, at least for this ession. He's smart, knows not to rush it, and he knows this is more than enough material for the vouyeristic camerman.

"I think we got some good shots, i-it's getting late. I'll go grab something from the vending machine while you too warm up." Joseph scarmbles away, camera bag held oddly across his crotch area. Mr. Burton smiles as you slide off from him, flushed as the weight of your previous position hits you. "You were great, a real professional." He urges, scooting forward to sit beside you.

"Thank you, sir. I was trying not to get too flushed or anything, I hope I didn't sweat too much." You admit, and he shakes his head to assure you. "Nah, you did fine, but if I could make a suggestion?" You look up. "No real intimate scene like that doesn't have a couple kissing. On your neck and shoulders was fine, but lets face it, people do more than neck each other when they're getting it on like that." He glances at the door, making sure Joseph is still doing whatever it is he's doing out there. He didn't discuss this part with the young artist, but let's face it, learning to be one step ahead, to protect your work and your muse, is something he's gonna have to learn anyways. "Will you let me show you?" he asks, voice low as he leans closer to your face.

You glance at the camera. "It's not running, though shouldn't we wait for joseph to take the photo?" You ask, a little more unsure about the artistic integrity of the action. He shakes his head as he lets his stubble scratch your cheek. "This'll be practice, yeah? For next time..."

"Next time?"

"Next time." He mumbles, lips feverishly sealing against your as he hunces over your form, cold bodies pressing together and leaving goosebumps which trail down your form as the session closes out.

[biceratops7]

hold- wait a fucking minute...

Beelzebub is acting really freaking weird in this scene.

Ok so I encourage you to rewatch it cause I can't really properly illustrate it in gifs, but they don't sound irritated, or even particularly intimidating. We know Beezlebub to be a very dry person, even in moments they want something and need to manipulate/ convince someone for it. So this abnormally animated and even somewhat friendly demeanor doesn't strike me as part of buttering Crowley up to get him to help them.

This is a weird line. We know Beelzebub isn't like Shax, they've been around a bit more and have a better grasp on things like tone and figurative language. There's almost no way they're unaware that saying this would immediately clue Crowley in to the fact that Heaven and Hell do in fact have communication, so they must want him to know. For whatever reason, it's important to them that Crowley knows they're a reputable source.

And then I remembered where I've heard that tone before.

It's nearly the exact same one Crowley uses to tell Aziraphale that he needs to protect them. It's the kind of tone you use when you need someone to read between the lines and understand more than you can safely tell them. Beelzebub is fully ready to believe Shax when they say Gabriel's in the bookshop, and acknowledge later that Aziraphale was a very fitting and likely candidate to harbor him. They know full well Crowley doesn't want jack shit to do with Hell, and would probably be offended if anything by anyone referring to his "nasty little heart". That is merely a performance to mask what they're really trying to tell him, which is that Aziraphale is in danger.

Without this detail Crowley very well could've turned Gabriel in to Heaven instead of Hell, he certainly doesn't see much difference between the two. Beelzebub is the reason he decisively doesn't, and races home in a panic.

And I think it's genuinely so sweet, this moment of understanding and comradery between them that goes unnoticed, even to Crowley. They drop the shtick and make sure that he knows the book of life is a real threat, and you only need to be merely involved in hiding him to be erased from it. Because to them, there's also the very real possibility that Crowley knows about Gabriel while Aziraphale doesn't, so they're double checking Crowley will not to tell him and instead go straight to them. There’s just something so protective in it.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Bad Romance

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Ex-wife!Reader

Summary: On his dying breath, he made a choice: to seek refuge in the one place he still considered safe—his ex-wife's house.

Words Count: 4,089

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

As the raindrops pelted his face, each impact weighed down his eyelids, making them droop with exhaustion. With a muttered curse escaping his lips, he grumbled, "Fuck."

Tonight, he faced multiple betrayals, each cutting deeper than the last. His best friend, boss, team, agency—all had turned their backs on him, sacrificing him like a pawn in a game he no longer understood.

And for what? For all he had sacrificed and given, this was the thanks he received.

Dragging his feet through the sodden ground, he felt the weight of his exhaustion and pain bearing down on him like a leaden anchor. His body screamed for respite, for release from the torment that plagued him. But still, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the faint light in the distance, a beacon of hope in the midst of the darkness.

His body language betrayed his struggle, his shoulders slumped with weariness, his movements labored and unsteady. Yet, he refused to yield to the darkness that threatened to consume him. He pushed forward with every ounce of determination, driven by a stubborn resilience that refused to be extinguished.

But as the rain continued to fall and the pain in his wound intensified, a chilling thought invaded his mind. "Is this how it ends? Alone, in the cold and the dark?" Finally, his strength gave out, his body surrendering to the inevitable embrace of unconsciousness.

🌅

As he slowly blinked open his eyes, he was greeted by a sudden burst of brightness, the sun's rays piercing through the whiteness that surrounded him. "Am I in heaven?" he murmured, his voice barely audible amidst the surreal scene.

His confusion deepened as he felt something wet against his hand. "What-" His words trailed off as he glanced down, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him.

There, by his side, was a shepherd dog, its tail wagging eagerly as it gazed up at him with a warm, friendly smile. "I guess it's true, dogs go to heaven," he mused softly, his disbelief mingling with a flicker of amusement.

"Woof," the dog barked cheerfully, before bounding onto the bed beside him, its tongue lolling out as it showered him with affectionate licks. "Stop," he protested weakly, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips despite himself.

Lloyd had never been particularly fond of dogs, but there was something about this canine companion that stirred a long-forgotten warmth within him. Memories of a puppy he once cared for flooded his mind, though it had been years since he had last thought of it.

Running his fingers through the dog's fur, he couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance it bore to that cherished pet from his past.

"You look like someone I knew," he murmured softly, a pang of nostalgia tugging at his heartstrings as he allowed himself to be comforted by the presence of his unexpected companion.

"He would be saddened if he understood what you just said. Don't you remember Choco?"

Lloyd's heart skipped a beat as her voice pierced the air, drawing his attention away from the dog and towards the source of the sound. Slowly, he turned around, and there she stood — the woman with whom he had once shared a lifetime.

His ex-wife.

You stood before him, holding a tray of food, your expression unreadable. Despite the years that had passed since he last laid eyes on you, you seemed unchanged. There was no trace of worry in your demeanor, only a cool detachment that sent a shiver down his spine.

Even now, after four long years since the finalization of their divorce, you remained a constant presence in his life, a reminder of all that he had lost. The years had not softened your gaze or dulled the edge of your resentment.

As he met your gaze, there was no warmth, no flicker of recognition in your eyes. Only a steely resolve that spoke volumes of the lingering animosity between them. At that moment, he realized that despite the passage of time, some wounds never truly healed.

Lloyd's voice broke the silence, filled with a hint of nostalgia and warmth. "It's really nice to see you, sunshine."

You responded with a dismissive "Hmph," setting down the tray of food and medicine beside him. As you observed him lying on the bed, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine having him back in your life, especially in such a vulnerable state. Four years ago, you had scrubbed every trace of him from your existence, convinced that you were better off without him.

But fate had a cruel way of intervening. Just last week, Choco's persistent barking had led you to investigate, eventually guiding you to the sight of your ex-husband sprawled in the mud, wounded and on the brink of death.

The sight had shocked you to the core, dredging up memories of the tumultuous past you had shared. His dangerous job, the reason you had chosen to walk away from him, now seemed to loom over you like a grim specter.

Seeing him alive, breathing, and smiling with that smug expression plastered across his face, you couldn't help but question yourself. Why did you save him? As you tended to his wounds, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions raged within you.

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark, your tone laced with equal parts irritation and concern. "With who this time did you make trouble?"

Lloyd's reaction was immediate, his expression caught off guard by your directness. This was the woman he remembered, the one who could simultaneously infuriate and enthrall him. "A lot of people, pumpkin," he replied casually, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes at his response, unable to suppress a wry smile. "Always a troublemaker," you muttered under your breath, the familiarity of the exchange bringing a sense of deja vu.

"Yup. That's why you like me," Lloyd quipped back, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he attempted to lighten the mood.

You didn't dignify his remark with a response, instead choosing to focus on examining his wound. Gently raising his arm, you inspected the injury with practiced care, noting the signs of improvement with a sense of relief. "No more infection," you announced, your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

As you continued your examination, Lloyd couldn't resist interjecting with a hint of pride in his voice. "Did you notice I've gained more muscles?"

You couldn't deny the subtle changes in his physique, resulting from his relentless pursuit of his dangerous profession. But you refused to acknowledge it aloud, knowing that it would only inflate his already sizable ego.

"How did you find out my place?" you questioned, a mix of curiosity and wariness in your voice.

Lloyd met your gaze squarely, his expression unapologetic. "I always check on you. Just in case," he replied casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After the divorce, he had never truly let you out of his sight, a fact that both unsettled and infuriated you. It was as if he couldn't bear the thought of you moving on without him, even though your relationship had long since run its course.

But for Lloyd, the idea of you being with someone else was intolerable. He couldn't stomach the thought of you in another man's arms, couldn't bear the thought of someone else laying claim to what had once been his.

And so, he took matters into his own hands, using underhanded tactics to sabotage any potential suitors that crossed your path. From slashing tires to sabotaging work projects, he left no stone unturned in ensuring you remained single.

The mere thought of you with another man made him sick to his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat. But despite his best efforts to keep you all to himself, he knew deep down that he couldn't control your heart.

And yet, he couldn't help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you would come back to him in the end.

As Lloyd found himself teetering on the brink of death, his world collapsing around him, he felt a desperate longing for safety and solace. Betrayed by his team, abandoned by his friends, and hunted by the very agency he once served, he was left with nowhere to turn.

With each labored step, he struggled to keep moving forward, to escape the clutches of death that threatened to consume him. But amidst the chaos and despair, a flicker of recognition sparked within his subconscious, guiding him towards a beacon of hope in the darkness.

And then, as if by some miracle, he remembered you. Your address, your home—the one place where he knew he could find refuge, if only for a fleeting moment.

Driven by a primal instinct for survival, his body moved of its own accord, drawing him inexorably towards your doorstep. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed, until finally, he stood before your door, battered and broken but alive.

At that moment, as he reached for salvation, he clung to the faint hope that you would offer him sanctuary from the storm that raged within and without. For in the depths of his despair, he knew that he could find the peace and redemption he so desperately sought in your arms.

You let out a sigh, the weight of Lloyd's words sinking in. "Does that mean they knew about me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of concern.

Lloyd shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering. "No. I made sure nobody knew about you," he reassured you, his tone laced with conviction.

"Good," you responded with a nod, a sense of relief washing over you at his words.

You clapped your hands softly, calling Choco who still lay his head on Lloyd's lap. The loyal dog obediently jumped from the bed to be beside you, his presence a comforting presence in the room.

Lloyd's gaze shifted to the dog, who had grown significantly since the last time he saw him. "He's bigger," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Staying out of town suits him," you replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remembered the countless arguments you and Lloyd had over the city life.

Lloyd nodded in understanding, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience as he recalled the sacrifices you had made for him in the past.

You stood up, determination etched on your face. "I need to buy more medicine for you," you declared, your voice firm despite the underlying concern.

"Alright. And I'll be waiting for you," Lloyd replied, his tone filled with gratitude.

Before you left the room, you turned to him with a sense of urgency. "Your gun. It's inside the nightstand," you instructed, your words carrying a weight of responsibility.

Lloyd's eyes widened in surprise as he slowly maneuvered his body, wincing with each movement. With cautious hands, he opened the nightstand and discovered his gun, meticulously cleaned and reloaded, lying within.

In that moment, as he gazed at the weapon before him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Despite the animosity that had defined their relationship, he couldn't deny the underlying care and concern that you still held for him.

And as you left the room, he couldn't help but wonder how someone could simultaneously hate and care for him so deeply. It was a paradox that he would never fully understand but one that he couldn't help but be grateful for in his darkest hour.

As Lloyd lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, a sense of profound gratitude washed over him. Despite the perilous path he had tread, he couldn't help but feel incredibly fortunate to be alive, to have been granted a second chance at life, and to have crossed paths with you once again.

In that fleeting moment of introspection, he couldn't help but wonder about the path not taken.

What if the two of you hadn't parted ways?

Would he have found solace and happiness in your embrace, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the companionship of Choco?

The thought lingered in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of his choices and the consequences that had ensued.

Perhaps things would have been different in another reality or in another lifetime. Perhaps he would have found the peace and contentment he desperately sought in your arms.

But as the painkiller coursed through his veins, enveloping him in a blanket of warmth and drowsiness. Exhausted, he succumbed to the pull of sleep once more.

🗡️

Lloyd stirred from his slumber, awakened not by pain but by the gnawing ache of hunger that clawed at his stomach. Slowly, he sat up, testing the limits of his body and finding that the pain had subsided to a dull ache.

With cautious movements, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as he eased himself into a sitting position. Gradually, he rose to his feet, testing his weight on unsteady legs until he found his balance.

As he ventured out of the room, his gaze wandered around the house, taking in the familiar furnishings and décor that adorned the space. It felt strangely comforting, like stepping into a memory from his past.

His eyes drifted to the photographs that adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy and laughter frozen in time. Each image seemed to tell a story, a testament to the life you had built for yourself after leaving him behind.

With a heavy sigh, he questioned the purpose of his existence and the futility of clinging to a past that no longer held any promise. What was the benefit of wallowing in self-pity, of longing for a life that could never be reclaimed?

As Lloyd made his way to the kitchen, he was greeted by a home-cooked meal waiting for him, prepared with care and accompanied by a note instructing him to simply microwave it.

When was the last time someone had gone to such lengths to provide him with a warm, comforting meal?

The question lingered in his mind as he heated the food and began to eat, savoring each bite as if it were a taste of long-forgotten bliss.

After finishing the last bite of food, Lloyd washed it down with a sip of water, his expression shifting from relaxed to serious as he surveyed the now-empty plates before him.

"At least you let me eat first," he murmured under his breath, a hint of resignation in his voice.

'Click.'

The sound of the gun echoed throughout the house, piercing the stillness of the moment. In the reflection of the fridge, Lloyd caught sight of Carmichael and Susan, their guns trained on him with steely determination.

With a wry smirk, Lloyd raised his hands in surrender, his gaze steady as he met their accusing stares.

"Really? You still have the confidence?" Susan's voice dripped with disdain, her finger twitching on the trigger.

Carmichael's voice was cold and calculating as he spoke, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Of all places, you choose to hide here?"

Lloyd's casual shrug belied the tension that hung in the air as Susan's voice cut through the silence once more. "You need to come with us," she demanded, her tone clipped and authoritative.

Lloyd's response was equally defiant. "What if I don't want to?" he challenged, his gaze locking with Carmichael's as he awaited their next move.

Carmichael's response was swift and to the point. "You have no backup," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lloyd's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the revelation. "Really?" he quipped, a hint of skepticism.

Unable to contain her frustration any longer, Susan lashed out at Lloyd, her voice dripping with venom. "I'm going to laugh when you rot in jail—"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that sliced through her left ear, followed by a searing pain that engulfed her cheeks and ears.

"Fuck," she cursed, her hand instinctively flying to her injured ear as she recoiled from the unexpected assault.

As Susan dropped to the ground, the suddenness of her descent caught everyone off guard. Carmichael's attention snapped to the shattered window, his instincts kicking in as he processed the situation instantly.

"A sniper," he concluded, his voice tense with urgency as he scanned the perimeter for any signs of danger.

Susan, still reeling from the shock of the attack, struggled to comprehend what had just transpired. "But how?" she gasped, her voice tinged with disbelief as she tried to make sense of the chaos around them.

Lloyd's smirk widened as he watched the realization dawn on Susan and Carmichael's faces. "Don't underestimate the owner of this house," he cautioned, his gaze flicking towards the framed photos on the wall.

Susan and Carmichael's eyes fell upon a woman adorned with a gold medal, the insignia of an Olympic shooting competition adorning the frame.

"Shit," they both muttered simultaneously, a sense of dread settling over them as they realized the gravity of their situation.

Carmichael turned to Lloyd, his disbelief palpable. "Her? You and her? Impossible," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock and skepticism.

But Lloyd's smirk remained, a silent testament to the unexpected ally that had come to his aid in his moment of need.

The contrast between you and Lloyd couldn't have been more stark, yet fate had a curious way of bringing opposites together. While you had earned your place at Harvard through your exceptional skill in shooting, Lloyd's prowess on the football field had secured his admission.

In the law class, the tension between you two was palpable, your conflicting personalities clashing like water and fire. Your debates were heated, your arguments fierce, yet beneath the surface, there lingered a begrudging respect for each other's abilities.

Despite the animosity that simmered between you, there was an unspoken understanding that if one of you needed help, the other would be there to lend a hand. It was a reluctant partnership born out of necessity, fueled by a mutual desire to succeed in a cutthroat environment.

As the years passed, the animosity softened into something resembling camaraderie, a grudging acknowledgment of the role you each played in the other's life.

In the end, despite your differences, you and Lloyd were bound together by a shared journey that neither of you could have predicted.

Lloyd raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his words laced with a mix of astonishment and resignation. "We're divorced, but still she cares for me," he remarked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

'Bang.'

Another bullet pierced the air, embedding itself in the sofa with a resounding thud.

"Shit. She's going to blame me for this," Lloyd muttered under his breath, his expression clouded with frustration.

Susan's regret swelled within her, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she realized the gravity of their oversight. "Just kill him," she spat out, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Carmichael's voice cut through the chaos, his words ringing with authority. "No, the order is to bring him in alive," he declared, his tone unwavering in its resolve.

Lloyd, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting agendas, couldn't help but interject with a hint of sarcasm. "Stop fighting over me. I prefer to stay here," he quipped, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips despite the gravity of the situation.

Susan's hand trembled as she pointed the gun at Lloyd's forehead, her eyes blazing with a vengeful fury. "I've been waiting for this," she seethed, her voice laced with venom. "This time I'll blow your head off."

But before Susan could carry out her threat, she was overcome by a searing pain that radiated through her hand, causing her to cry out in agony.

'Bang.'

Another shot rang out, the bullet tearing through Susan's hand with brutal force, eliciting a guttural scream of pain from her lips.

As the smoke cleared, you appeared before them, armed and prepared, your presence commanding and formidable. Carmichael and Susan paled at the sight of you, realizing with dawning horror that they were outmatched and outgunned.

"You bring unnecessary problems, Lloyd," you stated coolly, your voice hinting at disappointment.

With guns and spare bullets adorning your body, you stood as a formidable barrier between them and your ex-husband, ready to protect him at any cost.

With a steely resolve, you stepped forward, your gaze unwavering as you assessed the situation before you. Despite the chaos and tension that hung in the air, you remained calm and composed, your mind calculating the best course of action to diffuse the volatile situation.

"Susan, Carmichael," you began, your voice firm but measured, "you have overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Susan's hand throbbed with pain, her grip on the gun loosening as she recoiled from the intensity of the burn. Carmichael's expression was shock and disbelief, realizing their attempt to apprehend Lloyd had backfired spectacularly.

But you weren't interested in vengeance or retribution. Instead, you sought a peaceful resolution, one that would ensure the safety of everyone involved.

With a swift and decisive motion, you disarmed Susan and Carmichael, carefully removing their weapons and rendering them harmless. Despite their protests and threats, you remained steadfast, refusing to be swayed by their desperate pleas.

You held their gaze steadily, your voice unwavering as you addressed Susan and Carmichael. "I'm sure neither of you wants to die today. Just as I don't want Lloyd to die," you asserted, your tone firm but not without empathy.

Susan's eyes widened in realization, the gravity of the situation sinking in as she glanced between you and Lloyd. Carmichael's expression hardened, his jaw clenched in silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

Lloyd's smirk widened into a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he caught your subtle reference.

"Since he has to clean up the house first," you added with a playful wink, a hint of humor creeping into your tone.

Lloyd's smile broadened at your jest, a sense of relief washing over him as he realized you had everything under control.

"Leave," you commanded, your voice brooking no argument. "And don't ever come back."

Reluctantly, Susan and Charmichael complied, their defeat evident in their defeated expressions as they slunk away, their tails between their legs.

As Charmichael and Susan begrudgingly exited the premises, leaving behind a trail of tension in their wake. "You always manage to find trouble, don't you?" you remarked, a hint of exasperation in your tone.

Lloyd turned to you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He placed a comforting arm on your shoulder, seeking reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"No matter what, you still care for me, right?" he questioned, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You met his gaze with a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of your lips. "In your dreams," you replied cryptically, words laced with affection and defiance.

With a swift motion, you brushed aside the sentimentality, your expression hardening as you turned away from him.

Lloyd watched you go, his arms crossed over his chest as he contemplated your retreating figure. Despite your dismissive words, he couldn't shake the feeling that beneath your tough exterior, there still lay a flicker of concern for him.

'Woof.'

The sound of Choco's bark brought Lloyd back to the present, the loyal dog appearing at his side with a comforting presence. Lloyd reached down to pet the dog's head, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Your mother is still a bad liar," he remarked with a chuckle.

[kenjakusbraincum]

Feathers

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Master Sukuna establishes a safe word with his favorite pet, to prevent hurting them again!

Word count: 0.8k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, fluff, mentions of violence, hurt/comfort, mentions and implied nsfw

Author’s note: Another in a compilation of drabbles with pet reader and Master Sukuna <3 This is basically a bunch of scenes I want to eventually incorporate into my bigger fic/series Reverence!

There was a time when soft moments with Sukuna scared you as much as they excited you. You were so used to rough handling and bruises that as little as gentle touch would come as a surprise. It was a completely new territory with no clearly set rules. So many times you'd hold your breath or avoid moving in fear of angering him. But Sukuna warmed up to you. Little by little he would silently expand the things he'd allow you to do without consequences. It started with you being forbidden from touching him at all. Then he'd let you feel him up during your nightly encounters, snuggle up to him afterwards, sleep in his bed... All the while mumbling vague threats and giving you scary looks. "Careful with your hands.", he'd say when you'd run them from his chest to his stomach, feeling his muscles and stumbling upon his belly mouth. You pulled your hand back and opened your mouth to apologize. But he just gave you a look you couldn't read and put your hand back to his belly.

With time you've come to understand that there were some things Sukuna would never say out loud. "Keep caressing me", was one of them. "Sorry", was another. And a big one.

Sukuna was violent, it was simply in his nature. He's pushed your bounds before, he enjoyed it, but he wanted to see how far he can take things too. Naturally, slip ups happened. Hell, the first time you remember him ever being nice to you was one night when he roughed you up particularly bad. He would always leave to get dressed or refreshed, and expect you to be gone by the time he's back. But this time, you were still there, with your head in the pillow, muffling sobs.

Your heart nearly stopped when you felt the mattress dip with his weight by your side, thinking finally you have met your end. You didn't expect him to gently brush sweaty strands of hair out of your face, and look at you with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why are you crying?", he asked, and you thought that he was mocking you. He's never shown you kindness, beyond providing you with bare necessities in life. So why would he be concerned with you now?

"H-hurts...", you say quietly, and try your best to stop sobbing. You spend so much time keeping Sukuna company at his throne. You know how quickly (and brutally) he deals with people who annoy him. You were so sure you were going to share their fate. Any second now, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Where?", he asked. When you opened your eyes, he looked as docile as you'd ever seen him. And then his hand was in your face, and the back of his finger brushed your tears away. You blinked at him a couple times just to make sure you were processing the situation right. Then you shuffled around to touch the places that ached on your body.

And on his side, Sukuna was quite shocked to see how untrusting you were of him. For once he thought that he striked too much fear into you. Or maybe he was just under the impression, because his most obedient pet was crying. Either way, his hand followed yours, light against your sensitive skin. Careful not to cause any more pain for the night. You were stiff under his fingertips at first, still anticipating violence, but slowly relaxed as you felt the pain subside.

"There.", he says, instead of "Sorry". But he felt sorry.

The next time he brings you to his chambers, he stops you in front of the bed. "Pick a word. Any word.". You stop and think, not knowing where he's going with this.

"Feathers.", you say. Angels. His hands on your waist urge you to turn around, facing your back to him. He brushes your hair over your shoulder and kisses you, from the back of your ear trailing down. Your hand meets his and you think you'll melt into him. You've never experienced such tenderness, and to know it's coming from him...

"Only use it when you can't take it anymore. I'll stop.", he whispers against your skin. And just as you thought of how suspiciously nice he was starting to sound..."I wouldn't want to break my favorite toy".

Then he nudges you onto the bed and joins you. You don't have enough time to process the words, before he's on top of you and your focus is shifted back to him. And you don't think you've ever been so relaxed laying in bed with a monster. Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you felt butterflies at the thought of being his favorite. Even if you were nothing but a toy. Even if tomorrow when you stumble upon him in the hallway, or when he calls for you to make him company in his throne room, he'll be as distant and cold as the moon.

[dadsbongos]

do u think u could write some of ur own personal headcanons for laios? i love the way u write him, it seems almost canon!

anon you dont know what fire youre messing with

also thank yew hehe :>

general headcanons:

Laios likes babysitting but does NOT want to be a real papa, he adores the idea of being the Cool And Strange Uncle but just imagining having to raise a whole person from scratch terrifies him

Usually conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow and he’s a damn heavy sleeper, he strikes me as someone that gets the dad snore when he’s a bit older

Likes doing physical activity in the moment, maintaining his stamina/strength n whatnot. But HAAATES the aftermath, he will not stop bitching about how gross he feels when sweaty

People scare him but I think men specifically scare him more than women because he mainly associates “men” with his old boarding school and military peers and his dad. Meanwhile the most callous woman he’s personally dealt with is like. his mom… who wasn’t particularly menacing and he doesn’t seem to resent her as much as he does his father

Most definitely called Chilchuck “chil” in their early days together and got his nuts sacked for the unintentional disrespect

Doesn’t drink often because the taste bugs him but when he does decide to, he drinks to get drunk. So it has to be a special occasion

The type of older brother to tell Falin food fills up your body from your feet to your head and when you’re full to your head you die

modern headcanons:

Definitely the type to unironically use little emoticons like :) or :] but his favorites are the cute ones like :3 , ^.^ , and :0

Would’ve played barbies with Falin as a kid and enjoyed it more than Falin did lol

If he were out with the group (marcille would have to threaten his life though, he would HATE “going out”) and Marcille or Falin deferred to him to deal with creepy men he’d feel like a superhero about it

Borderline mandated to have a high impact phone case by Falin because he’s GOT to be dropping that shit all the time. I just know it (projecting)

Would probably dislike resident evil as a series but thinks the premises are cool

Bouncing off that: he’s a big Undertale and Deltarune fan (definitely had a thing for Toriel at some point and probably thought sans was kind of overrated). Has ambivalent feelings towards fear & hunger, likes the atmosphere and item preservation and monsters but the assault scenes and overt brutalism ick him out from recommending it

Would go his whole life without an autism diagnosis until eventually held at metaphorical gunpoint by his friends, just for his parents to go “oh yeah we had you tested as a kid but didn’t want you using it as a crutch”

If monsters weren’t real he’d be cryptid autistic just so everyone’s on the same page

Cryptids major and ocean creatures minor type autism

I don’t think he’s straight by any measure but before he has the Realization, he’s the epitome of the girls gays and coleman meme

Segue omg: he has no desire to think more about his sexuality or gender than “i feel x” or “i choose y”. I think he identifies as Man(TM) but in a “its harder to explain i want to be a bog” way. If you referred to him with feminine pronouns or called him “girl” he seriously wouldn’t give a shit 

nsfw(?) headcanons:

Could never do casual, you would have to be committed or only know each other VERY distantly and only do it once. His ass wouldn’t know how to read your relationship if you were trying to do friends with benefits (he’s also very concerned with hurting people’s feelings so just the notion of accidentally doing that to someone he’s intimate with would kill him)

May seem strange coming from a bitch always talkin about fucking him, but I think Laios would actually have kind of a lower sex drive. Like he maybe doesn’t get needy very often but also isn’t NOT in the mood, so if you proposition him and he’s into you he’ll be like “okie :3”

That being said, when he does feel needy he’s NEEDY. It’s debilitating, he genuinely can’t do or think of anything else until his poor wee is taken care of :( poor guy aww

I can see him being a virgin until his early-mid 20s and having no shame about it (good for him go king, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of it literally doesn’t matter)

Also by virgin i mean rice purity test score of like 97

Swears he doesn’t like having his cock worshipped (says its weird and embarrassing) but he’s so flustered n drooly and babbles the whole time

Biter