#but when she released it i didn't throw a fit

[kimjiwoong]

some skinny girls never truly understand lmao

[ribbed-vault-heart]

I found one of those things you call a mermaid on the pier the other night. All tied up and thrashing its poor body around like a fish caught in a net.

That image repulsed me. You know I've never been one for fishing. Even catch and release puts me off. I don't like to watch the poor thing slowly suffocating as it waits to be thrown back in, its gills heaving and sputtering for water.

That creature tied up on the pier, the gash of gills on its neck was heaving and sputtering just in that way, dark ocean water flowing out with every failed breath, it really made me sick.

I pulled out my pocket dagger and its attention was on me. Its eyes bulged wide and I wondered if, like a fish, it couldn't blink. The sight of my dagger set it off into another thrashing fit and I tried to calm it down. Poor thing didn't seem to understand a word. It kept opening and closing its faded lips, but nothing came out. Must've spoke some kinda fish language.

I held it firmly in place and slowly brought the dagger to the knots binding its wrists. It calmed down after seeing that I wasn't here to cut its flesh. Or maybe it had just lost all energy from being out of the water too long. Either way, it stayed still as I cut the ropes around its legs.

When it was freed, it just lay there on the pier. So still it might've been dead, other than the weak flapping of the gill at its throat. I needed to get it into the water, and fast.

I lifted it up, one arm under its neck, the other under its knees. Its skin was slightly warm, unlike any fish I'd ever briefly held. But the same clamminess. Warmer than its skin was the water spurting from its gills.

I stepped closer to the edge of the pier and the thrashing returned. It must've known it was going back home, and was getting excited. I took a step back to gather momentum, and pushed forward with all my might, throwing the creature in kicking and flailing.

It hit the water with a splash, and stayed at the surface for a moment. Almost like it was treading water. Must've wanted to say thanks. After a few seconds it slowly sunk down. Back to its home.

I imagined the slit in its neck filling up with ocean water and I could finally breathe easy again. I couldn't get that sick taste out of my mouth for awhile, though. Same sick taste of my first fishing trip.

"Who cut its neck?" I remember asking my mama as the fish struggled in my hand, tail thrashing, scales cold. She told me those were its gills, that's how it breathed. Through the slits in its throat.

"So it's breathing through its neck?"

"No, sweetie. Not now."

I took one last look over the pier into the dark water below, getting darker. That fish is breathing now. It's gotta be.

[ystrike1]

MY SWEET BUNNY CAGE - By Uruu akua (8.5/10)

I think more popular ASMR CD's should get comic releases. Specifically high quality comic releases. Sometimes yandere comics aren't worth buying, and that's the awful truth. Awkward art styles. Bad endings. The genre is still full of "passable" content. This is the whole package. A good CD and a good comic with great art. Very worth collecting.

Our heroine is a spunky brat. A petite woman that doesn't get taken seriously at work. Everybody dotes on her, because she looks so young. She's frustrated by it. She hates it. She's a fully grown adult with a good career. She thinks her kindly coworkers are very annoying.

They tell her she shouldn't walk alone at night, because she's an obvious target for pervs.

She doesn't listen.

She argues with a weird guy that seems drunk, or even mentally ill, confidently.

She can take care of herself.

She wakes up in a degrading, frilly outfit. Her room looks like a castle fit for a princess. Her hair has been expertly done and her handcuffs are frilly lace bands.

The weirdo from before has kidnapped her.

She doesn't know him.

He's not secretly her childhood friend.

He's nuts.

She protests pretty hard. Crazy guy is rude, presumptuous, handsome....and unbothered. He seems to think he's above the law. Possibly because he's rich. Custom BDSM gear is expensive. The crystal chandeliers everywhere are a dead giveaway too.

He's not crazy and stupid.

He has a plan.

He tries to explain. She looks like his old pet. That's why he took her. He totally didn't plan ahead. Ignore the tailored outfits. He's totally not using the rabbit thing as an excuse to take her specifically. He totally didn't wait until she was alone at night. He doesn’t exactly hide it. The rabbit excuse is full of creepy layers. In his twisted head it somehow justifies his stalking and the kidnapping, and his overall ownership of her.

Her catty attitude makes him fall even further. It kind of saves her, I think. Before he wasn't interested in her real name. He was just going to give her his rabbits name. When she lashes out at him he asks for her real name, which could indicate that he started following her purely because she is his type looks wise.

She continues to resist, so he cuts up her cards. He takes her phone. He destroys her things in front of her. He doesn’t care if she's bored. He wants his new pet to wait for him. To like his company....because life is boring and theres nothing else to do.

Gags, ropes, chains, threats. Kesedo isn't gentle all the time. Rabbit is convinced that he will kill her if she doesn't cooperate.

He just wants affection though. Really bad. He tries to buy her love with sweetness just as often. His logic is very twisted, but again I like his arrogance. He behaves as if winning is natural for him, and Rabbit is just throwing a tantrum because she's hungry.

She attacks.

He likes that too.

His character design is fun as well. This is in a modern setting. His frilly sense of style actually indicates he's a fan of Lolita fashion and cute things. It's not JUST a standard prince outfit. It's a preference.

Also, this story is getting an extension, and I trust it will get better.

[acapelladitty]

Okay, I haven't finished the show yet, but I NEED more Cooper content and you did amazingly last time. That being said, I NEED (am asking you politely, whenever you have time and/or wish to write this) Cooper being overstimulated. Pretty please, and much thanks!

- Supervillain-Smut

For you baby? Anything! Have some Cooper being overstimmed and teased just below the read more 👀💦😈

Of the many downsides which came with the Ghoul transformation, arguably one of the worst which Cooper had long come to terms with was the loss of sensation across the leathered skin which covered his body. A valuable boon in a shootout, it let him focus his attention on the action at hand without worrying too much about the damage, but when the guns were holstered and the cold nights settled in, that same loss of sensation was a right pain in the ass when he was trying to get his rocks off.

Although, it was a reality of his situation which didn't seem to affect her and the wickedly cruel things she enjoyed putting him through on a regular basis.

"Come on, handsome."

Perched atop his thighs as she stroked her soft hand along his painfully hard cock, her warmth seeped into his own as it took every piece of willpower in his old bones to not knock her to the floor and sink himself as deeply into her cunt as he could to get some relief.

But a bet was a bet, and he wasn't one to give up without a good fight.

Already having been pulled back from the edge of release twice, his cock felt heavy and overheated as it jutted against his stomach. A small patch of pre-cum decorated the leathery skin where the livid head of his cock brushed against him with every jerk and slight cant of his hips.

"It looks almost painful, Coop." She mused, trailing the pads of her fingers along the prominent veins which lined his cock - the texture there something he knew she was fascinated by as it often stretched her out in ways that had her muffling her cries into his shoulders. "Maybe we should stop. Give it a little time to rest."

"Promises, promises, handsome."

"If you stop touchin' me, darling, then I'm not gonna be responsible for the outcome." Cooper grunted, the final word glancing up at the final syllable as her soft thumb rubbed a solid line across the ridge where his shaft met the head - a sensation which made his balls tighten and his throat stutter as it fired intense waves of pleasure across his stiff frame. "I'd throw you to the floor and show you things that not even the monsters who walk alongside the worst of them would dream about."

"Tastes like you."

"One I intend to keep, darli-fuck."

Hissing the expletive as her pointer finger teased at his slit, she gathered a small bead of his pre-cum and brought it to her lips. With a salacious flick, she swallowed down the slight taste with a pleasant hum.

Unable to help the grinding of his hips, Cooper bucked subtly into the air as he watched her filthy actions. Those same lips had sucked him dry many a time with such finesse that he found himself going out of his way to perform little acts of kindness for her in the hope that she'd see fit to grace him with another performance.

"Quit teasin' and get to it before I blow a hole in your head and finish myself off." He warned, hands gripping her thighs so roughly that he knew little crescent bruises would soon loom in the area.

Obviously ignoring his threat, her hand dropped to cup at his balls roughly, squeezing and rolling them between her fingers as a growl of pained arousal made his cock twitch, untouched.

"Oh, it's gonna blow alright. But only when you've been good enough to deserve it."

A bet was a bet.

And Cooper Howard would be a stubborn son of a bitch to the bitter end as he twisted his lips into an off-kilter smile and forced himself to relax into her touch.

"Whatever you say, darlin'."

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing  against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part one.

INSTAGRAM.

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tagged: landonorris

yourusername a smiley lando is the best lando in my books! to celebrate the end of the 2023 season, here's a handful of my favourite photos from throughout the year!

view all 3,171 comments

mclaren What a happy lad! We can't wait to see that smile again in 2024 😁🧡

↳ yourusername you and me both! 🤝🧡

user she's got the dream job omg

↳ user IKR??? imagine just getting to follow lando around and take pictures of him all day, i'd be dead within the first hour

↳ user he'd smile at me and i'd be asking “what are we” on god 😩😩😩

↳ user is that literally all she does??? she just follows him around and takes pictures??

↳ user there’s probably a technical term for what her position is and i just don’t know it, but bc there’s so much going on around the track at any given moment, sometimes the press and other media workers are focused on something or someone else, so she’s hired on by mclaren to specifically focus on mclaren to make sure that there is content for mclaren or mclaren sponsors to use. she’s not just lando’s photographer, she also takes photos of oscar, the pit teams, and the other staff that work in the garage, but she was hired on when lando started so her portfolio is pretty full of him. hope this helps!

user didn't know i could need so much orange in my life but here we are

user LANDO NORRIS SUPREMACY

oscarpiastri i see who the favourite is 🫤

↳ yourusername you literally SAW me picking photos for your post too

↳ oscarpiastri yeah but you posted his first 🫤

user guys this is the face of the 2024 wdc winner take it in now

user i could write a 50 page thesis on the importance of these photos and what they mean to me and how the serotonin they make me release could replace my depression meds

user lad’s like a mini danny ric with how smiley he is

landonorris best photog right here folks

↳ yourusername you're only saying that bc i always get your good side

↳ landonorris i'll have you know that all sides are my good sides 🤨

↳ yourusername whatev helps you sleep at night luv 😊

In 2019, when you took on the job of being McLaren’s lead photographer, you hadn’t expected it would garner you the amount of attention it has, or that it would slingshot your career to levels of success you never could have anticipated, or that you would get a best friend out of it.

When you first met him back in those early days, you’d thought Lando Norris was an arrogant, pretentious, self-righteous prick who thought he was hot shit because he was a Formula One driver. However, he’d quickly proven you wrong when he’d admitted to you that a lot of the confidence was an act━ carefully constructed to hide his insecurities about his performance both on and off the track.

“I mean, we’re drivers, yeah?” He’d said. “But we’re also actors. We’ve got these personas that we have to uphold even out here on the paddock, and I’m always worried I’m not playing the part well enough.”

It hadn’t made a lot of sense to you then, you thought he was pulling off the persona of Total Douche remarkably well, but in Shanghai, things changed.

After the Chinese Grand Prix, things were dour. Lando had DNFed━ the first in his Formula One career━ which contrasted greatly with his previous accomplishment of P6 in Bahrain. Carlos Sainz hadn’t been doing very well, either, and it didn’t paint a very pretty picture for McLaren so early in the season. You’d thought he’d throw a hissy fit, tear Daniil Kvyat apart for his role in the crash, or at the very least throw some shade his way, but he hadn’t done any of that. He’d accepted his fate with grace, joked to the media about how boring the race had been because of what had happened, and then gone on to congratulate Carlos for at least finishing.

What was even more shocking, was that despite his disappointment and the frustration he must’ve been feeling, instead of going back to sulk in his lonesomeness or drown out his feelings with booze and loud music at some club, he’d comforted you later that evening.

The morning of the race, as you’d been getting ready in your hotel room, you’d gotten a text from an unsaved number admitting to you that they’d been taking part in a months-long affair with your boyfriend but had been previously unaware that he was already taken and therefore wanted to let you know to clear their conscience. You’d managed to hold yourself together then━ mostly because you’d already done your makeup and, quite frankly, didn’t have the time to sob it all off and then attempt to salvage it━ but as the day drew to a close and the adrenaline of the race and its excitement wore off, and with nothing else to keep you distracted, you were struggling to keep yourself composed.

Lando had somehow noticed in that weirdly perceptive way of his that something was off, and he’d sat with you, asked what was wrong, and listened when you━ through tears━ explained the situation to him.

“He sounds like a total fucking muppet,” he’d commented after you’d said your piece, and he’d done it with such a deadpanned expression that it had startled a genuine laugh out of you. Because yeah, you’re (now ex) boyfriend had been a muppet.

After that━ and after all the rom-com and ice cream binging you’d both done in his hotel room afterward much to the chagrin of Lando’s nutritionist and the displeasure of his PR officer━ you’d rescinded your initial judgment of him. He was significantly less dickish than you’d originally thought, and it let you finally understand what he’d meant when he’d talked about putting on a persona.

The cocky, know-it-all prick that Lando pretended to be half the time was all just an act to hide his overly self-critical nature fueled by his insecurities.

By the end of the season, he’d gained a little confidence of his own and had subsequently toned down the assholery when he no longer needed to “fake it til he makes it,” and you were calling him your friend.

It’s 2023 now, and he’s since been upgraded to best friend status━ a role he takes very seriously, and constantly reminds you of.

“I’m your best friend━” case and point, “━you have to come to Bali with me. Literally, like, what am I gonna do without you there? Do you expect me to just go by myself? What if I get lost? Or what if somehow the mafia, who have unknowingly had a hit out on me for years, track me down there and I’m kidnapped and ransomed off for billions of dollars? What will you do then?”

“You just want me to take pictures of you,” you answer, rolling your eyes only because you know he can’t see you through the phone.

He gasps in mock offense. “I cannot believe you think I value you so little! I want you to take pictures of me and be here to help me make fun of awkward tourist spray tans so I don’t feel like a total asshole for being the only one who laughs.”

You laugh at that. “Well, unfortunately laughing at bad fake tans doesn’t pay the bills.”

“But taking pictures of me does.”

“Yeah, when McLaren is paying.” You turn back to your laptop, a photo put on pause mid-edit splayed across the screen. It’s of Lando, as most of your photos tend to be despite your attempts at keeping things even between the McLaren boys. It’s the last of the images you need to send over for their 2023 sendoff, and when it’s finished you’ll officially be without work for a painstaking two months. “I’m on break too, technically, until they need promotional shit for the new season.”

He huffs, and you can almost imagine the childish pout on his face. “What are you even doing, then?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want Lando to know about your winter plans, but because you don’t really know how he’ll react, which means it could be anything between genuine happiness for you and congratulations, or abject horror and feigned screams of anguish. He’s always been dramatic like that, but even more so now that he’s comfortable enough with you and himself to have crawled a decent way out of his shell.

Even still, he’s your best friend and it would make you a pretty shitty person if you didn’t tell him.

“Believe it or not,” you start, wringing your hands together, “but Manchester City actually hit me up with an inquiry. Asked if I’d be interested in working with them on a project documenting their training throughout the winter months. I said I would love to.”

He pauses for a good long moment, and you prepare for the screaming, but all he says is━ “Man City? You traitor. I thought Man United was our forever!”

“Be so fucking real right now, Lando Norris,” you answer, laughing as you do so. You’re relieved, at least he hasn’t gone the feigned anguish route, but you also can’t tell if he’s happy for you or hiding his true feelings behind humor like he’s prone to doing. “You know damn well you only watched them for Christiano Ronaldo and he hasn’t played with United since 2009.”

“Technically he played for them in the 2021-2022 season,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” you deadpan, “and he was dogshit. We both agreed to pretend it never happened.”

He groans, “I can’t believe this. My day is ruined and my disappointment is immeasurable.”

“Oh, get over yourself. It’s only for the winter. I’ll be back in McLaren Papaya by February when they need me snapping shots of you and Oscar next to the new livery,” you promise.

The reality is that it’ll probably be sooner. McLaren has always been good about getting you back at HQ pretty quickly, either to get some snapshots of the beginning of Lando and Oscar’s pre-season return or to just capture some material of the engineers at work to promote their readiness. You understand why they can’t keep you around all year━ no Lando and no Oscar means no you━ and with the sheer amount of content you capture and edit for them throughout the season, they’ve got enough to last them the handful of weeks you aren’t working.

Unfortunately, you aren’t working with a driver’s salary to keep you sustained over the break and rent certainly hasn’t been getting cheaper. In past years, your bank account has been chirping with crickets when you’ve returned to work after the winter, and that was before your landlord had decided to make your life a living hell.

You have an important job, but it’s by far the most important, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Working in sports media taught you that early on.

“Who knows?” Lando’s voice snaps you back. “Maybe Jack Grealish with his perfect hair and perfect calves will steal you away and you’ll be in sky blue forevermore.”

You laugh, “Jack Grealish is a happily taken man, and although he does have perfect hair and perfect calves, I’m more of a Haaland girl anyway.”

He guffaws. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re so far gone that you already have a preferred player. Jack Grealish is England’s poster boy! Everyone loves him whether they like City or not!” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Christ, I can already feel you slipping through my fingers. I give it a week over there at Etihad before you call me up telling me I can find a new best friend because you’ve replaced me with Phil Foden and Julian Alvarez.”

“For someone who supposedly hates Manchester City, you’re certainly well-versed in their roster.”

“Well duh, I need to know my competition,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Ah, yes,” you snark back sarcastically. “Because you, a Formula One driver, have to be worried about the football players of Manchester City.”

“Apparently I do if you’re calling yourself a Haaland girl now!”

You burst into cackles and he’s following shortly after with chuckles of his own that eventually peter out into a comfortable silence. You are really going to miss him for the few months you aren’t working with him.

The Formula One schedule is so jam-packed across the season that it typically means you’re getting to see him every day for an hour or two at least, if not for the entirety of the time he’s at the track. You follow him and Oscar to their sponsor obligations, their interviews, and everything in between. It’s honestly rare if you’re not getting a moment to goof off and dick around with one another━ and it’s even rarer for you to not actually see one another face to face in passing at the very least.

The off-season is your least favorite time of the year for this very reason, and though it makes you feel a bit full of yourself to think so, you imagine Lando doesn’t enjoy this time of year much either for the same reason.

“I promise I won’t replace you with any of the City boys,” you say after the silence has stretched on a moment longer.

He huffs again, but you can envision the smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose even if you do, I’ll just show up to a match and steal you away again.”

“As if. Have you seen Grealish’s calves?”

INSTAGRAM.

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footballfansofficial BREAKING: Manchester City Forward Garrett Ward caught with mysterious woman revealed to be well-known Formula One photographer Y/N L/N! The two were seen sharing a romantic evening on Friday, the 5th of January, ringing in a passionate start to 2024. Garrett Ward has been with Manchester City since 2021 but was out on loan to a lesser-known Championship League team until 2023. He has just recently begun to play for his team again, but an injury early into the season has seen him benched for a majority of his time back. Y/N L/N is a photographer for Formula One racing team McLaren and has been working with them since 2019. Recently, she has been working with Manchester City to help promote a new docuseries following the men’s team’s winter training. Check the link in our bio for the full article!

view all 12,971 comments

user OMG GARRETT WARD??? NOTORIOUS BACHELOR GARRETT WARD???

user who is she? like genuinely how is she relevant 🤔

↳ user no literally cuz like who even gives two shits about formula 1?

user girl works in f1 why can’t she stay there

↳ user i’m sure there are plenty of drivers who’d smash her idk why she needs to try and get footballers too like bffr 😒😒😒

user aint no way this bitch is kissing my man rn

user literally what does he even see in her??? she’s not even cute AND she’s wearing man united colors 💀💀

user Y/N L/N??? I THOUGHT SHE WAS WITH LANDO NORRIS???

↳ user LITERALLY ME TOO?? like she posts him all the time on insta so i just kinda thought they were an item or smth?? trouble in paradise maybe

user she’s fucking ugly wtf

user i wish these footballers who get with regular women would realize there are so many better girls out there that would ACTUALLY treat them well and would support them in their careers. like i bet this girl doesn’t even know anything about football. she works in f1 and that’s where she should stay bc nobody cares about that shit round here. she probably doesn’t even know the first thing about how football works, but i bet she’ll be at matches pretending like she knows what’s happening. garrett ward is gonna flush his career down the troilet for this chick bc she’s gonna convince him his busy schedule ain’t worth it and then city will be down a great forward for good, and it’ll all be her fault

user i mean she’s kinda pretty tbf

↳ user stfu she really isn’t

↳ user she gen looks like any random bitch off the street

user these comments are not it…. 😬

↳ user maybe you f1 fans just don’t know how to handle constructive criticism

↳ user is the constructive criticism in the room with us rn?? cuz all i’m seeing is bullying and hatred directed towards an innocent woman who’s only “crime” was going on a date

user ok so she can take photos?? 🙄🙄 maybe she should get a real job

↳ user she’s probably only with him so she can mooch off of him like a fucking gold digger

user AINT NO WAYYYYYY

user it’ll last a month max 😌 i’m calling it

user ayo lando come get your girl

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette

━━ a/n: here we have it! took me a bit longer than the start of american smile did, but lando's story is officially here! (and it's a whopping 2.9k words to start us off). first and foremost, before we get started, garrett ward is 100% an oc and obviously does not play for manchester city, and this is bc i would feel absolutely horrible portraying a real person in the way that garrett will be later on. gather from that what you will haha! regardless, i hope you enjoy this first part and stick around for the rest!

[loveharlow]

i wanted to write a blurb inspired by this scene so i did🤭 girlhood!

domestic violence, dad!rafe

You were awoken by the sound of your daughters cries, loud and incessant. It was Rafe's turn — his night to take care of the midnight tantrums.

But a brief feel on his side of the bed told you he'd left the spot not too long ago, the sheets still slightly warm. You edged one eye open, making sure that he wasn't there before sighing and throwing the covers off of yourself.

Trotting over to the cradle where your three-month old daughter laid, throwing a fit, you shushed her. Picking the infant up out of the structure to rock her calmly, her cries dying out.

Once she was tame enough, you laid her in the automated rocker to be able to leave the room and make her a bottle, hopefully finding your husband on the way there.

One foot out of the bedroom door told you he was in the living room, the light radiating down the hall. You rolled your eyes, taking swift, angry steps towards the living area until you were right next to Rafe — the man on his knees, sniffing a line of coke in nothing but a tank-top and sweatpants.

He made a quick side-glance in your direction but continued his recreational activities. The mere disregard for your presence made you angry, angry enough that you snatched the credit card he was using to separate the lines from his hand, blowing the remaining drugs off of the table.

He stood up swiftly, looming over you with angry eyes. "The fuck are you doin'?" He spat, reaching for the card in your hand only for you to snatch it away further.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You retorted. "Did you not hear your daughter crying? Or your lines just couldn't wait?"

"I was gonna get her eventually-"

"After you'd ingested a crackhead's year supply of coke?"

"You're being...dramatic." He rolled his eyes, motioning for the item still clutched between your fingers. "Just give me my shit back, alright?"

"No." You said sternly, turning on your heel to head for the kitchen when a fist grabbed a handful of your hair, neck craning dangerously as Rafe used the hold to yank you against his chest.

"Give it to me." He growled against your ear, snatching the card from your hand and roughly shoving you away. "You already blew half my shit off the table..." He muttered. "I was gonna make her a bottle after, you just had to go and throw a fuckin' tantrum. Maybe you're the one who needs the bottle..."

"What I need is a husband who doesn't act like he has shit for brains."

"You wanna say that shit again?" He challenged, stepping into your space.

"What, so you can hit me? Go ahead, you can put it in the same spot as last time. Or are you trying to fill up the whole canvas?" You snarked.

You knew you regretted it when his free hand wound around your neck, squeezing tightly. Your own hand went up, desperately clawing at his. He used his hold on your neck to push you up against the nearest wall. "Watch that mouth of yours or it'll be the next thing I hit you in? You understand?"

You reluctantly nodded, as much as you could, taking in an appreciative gulp of air as he released you and let you slide to the floor, breathing heavily and clawing at the wooden tiles. You didn't notice that a couple stray tears had left your eyes until they hit the floor.

"Get yourself together and feed my daughter." He demanded, dismissing your distress. "Don't you hear her crying?"

©loveharlow.

[juanarc-thethird]

Animal control with jaune and Blake

I don't know if what I wrote below was what you expected, but what's done is done. ------------

Animal Control

Jaune and Blake drive in their van to their first client.

Jaune: *Driving* So, what kind of job do we have today?

Blake: We have to appease a crocodile.

Jaune: Is it a "catch and release" type of job?

Blake: No, they just need us to relax her.

Jaune: Oh, I see, it's their pet.

Blake: *Quietly* I wouldn't say that.

Jaune: What's her name? The crocodile, I mean.

Blake: Tock

Jaune: Ok, first time I've heard a name like that.

Blake: Make a left here and the house will be on the right.

Jaune: Thanks

Jaune follows Blake's directions and they stop in front of the house.

Jaune: Here we are. I'll go take some tranquilizer darts.

Blake: It won't be necessary.

Jaune: Really? Is a crocodile.

Blake: Trust me, you won't need it.

Jaune: If you say so

They get out of the van, walk to the door and ring the doorbell.

Jaune: After these, do you want to stop and eat at the taqueria I told you about yesterday?

Blake: Sure, if we have time.

Jaune: Great.

Suddenly the door of the house opens. In front of them 5 very scared people appear and start talking at the same time.

Jaune: Wow! Quiet! Don't worry… As you can see, we are animal control and we are already informed of what is happening. You.. *he points to one of the people* ..where is the crocodile?

Stranger 1: T-That way.

He says as he points to a door at the end of the hallway.

Stranger 1: She's in there. Please be very careful.

Jaune: *Smiles* Don't worry, we are professionals.

He says with great confidence.

Stranger 2: If you survive, we will follow you to the depths of hell.

Jaune: (Holy cow, what kind of crocodile do they have?!) T-That's not necessary.

Blake: Jaune, lets go.

Jaune: R-Right.

The two pass between the people towards their objective. The more they do it, the more they hear the chaos happening inside the room.

Jaune: So, how do you plan to appease her?

Blake: By using you.

Jaune: *Surprise* I'm sorry!

Blake grabs the door handle and opens it without any worry.

Jaune: Wait!

When they open the door completely, they find a very upset woman.

Tock: How the hell did I lose that money?!! That bet was supposedly a sure winner!!! *She grabs a chair and throws it against the wall* AAAAH!!!!

Jaune: Blake...

Blake: Hm?

Jaune: That's not a crocodile

Blake: Wrong, she is.

Jaune: She is a person!

Blake: Correction, She is a Crocodile Faunus person.

Jaune: That doesn't matter, you told me that we would work with animals!

Blake: She is an animal.

Jaune: *Gasp!* Now that's racist.

Blake: Ok I lied! Actually this companionship business for women.

Jaune: And I'm the product?

Blake: Y-Yes... *Ashamed, she lowers her head*

Jaune: *Sighs* Look Blake, if you need money, I can help you.

Blake: *Happy* So you'll work for me?!

Jaune: Hell no! I leav-!

Tock: *Grabs his shirt* You finally arrived handsome.

Jaune: *Worry* Hey wait a minute! I was just leav-!

Tock: Enough of the talk, let's fuck!

She pushes Jaune into the room and locks the door. Blake puts her ear to the door and listens.

Jaune: Wait this is all a misunderstanding! If you let me explain-!

Suddenly the sound of clothes falling is heard.

Jaune: O-Oh God~

Tock: You like what you see, big guy~💕 This is all yours for the next hour~

Jaune: I-I don't think it's a good idea-

Tock: If you're worried about my teeth, don't be. I don't bite…hard~

Jaune: Is not that, the thing is...

Then the sound of a zipper is heard.

Jaune: H-Hey!

Tock: Holy fuck~💕 They told me you were big, but I didn't expect such a massive cock~ God, I need it inside me~💕

Jaune: H-Hang on a minute! I don't think she will fit! Hey! WAIT!

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the room.

Tock: MoThErfuCkEr!!💕

Jaune: *Worry* Are you ok?!

Tock: I'm fine! Just… fuck~💕… I think I just came. Shit, you sure have a nice cock~ I will definitely book you again. Now let's test your stamina~💕

Jaune: Mu stami-*Gets kissed*-MHH!!💕

Tock: Shut up now, will you, just fuck me~💕 *Kiss* *Kiss* *Kiss*

Blake: (Looks like my plan was a success)

Blake walks away from the door and starts typing on her phone.

Blake(text): I have a space open this Saturday, is that okay?

*Ting!*

White_Queen: I take it. It would be at my beach house. I'll send you the address later, along with the deposit.

Blake smiles at the text

Blake: (Oh Jaune~ You don't know how valuable you are.)

[lovinpelova]

try it out | j. fleming

summary; if jessie likes your hobbies, you should like hers.

🎵 jackie and wilson - hozier

since you were a little kid you've loved lego, it's just common for children to adore it and want as much as possible until they reach a certain age and decide to throw it out instead of letting it grow dusty on their shelves. you were the opposite to other kids, keeping up with the so-called obsession and spending a fair amount of money on it, hating the idea of making new things yourself and opting to stay with the sets lego would release often. your favourite type of lego set to build was the cars, they were just so cute and didn't take up too much of your day, giving you something to focus on and use to calm down in your free time.

jessie loved your adoration of lego. she found it adorable how you'd get excited when you saw a new set you wanted and bought it almost immediately after a moment of contemplation about the price, the canadian knowing you'd always end up getting it anyways. she'd bought you a new lego set for christmas, a massive white porsche 911 that clearly wouldn't have been cheap due to the size, you complained about the inevitable price but she waved you off with the claim of your smile being worth much more when you saw it and thanked her.

now you were finally getting around to building it and would need help no matter how much you hated to admit it. the bigger sets always got the best of you and you'd either do it wrong or be unable to find a piece you needed, so jessie decided to help out. it was going well so far, sitting comfortably on the living room floor as she'd help you put pieces in place and hand you the odd one you were struggling to find, other than that she would sit and watch in awe as you concentrated more than she'd ever seen- even in training you'd never been this focused.

"since i'm helping you with your hobby, would you wanna try one of mine when we've finished this?"

you looked up momentarily to figure out what she meant before going back to pushing the lego pieces together, finally understanding jessie's question.

"as long as it's not hockey or photography, you know how i am with those two."

"don't worry babe, it's neither of them. i was thinking maybe you'd wanna try painting for the first time?"

jessie handed you a lego piece you were struggling to find for the next step, yourself smiling in thanks and leaning over to kiss her cheek softly as you took it out of her hand.

"yeah, why not? i am pretty bad at painting though, just to warn you."

"you're only bad at painting if you're not fully focused. you'll have me to help out too!"

after another couple hours of piecing together your new lego set you'd finally finished it, looking down in pride alongside jessie as you high-fived to celebrate finally being able to get rid of the hip cramp from how you were sat.

"okay, you go find a place for that whilst i get the stuff for painting yeah?"

"okay baby."

you smiled in response before setting off upstairs and finding your lego shelf, having to move a few things about before you could fit the massive model. looking at it in pride one last time, you set off downstairs to find jessie laying out paints and brushes alongside two canvases next to each other, the canadian opting to sit across from you rather than next to you so you wouldn't get paint on each other.

"oh this is gonna be fun!"

you stated excitedly as jessie grinned at your enthusiasm for her hobby, glad you share an aptitude in exploring each others interests. you sat down across from jessie and picked up a pencil like she did, noticing the small smile she wore once she realised you were copying her in fear of doing anything wrong.

"what are we painting then?"

your question sent jessie deep into thought for a moment as she looked around the room for ideas.

"oh! i've got it. how about we paint what we think the other would be if we were animals but don't tell each other? you know, like a guessing game."

"that's such a cute idea! i'm not sure how i'm gonna draw my animal though."

"just google a picture, you'll be fine baby."

you grabbed your phone and googled 'moose' to remember what they even look like, realising you'd gotten yourself into trouble choosing this animal but it was too late now. you stood your canvas up on the small easel jessie had brought over for you just like she did with her own, making sure she couldn't see when you drew the first couple lines and it immediately went wrong. deciding to commit and feeling it might get better as you draw more, you continued the outline of your moose and it gradually got better, it wasn't the best but it was certainly a lot easier to make out than when you first started a couple minutes ago.

once you'd finished with your outline you grew weary of the painting part, knowing you'd have to get it over and done with otherwise you'd be drawing instead. you grabbed the colours you needed and set them out on a small palette, getting to work on painting the moose and being surprised by how easy it was, deciding to even paint in the background as one that looks like the boreal forest in canada whenever it snowed. jessie was finishing up her painting by now and seemed very proud of it just the same as you, adding a couple finishing touches and putting down her paintbrush a couple minutes before yourself.

"you ready?"

she asked as you stood up in front of your canvases, nodding your head in response. eager to show your work and getting a nod from jessie once she saw your excitement, you turned around your easel and watched her jaw drop in amazement.

"oh my god, baby that's the most beautiful painting i've ever seen. and you think i'm a moose! god i love you so much, you're so good at this!"

"it's mediocre, jess- and of course i think you're a moose! they're all you ever talk about. i need to see what animal i am though, the suspense is killing me."

jessie snapped out of her amazement and grinned down at her painting for a moment before spinning the easel around, showing you a stunning painting of an elephant in the african outback, a beautiful sunset along the background.

"before you take it wrong, i chose an elephant because you're so gentle and caring. you know how nice they can be."

jessie shyly explained as you grinned in appreciation, admiring the painting for a couple more moments before stepping forwards and pulling her into a soft kiss.

"it's almost as beautiful as you jess."

"alright playboy, stop trying to flatter me just so you can get my art for free."

"oh i had to pay hm?"

you teased, jessie nodding her head in response as you smiled at each other and turned towards your paintings.

"of course, artwork like that doesn't come for free. i reckon around three hundred quid."

"i'm selling mine for that amount too, maybe we can swap and call it even?"

"good idea, i want your signature too though."

you quickly grabbed a pencil and signed your painting in a blank area, jessie doing the same with hers as you swapped paintings and shook each others hands.

"pleasure doing business with you."

"but of course."

the brunette laughed with you and leaned forward for a soft kiss, both of you pulling away not long after to clear up all the paints and brushes before looking around the house for a perfect spot. you eventually found one right above your shared bed, the moose being hung up above jessie's side and elephant hung up above yours, like a little inside joke.

[blossomthepinkbunny]

Vivzepop will always be the biggest issue with her own show if she doesn't change. And i'm not saying that because I desperately want to shit on her but rather because it's so clear that her attitude is what made Hazbin Hotel be so dissapointing after the long wait. The pilot released four years ago and Viv had these characters for much longer than that. One could assume that with this much time on her hands she would have a concise plan for how a series of her story would play out (I can imagine that having an own show is a dream for lots of creative people out there). And I get that that plan might get screwed up by a shorter episode count then expected, but she should be the one who knows her story best and who should know what stuff could also be cut out. The first season of Hazbin Hotel is so incredibly overstuffed with characters and plot that it completely looses the main premise the show was originally pitched with (the idea of a hotel were sinners are redeemed. As it is now the hotel is really not important at all). People have talked endlessly about how Viv can't handle criticism and it really sucks because criticism is one of the best ways to improve your writing, drawings, music etc. Without criticism you won't refine the thing you're working on in a meaningful way. Of course it feels bad when you put something out there you wanted to share and then people critique it, but that's part of pretty much every creative journey, or atleast it should be and Vivzepop shouldn't get a pass from this just because she doesn't like it. And there are great shows, movies or books that are rarely or almost never criticised. But the artists behind these works probably went trough years of honing what they do by being criticised for the stuff they put out. And I don't want to say that Vivzepop didn't work hard to make Hazbin Hotel, but it is hard to claim that she improves in her craft, when everytime someone says they don't like her show she throws a hissy fit. She wants the same reactions that these other amazing pieces of media get without ever listening to criticism. Which she sees as a personal attack rather than a tool that could help her to achieve the same level of writing prowess the creators behind media like that have. She believes she is already on the same level as them, just because she basically shuts anyone out who disagrees with her. There's this clip at the end of a Drew Gooden Video which I think sums up the situation with Viv pretty good (the Video is called "Leaving the YouTube Bubble"). He is talking about Lily Singh and her talk show but I feel like a lot of the stuff he says about handling criticism applies to Vivzepop as well.

(you might have to turn up the audio).

Unprofessional behaviour like that might be excusable when the creator is pretty young or they are interacting with publicity for the first time really. But neither of that applies to Viv. And Hazbin Hotel isn't just an indie animation pilot on youtube anymore. It's now a fully realized show created with a pretty prominent studio on a major streaming network and it should be held to the same standards as other shows or movies alike (not saying indie animation or animation on youtube doesn't have a standard but with more budget and support, there's obviously going to be different expectations for the show now). There have been issues in Helluva Boss and the Hazbin Hotel pilot ever since their release which could've been handled with more time and the new show. But Vivzepop shows time and time again that she isn't willing to listen to people who criticise her, which could actually lead to her show getting better. I don't like Viv or her work a lot. I think she is incredibly unprofessional and she has done her fair share of questionable or problematic stuff, which often leads to issues in her shows. There have been some characters I like, some songs or scenes that were pretty well done, very cool animation and an actually interesting premise on paper in HH and HB. There are things that make me come back to these shows to watch the next episode. And i'm obviously passionate enough about these shows to make whole posts about what I think was done badly and what could be changed. But for the aspects of HH or HB I enjoy, there are soo many more problems I have with it. Problems that won't go away unless Viv stops seeing every criticism as a personal attack. Because if Vivzepop doesn't stop acting like her writing is some unreachable stuff that needs no changes I don't really see a point in assuming that these shows will ever get better.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hellooooo sorry to bother you but do you think can right one of Katherine Pirces were she has a baby girl y/n and she’s like 4 months old and the salvatores brothers finds out about her they use her to take Katherine dawn but they don’t now that she ask the originals but specifically Elijah help to save ther daughter

Mama's Girl

Baby daughter reader x mom Katherine Pierce

Warnings: kidnapping,

A/n: I made a few tweaks in it, by making Elijah the father, but I hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katherine picks you up from your playpen which has two fluffy blankets and some stuffed animals. "You hungry baby girl?" Katherine smiles as you babble while nuzzling your head into her chest. "I'll take that as a yes" She kisses the top of your head before sitting down on the black leather couch beside the playpen.

She holds you with one arm and as the her other hand pulls a part of her black shirt down, releasing one of her breasts. She coaxes your head toward her full breast until you easily latch on. As you drink your mama's milk, she holds you protectively in her arms.

She doesn't know how the hell she had gotten pregnant, considering she's been dead a very long time. And it wasn't just her child, you, actually was growing inside her, but her body also changed for how it would when any other woman would be pregnant. ex. she produces breast milk. She's still confused but doesn't ask why anymore, just grateful that you're her baby.

The only two people who know about you are; Elijah and Kol Mikaelson. Kol saw Katherine walking around a park a couple towns over, obviously pregnant. He then later that day asked his big brother how he had managed to knock up Katherine, assuming that Elijah and she had hooked up. And he wasn't entirely wrong, Kol just doesn't need to know that. Elijah went over to her house and confronted her, they had a long conversation, deciding it was best to keep you a secret.

Or so she thought, not taking into account the two Salvatore brothers are staked out, across the road.

"How did Katherine get a baby? and she's caring? what the hell" Stefan says, turning over to his older brother.

"Well, baby bro, when two adults think it's time, they decide to start having se-" Stefan cut him off, "I didn't mean like that!" Stefan groaned.

"Whatever, this is our chance to have something to finally take the vampire bitch slut, down," Damon says, getting out of the car. Stefan sighs before following Damon down the road.

Damon explains the plan he made to Stefan, which they put into action.

Katherine looks up, something seems off. Before she can get a second thought, the front door is knocked off it's hinges and vervain grenades are thrown in. Getting into a coughing fit from the toxic herb, she sees a figure of someone coming over to her with a mask.

As soon as he gets close to her, Damon snatches you out of Katherine's arms and speeds out of the house. Katherine quickly stands up, adjusting her top back, but before she can go after him in a weakened state, someone grabs her from behind. The second person, Stefan, wraps his left arm around her neck until she can no longer breathe in air, passing out quickly from the vervain still in the air.

Stefan lets her drop back onto the couch and walks back outside, peeling the mask off his face. "Now what?" He asks Damon, watching as he tries to make you stop crying. His attempts are proven useless, making you cry louder about being taken away from your mama.

"Oh come on, can't you be quiet, you're going to make a scene with how loud you are" Damon whisper yells at you.

Being a baby and not understanding anything he's obviously saying, you just scream louder.

The brothers quickly get into Damon's car with you, Stefan having to hold you, insisting to Damon it's not a good idea to just throw you in the backseat and hope for the best. He drives off before Katherine has a chance to reawaken.

Coughing, Katherine slowly opens her eyes. The light shining through the windows tells her it's still daytime. Recollecting her memories of what had happened while she stands up makes her freeze. She quickly vamped around the entire house, not finding her baby, you, anywhere.

Damon and Stefan, the two names that come to her mind. They took you. All she can do is pace back and forth, a look of murder in her eyes. But she has to play this smart, if she just goes crashing in there alone, she's more than sure that there'll be everyone there. They'll obviously be expecting that.

She goes to the coffee table where her phone still lays from earlier and dials a number.

"Katerina, how are you doing?" Elijah's smooth voice emits from the phone as he picks up.

"Not well, considering the Salvatores found out about y/n, came crashing in, took her, and now are probably thinking of ways to take advantage of our daughter against me" Katherine exclaims, having no time for small talk.

Elijah's eyes widen and he reassures her everything is going to be okay and to meet her in the woods by the boarding house. Katherine follows his instructions clearly and immediately leaves the house.

Katherine gets to the woods in record time, she looks around before feeling a hand on her shoulder. She quickly turns around, ready for a fight. Though it's just Elijah.

"My apologies," Elijah says.

He starts explaining his plan of what they're to do. Katherine follows every bit and nods before heading to the back of the house, out of sight from anyone inside.

While she hides out back, Elijah goes to the front door. He knocks a few times before Damon opens the door. He gives a suspicious look towards the original.

"I believe this is the part where you invite me in," Elijah says.

He pauses for a second before stepping to the side, letting the older vampire inside.

As Elijah walks down the stairs into the library, he lays his eyes on you. You're currently being held by Caroline. She's been trying to cheer you up and to stop your crying but nothing has worked. You're not wailing anymore but there are still tears running down your tiny cheeks every now and then.

He puts on a facade, acting surprised at the sight of the baby. Caroline and everyone else notice this. Caroline walks over to the other side of the room and places you into an old wooden crib they had found in the attic.

"What's the occasion of your visit?" Damon all but growls, not happy about an original vampire being in his home.

"Just the fact that you have apparently acquired a baby in a short amount of time. I'm only curious" he says, trying to ignore your looks for him. You see the man in the suit is recognizable as your dada. He comes over a lot and holds you and cares for you, and makes your mama smile.

You hold your arms up in a grabby motion. Everyone hasn't noticed. They're all focused on Elijah as there was no way that he just happened to know two hours after they had taken you. Someone must have been watching them.

Damon and Stefan are standing in front of Elijah, whose back is facing you, the rest of the gang all stood behind the brothers.

Katherine watches from behind the door, knowing what to do next. She opens the door and makes her way inside, causing the gang's attention to go to her.

"That was stupid of you" She sneers, her vampire face on display.

As your mama distracts everyone else, your dada quickly goes over to you. He picks you up and vamps out of the room through the same door Katherine left wide open.

"What-" Elena started saying and turned around, seeing that you and Elijah are gone.

Everyone else followed her action and before they knew it, it was only them. You, Katherine, and Elijah, are long gone.

Katherine follows Elijah to a clearing in the woods. He's cradling you against his chest, slightly swaying you as you calm.

"I'm so sorry I let this happen, I never wanted anything to happen to her," Katherine tells him, feeling an emotion she hasn't felt in a long time, guilt.

"There's nothing to apologize for. There was no way for you to know what was going to happen" Elijah says, softness in his eyes. "Come, I have the perfect place for us. It's out of town and secluded" he smiles.

As they make their way there in his car, they talk the whole time as you're sound asleep in your car seat.

[jalinaalkenza]

трогать/Touch

Natasha Romanoff x Agent!Reader

Warning: smut, fluff, soft sex, praises, Top!Nat, Bottom!Reader, soft Nat

Picture from: Pinterest

××××××××××

Your currently working on a new set of files from fury, alone inside your office looking at the wall full of pictures and evidence of the latest hydra experiment. Although it's not that important cause the experiment is long gone after the avengers had stopped it, but fury wants to examine it more.

You're a very serious woman. elegant and mature. That's why your always on top, you and Maria are always together whenever there's a serious case to solve.

Time pass by and your still working, not noticing the time and not caring about it. You didn't notice the door creaking openly, while your standing in front of your table looking down at the information on the table a dark shadow crossing it's arms is behind you. "Working much agent?" Said by the shadow behind you but you just chuckle. "Do I have a choice?" You said, The shadow then wrapped it's arm around your waist "You do and your lucky for it" you then chuckle "Whatever you say Nat"

She then look down at the information on your table, her chin resting on your shoulder while her arms are wrapped around your waist tightly.

"When are you gonna be finishing that?" She said "I'm never gonna finish this while your here" you said with a chuckle "rude..." She then let go of you but after a few seconds she hold your shoulder and turn you around and sat you down on your desk, you chuckle and wrapped your arms around her neck...

She kiss and bite your lips, jawline, neck, chest, leaving some bruising marks because of her rough but sweet kisses and bites making you moan and whimper, she took off your T-shirt and her leather jacket and black t-shirt, both of your are wearing your bras and she grinned looking at your boobs, your so perfect...."Me or my boobs?" You said jokingly looking at her while she's looking at your boobs. Her hand then unclip your bra, setting the girls free and she quickly throw your bra and grope your breast, you moaned while she touch you, kiss you, suck and bite your harden nipples.

She worshipped your body, leaving some marks on it. Her hands traveling your body. She went down on her knees Infront of your and gently open your legs and you happily spread it, she licked and kiss your thigh to your inner thigh making you moan and whine, eyes closed and your mouth is slightly open "a-ahmmm~~~" she eats you out like your her breakfast, lunch and dinner.

After eating you out, licking your pussy like it's an ice cream, lapping the juices and swallowing it. Her middle finger then enter your wet entrance making you moan louder and whine, she looks at you and smirked at your expression's, she then fingered you and adding another finger pounding it and moving it in and out, curling them inside you. She praises with Russian words, while looking at you like your some goddess saying some things like-

"Ty takaya krasivaya, kak etot agent L/N / Your so gorgeous like this agent L/N"

"Davay detka... / Come on baby..."

You didn't understand any of her praises but her voice is so husky and soft, so loving like a Russia angel, she then kisses you thigh again and her fingers are starting to get faster and faster but still gentle, you can't hold it in anymore "N-n-nat-lia" your eyebrows are knot together, can't say a single sentence because of the loving orgasm your feeling. "I know dekta..." She then kiss your thigh and nibble on it "Let it out Moya Lyubov..." She said in between kisses on your thigh, you then out your sweet release and she stood up and kiss you lips sweetly, tasting your self on her lips making you moan while she groan...

After a few minutes she then carry you onto the couch laying you there while she lay beside you squeezing herself so both of you can fit on the couch as she cuddle and snuggle into you... caressing you cheeks and kissing it while you rest.

"YA khochu lyubit' tebya bezogovorochno, moya lyubov', no ya boyus' vypustit' eto naruzhu. Mir slishkom opasen, i ya ne khochu podvergat' tebya risku... / I wanna love you unconditionally my love, but im scared of letting it out. The world is too dangerous and I don't wanna put you in a risky situation..." She said while your slowly drifting to sleep, you don't understand it but her words is so sincere and loving, She then chuckle softly.

"Chert voz'mi. tvoya shakhta. Moya krasavitsa. / Fuck it. your mine. my beautiful girl."

"Let's make this office Y/n. I don't wanna hide it. I love you..." She said and you smiled and nodded you head. "I love you too Natalia..."

××××××××××

A/N: I didn't r-read this and just go with the flow with my music, so if there's something wrong then sorry. Also if it doesn't make sense I'm also sorry😭

@natsrealgfhihi

[punktactical]

GUTS , trafalgar law

★

summary ; never trust a handsome stranger, even if he lies about having a medical license. (reader goes home with law and bites off more than she can chew.)

warnings ; 18+ content , dark content , dub-con , gore , organ pleasure , drugging , slight somnophilia , cumming in organs , manipulative behavior , naive reader.

a/n ; third post ! again , taken from my one-shot collection on quotev.

★

★

she laid flat against the cold, metal table, shivering. she met a handsome pirate today and he invited her over. how could she refuse? he was so charming. he was also a surgeon, leading her into his experi - ... work room. she was hesitant at first, but warmed up to him quickly. she was confused when he asked her to lay down but didn't question his motives. it got weirder when he asked her to remove her clothes. if he was a surgeon, it couldn't possibly be weird.

she truly was a stupid girl.

"mr. law? why do i have to take my clothes off?"

he simply stared at her, fixing up a small needle of unknown liquid. his eyes were solemn and brooding, dark circles underneath them. she began to grow nervous, shifting uncomfortably. she was naked, goosebumps forming on her sensitive skin. he stepped towards her, leaning over. his gloved hand pressed on her neck, making her suck a breath in. the needle began to close in. she brought up a hand, stopping it. "wait, why do you..." even with her protest, he still sunk the needle into her skin. the injection took immediate effect, leaving her breathless. her eyelids grew heavy, forcing her to close them. she was lulled to sleep by the sound of his silky voice hushing her.

she woke up in a cold sweat, body sore. she couldn't move, just stare. she felt paralyzed. a sudden pleasure struck through her cunt, a moan slipping past her mouth. she balled up her fists, nails digging into her palms. the wash of pleasure was too much to bare, it was unexpected. something kept entering and leaving her, her juices running down her thighs. "are you enjoying this, [f/n]?"

there was the voice she adored so much.

her body shook with pleasure, she could feel her climax coming. why so quickly? how? she couldn't respond, choking on her words. "it's okay, cum on me." the words barely registered for her before she was releasing the knot in her stomach. her body spasms as she climaxes.

"well would you look at that..."

his gloved hand grabbed her by her hair, forcing her to look at the scene in front of her. her stomach was ripped open, organs and intestines strung around like christmas lights. the image was nauseating. she gagged, swallowing the vomit that threatened to shoot out. "and you can still see my cock." he spoke with excitement, bucking his hips into her. his dick moved through the organs, the intestines rubbing against his sensitive tip. her eyes were half lidded, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.

she wish she could feel the excruciating pain of the open stomach, maybe she wouldn't feel so guilty about enjoying the pleasure of it.

his gloved hand grabbed an intestine, stroking it. she moaned, throwing her head back. "you know, i thought of killing you. and just selling your organs." he thrusts inside of her, picking up his pace. "but when i saw you sleeping, it made me decide not to." he grabbed her throat, tightly gripping it. "i'm happy i changed my mind." she whines, teeth grit, tears streaming down her face. she can feel another climax coming, this time not so pleasurable.

"you trusted me so easily. it was quite adorable how easy you were." those words cut deep, deeper than his dick was right now. her organs fit perfectly around his cock, rubbing it the right way. he groans, his thrusts growing sloppy, hinting that he was close. "cum, cum with me." she gags, body paralyzed as she reaches her high. he pumps himself deep, groaning as he releases his seed inside of her. he pulls out with a huff.

"you can see my semen mixing with your intestines."

after everything, he'd stitch her back up, kissing her stomach affectionately as it heals.

god, how many times has she vomited now?

★

[vvxgs]

°˖✧˚ WARNINGS: light angst. ˚✧˖°

"I'm calling you for the twentieth time!", Charles shouted as soon as he spotted his teammate. "Where have you been?"

"Doesn't matter. What happened?"

"Y/N was here about an hour ago."

"What?", the Spaniard inquired.

"I was surprised too. She seemed off, but left something for you. A letter."

That's when he realized that the fuse had been lit. Y/N was the spark leading to his ignition. Now it was a matter of whether the Spaniard could prevent the disaster from happening in time.

When his fingers touched the paper, he knew what he was about to read would irreversibly change his life. For a brief moment, he even had the urge to tear the envelope into pieces and deny himself the chance of knowing its contents.

Dear Carlos, Is this how I should start this letter? I have no idea. The last letter I wrote was about seven years ago. I addressed it to Santa Claus. But I figured you deserve more than two sentences, more than just a regular text or email.

My plane has probably already taken off, so stay where you are. Don't throw everything away trying to catch me. It's too late for that.

Maybe I'm acting selfish, giving only one of us a chance to explain, but I'm sure that whatever would come out of your mouth wouldn't change anything.

I'm learning not to dwell on our parting. I'm learning the way one learns to walk. I might stumble a few times, but then you won't even notice, and I'll cover that distance with a run.

We're too different. If I decided to stay and try, it wouldn't be healthy. This poison spreads too fast. It's unstoppable. And the antidote? It doesn't exist.

Someone once said that life is like a puzzle. The picture can be complete and perfect when all the pieces are in place. Why do we try to force a piece into a space when it doesn't fit? Don't look for me. Don't try to force me back into your life.

I understand you want to explain a lot to me, but keep it to yourself. It's the only way I won't start hating you.

Goodbye Carlos."

Carlos stood still. His muscles were relaxed, his head slightly lowered. The Spaniard was one of the indestructible. Of course, someone had chipped away at his fortress a few times, but never enough to make his castle crumble. The foundations were strong enough that despite many attacks, his body didn't resemble ruins. But that day, everything indicated that Carlos Sainz had given up.

He stood like that for a while. The letter and the white envelope slipped from his fingers, and he watched as the white sheets turned gray from the still-wet soil.

Finally, he twitched. He turned around and started walking toward the garage, not even glancing at his teammate standing there. But Charles observed him very closely.

His face was stone-like, hot and salty drops flowing down his face, leaving a trail of sorrow in their wake.

"Where are you going?", Charles finally managed to utter a question as Sainz was about to pass him.

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled something out, and moments later released pieces of paper from his hand, immediately snatched by the wind.

Sainz heard the sounds of engines. He looked up. Among the clouds, a plane soared, leaving behind a white trail.

"To hell,", Carlos exclaimed, still walking in the chosen direction, his pace quickening. "Because without her, there's no heaven."

[novelizt]

THE COMPLICATIONS OF A FAKE ENGAGEMENT ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

⚜ PART TWO

GENRE ➺ fluff + hoax engagement

SYNOPSIS ➺ you shouldn't be that beautiful in a bridal gown for a wedding that's fictitious to begin with

WARNING ➺ fem reader

DISCLAIMER ➺ I haven't read the books so the characterization/alignment in the books may not line up and it's been a while since i've written anything. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

NOTES ➺ inspired by the try-on wedding gown scene in “extraordinary attorney woo”

   When a 17-year-old signs up to be a ghost hunter, the last thing she expects is to wind up in a bridal boutique. Especially not with her employer improvising the role of her fiancé.

   Lost between fabrics of silk and satin is the story of how you ended up here. You're on the brink of insanity when Lockwood finally does his job as your make-believe fiancé. Chipping in with a compliment, blowing kisses, and raining applause. On a normal day, you could act as if all this was fine and that the flurry of frivolous women weren't tiring. But the dresses were heavy and the lights were blinding. You had his ring, and the look on his face was convincing—but twelve dresses in, and you were ready to crumple into a heap.

   "Why the rush to marry?" Kelly—you think her name was—asks. She was the ringleader for the entire dress-fitting business.

She tightened the corset around you and clipped the fabric around your bust tighter. You couldn't even speak! Luckily enough, Lockwood took note of your lack of oxygen and answered for you. "We're trained agents."

   Kelly pulled the cinches tighter. You wheezed your last wisp of air, gripping the fabric for release. "As in the paranormal kind?"

   Lockwood's eyes shone with pride. "Exactly that! You never know what could happen on a case. Might as well marry while we're breathing, no? Oh- please let my girl breathe, she's turning blue."

   The corset loosened and you sagged in visible relief. Nodding in acknowledgement, you said, "Many thanks."

   "No worries, darling. Wouldn't want you dying before the flower picking." He smiled at you, and you withheld the urge to glare at him. "Have you found what you're looking for, love?"

   You look at the rack and consider just lying... but there was a reason you were here. Judging by his still jumping knee, he hasn't found evidence at all.

   Signing yourself to your fate, you sighed. "No..."

   Kelly jumps with glee. Dragging you behind the curtains before Lockwood could get another word in. The last thing you see of him is a grateful grin. He disregards the simper you throw his way.

   When he's sure you're distracting Kelly, he slips back to the file rooms. Shuffling through documents whilst keeping his ears open. It's not that hard to guess whether Kelly got you into another gown or not. The woman is exorbitant and loud.

   He's got his hands on an incriminating sheet of evidence as he hears it. Kelly's compliments and your terrible attempts at buying him more time. Lockwood stuffs the sheet into his coat pocket and breaks for the lounge. In time for the velvet curtains to draw.

   His eyes are adjusting to the brightened lights again. Yet, all is right when you're unveiled. Sheets of ivory silk rolling down in waves curl around your figure like it's made for you. It's less extravagant than the previous choices but it highlights you the best.

   Whatever fake reaction dies in his throat and his jaw hangs open. Eyes leading up to your giggling face as Kelly pushes a row of spray roses into your hands to "complete the look." He knows all this is pretend. He can't help but wonder how different it would be if ghosts and ghouls didn't invade the world. If the pair of you were a normal boy and a normal girl. If you two weren't 17 and only here for another case. If you were actually dressed in that ivory gown, coming down an aisle as red as the curtains. In an alternate world, would it be reality?

   He's considering the probability of it when you drop the roses to your midsection. Allowing his mother's old ring to gleam in the light before he pulls his eyes right back to you. He reads, "Have you found what you're looking for?" from your lips, and like a puppet on a string, he nods yes, and he's sure he mutters the word, too. But he's not thinking about the evidence in his pocket. He's thinking about you in ivory, and how much better it would be if you were his real bride instead of his fake one.

• i've been wanting to write for the lockwood & co. fandom for a while now hehe

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 9

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.5k 1.9k

Author's Note: I'm going to be honest y'all. I'm struggling with my health right now, so I don't think I did this part justice. It's a transitional chapter of mostly Cara just being a little kid and Wolffe having to deal with it. Nothing angsty, but we are headed towards more angst. As always, please enjoy 💚(EDITED 4/16)

Beta: Please meet my new beta reader/editor @beating-a-dead-plot!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Wolffe packs up the rest of his wife's things, or at least, the pieces of her that he finds the most important. The box is almost full, and he knows Cara is going to have a difficult time leaving some of her things behind, so he decides to leave a little room if she needs it. Putting the box aside, he reaches for his duffle to pack his own belongings. At the very least, he can keep his duffle in the barracks. It's great for storing things that he doesn't care about losing or damaging.

With everything packed in either the box or the duffle, Wolffe scans the room one last time to ensure he didn't miss anything. He knows he'll never be back after today, and there is a lot he can't take with him. If he could fold up their entire bed and throw it into his duffle bag he would, but he can't. He snorts at the stupid thought while staring at the bed, then his eyes catch on his wife's pillow. If he squishes it, he can make it fit into his duffle, which is exactly what he does.

Now, Wolffe is sure he has everything that he can take with him. It's still not enough, though. How does one condense years of their life into a single box and a duffle bag? It used to make sense to him, during his time on Kamino. Clones are property, and property can't own other property, so he never had things outside of the standard clone-issued items he carried in his pack. His wife was the one who helped him understand that useless things could be precious.

With a heavy sigh, Wolffe slings the duffle over his shoulder and picks the box up off the bed. He walks to the bedroom door to leave, but stops in the frame, his feet stuck like they're sinking into quicksand. He turns and looks at the room. This is where she slept. This is where they slept. This is where they made Cara. When did he get so attached? It's just a room. When did goodbyes become this hard? He forces his feet to move and flips the light off for the last time.

On his way to the kitchen, his leg gets attacked by a ferocious child.

"Daddy!" Cara yells as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his leg.

Wolffe steps back with his other foot to steady himself and Sinker quickly grabs the box he's holding before it falls on top of Cara. With the crisis averted, Wolffe releases a slow breath to calm himself as he feels the adrenaline course through his already stressed body. There's nothing that scares him faster than his daughter being in danger, even if he's the one causing the danger. He takes a moment to breathe, then slips his duffle off onto the ground next to him.

He bends down to peel his daughter off his leg and hoists her up onto his hip. "What's the matter baby?" he asks.

She cups her hands around his left ear and whispers loudly. "I need to tell you something."

Wolffe grimaces and tilts his head away. "Yeah? What's that?"

"I love you with my whole carrot," she says and she flings her arm around his neck to hug him.

Wolffe knits his eyebrows together and repeats the word under his breath. "Carrot?" Maybe he just lost his hearing in that ear.

Comet walks by with Cara's box and laughs at Wolffe's obvious confusion. He leans over and whispers in Wolffe's other ear. "Ka'rta."

Wolffe snorts and shakes his head. "I love you with my whole carrot, too, baby."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," she says.

"I knew that was coming," Wolffe sighs. He places her down onto the ground and walks off to find the pancakes he saved for her.

While making his way to the kitchen, Wolffe eyes Cara's box that's filled to the brim and then some. "Was there anything she couldn't fit?" he asks Comet, who is also looking for a snack in the kitchen. "I saved some room in my box just in case."

Comet doesn't turn around from his foraging in the cabinets. "I think she's all set." He pushes a box aside and grabs a cereal bar. "Had to make some adjustments to the baby blanket, but it went over well."

Wolffe nods to himself and sighs, but only because he's half listening and his mind is running in eight different directions. "Then I guess we're all set."

"Not quite," Comet says with his mouth full. Turning on his heels, he walks over to the hook on the wall where the flower print apron hangs and gently pulls it off. "I think Cara will want it someday."

The corner of Wolffe's lip raises in a small, but pained smile as Comet hands the apron to him. Wolffe scrunches the fabric in his hands and touches it to his face. It smells like memories, but not the same memories as her pillow. Different memories. Memories of warm food, cheerful laughter, drinks being snorted out of noses, brothers gathering together to share a meal, and love. So much love that it made the war feel like a fleeting dream that he could forget about.

Before Wolffe can be brought to tears by his thoughts, he pulls the apron away from his face and folds it gently, with reverence. Her memories deserve respect even if it's just a scrap of cloth. Once folded, he squats down next to his box and carefully places the apron in the empty space he left for Cara. She may not care about her mother's pillow or her chapstick like he does, but one day, she'll be able to wear that apron and remember how much her mother loved her.

Wolffe grits his teeth and pushes his emotions back before standing up. He places a hand on Comet's shoulder and squeezes. "Thank you."

Comet places his hand on top of Wolffe's and squeezes back. "You're welcome."

"Daddy!" Cara calls from the other room. "I'm hungry!"

Comet chuckles. "Better get a move on daddy."

Wolffe rolls his eyes and sighs. "Don't make me regret thanking you."

Comet shrugs with a self-satisfied grin as Wolffe walks past him and towards the conservator.

While Wolffe looks for the pancakes in the conservator, the doorbell rings and his heart sinks. It can't be that time already, can it? He knows they have to leave, but that doesn't mean he's ready for it. He wishes he had someone to tell him that everything will be alright, like he can with Cara. He can hold her, soothe her, and make her feel safe, but there's no one to do that for him, not anymore. His wife made him feel invincible during times of uncertainty, and now she's gone.

Boost answers the door and huffs. "It's about time you showed up."

"Well, someone had to take care of the battalion," Warthog retorts. "Not everyone gets to play uncle."

"Auggie!" Cara exclaims and runs to hug his leg.

"Ad'ika!" Warthog smiles and picks her up, rubbing his nose against hers. "How's the youngest member of the Wolfpack?"

"I'm okay," she says.

From the kitchen, Comet watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Auggie?" he asks. "Why Auggie?"

"She doesn't like to say Warthog," Wolffe explains as he pulls out the bag of pancakes. "So, she shortened it... I think."

Comet crosses his arms. "How come we don't get cool nicknames?"

Wolffe rolls his eyes and places the bag of pancakes on the counter. "You really want to be called Come, Sink, and Boo?"

"Nevermind," Comet says. "I'm good."

Wolffe laughs and clasps a hand on Comet's shoulder. "That's what I thought."

Wolffe walks past Comet and over to the door to greet Warthog. He's not happy to see him, but that's not Warthog's problem, it's his. The general commed Wolffe not long after they left the hospital to let him know that he would be sending Warthog to pick them and their things up late morning and bring them to the Jedi Temple so they can get settled before the funeral that evening. The funeral. That's something else Wolffe has been trying not to think about too much.

Warthog bounces Cara in his arms and looks at Wolffe with concern. "You alright, Commander?"

Wolffe sighs. "That obvious?"

Warthog makes a knowing face. "Kinda."

"I've been better," Wolffe breathes.

"Daddy!" she calls while squirming in Warthog's arms.

"I'm right here, baby," Wolffe says. "What's the matter?"

Cara bends backwards in Warthog's arms to see Wolffe. "I'm thirsty," she whines. "And I'm hungry."

A lightbulb goes off in Wolffe's mind. "Cup," he says as he walks back to the kitchen. "I forgot her cup."

Warthog laughs and pulls Cara back upright. "You are a handful, aren't you?"

Cara scrunches her nose and wiggles to get out of Warthog's arms. "Daddy!" she screams.

Wolffe sighs. "Can you–"

"On it," Comet says and he walks over to the struggling pair. "Ad'ika, what happened?"

"Auggie is mean," she whines while pushing away from him.

"Auggie," Comet says with an accusatory tone. "How could you? She's just a kid."

"I didn't do anything!" Warthog exclaims, mildly hurt by the accusation. He grunts. "Here. You take her. I'm going to go pack their things in the speeder."

Comet shrugs. "Suit yourself." He takes Cara from Warthog and she settles down in his arms.

"I'm hungry," she whines again.

Comet sighs and walks them both into the kitchen, quickly finding the bag of pancakes sitting on the kitchen counter where Wolffe left them. He opens the bag with one hand and pulls out a colorful, yet oddly shaped pancake and gives it to Cara. She grabs it from him and starts nibbling on it. Warthog's arrival doesn't bode well just for Wolffe. It puts them all on edge. They all know the transition is going to be tough for Cara, but there are worse things on the horizon.

Cara easily downs the first pancake and Comet gives her another one. She takes a few bites, then gives it back to Comet with the explanation that she's full. He thinks about putting it back in the bag with the others for later, but then he feels his stomach growl and realizes that the little cereal bar was not enough. So, he pops the nibbled pancake into his mouth and eats it himself.

"Hey," Cara says. "That was mine."

Comet raises an eyebrow. "You said you were full."

"But it was mine!" she exclaims. "Daddy!"

Wolffe, with Cara's cup in hand, hears his daughter yell for him once again and decides it's time to take his child back from his overworked men. "Alright," he begins. "Auggie I can understand, but Comet? Now you're just being fussy."

Cara makes a whining noise and Wolffe trades Comet the cup for Cara, then takes the cup and gives it to Cara who drinks it down eagerly.

"See?" Wolffe says while running his hand through her hair. "You were just thirsty. And you probably need a nap, huh?"

Cara yawns and leans her head against Wolffe's shoulder.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Warthog asks as he steps back into the apartment.

The answer gets stuck in Wolffe's throat and he rubs Cara's back nervously.

"It's okay, daddy," she says and nuzzles her face into his neck.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. "Yeah, we're ready."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

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