#p. dungeon tales

[gunpowder-tim]

im still mad abt the fact i got to like world 11 i think and did like all the side quests but then my phone fucked up and deleted like half my shit basically so i had to restart guardian tales so i jist didnt but now im playing it on the switch and i forgot how much i love this game

[lizzyiii]

Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins ​​and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please

“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”

A Beauty Too Tempting

pairing | aemond x cousin!reader word count | 5.4k summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself. tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond. a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond had finally ascended.

His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.

He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.

Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.

But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.

And that was when Aemond first heard of you.

Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.

There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.

Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.

The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.

After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.

Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.

Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.

As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.

A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.

You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.

The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.

Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.

A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”

At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.

Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”

Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.

“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.

Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.

“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”

He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.

Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”

Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.

“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”

Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.

The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.

He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”

A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.

“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”

Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.

“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”

The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.

“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”

Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.

“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”

You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.

His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.

“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”

Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.

“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.

Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.

“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”

A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.

“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.

“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”

With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively

Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.

"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."

Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.

“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”

His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.

“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.

Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.

“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”

Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.

“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.

Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.

“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”

He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.

“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”

Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”

Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”

He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.

“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.

"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.

“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”

Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.

"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."

With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”

“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.

“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.

“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”

He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”

Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.

“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.

As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.

“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.

“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.

Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”

A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.

“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.

Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.

“Please...I need more,” you whined.

Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.

“More, hmm?”

He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”

With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.

Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."

With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.

“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.

"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”

Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.

“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.

Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.

“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”

His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.

"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”

The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.

“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”

As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.

When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”

As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”

Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.

His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.

A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.

“Tomorrow, I take you to your new home.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[possumcollege]

Buch Femme p.3 is now up on Webtoons

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 1.1k | tags: established relationship, sub!eddie, top!eddie, dom!steve, bottom!steve, porn with feelings, Good Boy Eddie | @steddielovemonth Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best by @tinytalkingtina | AO3)

Eddie has been called many things in his life. Some good, more bad.

He's been called a good friend, a herder of lost sheep, a dungeon master, a rock star, even a hero.

But he's also been called a pariah, a coward, a waste of space, a fuckup, trailer trash, a freak, a murderer, a monster.

But no one had ever called him a good boy. Not until Steve.

Ever since he was a little kid, Eddie had learned to fit in, to become whatever someone needed him to be.

When his ma got sick, he learned to be her sweet little boy, quiet and uncomplicated instead of loud and wild. To take up as little space as possible, one less thing for his mama to worry about.

After she died, Eddie learned to be self-reliant. An adult in a child's body, able to take care of himself because who else would. Whenever his father was around, he adopted the Munson charm, the easy smile and empty flattery. He learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, steal, lie.

In the process, he learned to hate himself and even more the path his father was trying to set him on.

It wasn't until he started living with his Uncle Wayne that he didn't know who to be, because his uncle never asked him to do anything but be himself. Which should have been a relief, but by then Eddie had almost forgotten who that was.

So he began to reinvent himself in ways that made sense to him.

A storyteller, like Tolkien, spinning tales through his campaigns and having his party hanging on his every word.

A rock star, like Osbourne, van Halen, or Hammett, who played his heart out and made himself heard through his music.

A rebel, like Bowie, who stood up for those who, like him, were on the fringes of society, being their shield and offering them a safe place and a community where they could be their wonderfully weird selves.

Those versions of him were all Eddie, but at the same time they weren't. Not all of him.

Not the soft parts, the sweet and sincere and quiet parts he thought he lost when his mom died. Being all that for her hadn't been enough, it hadn't saved her, so Eddie buried that part of himself with her and became someone else. Someone the world couldn't break so easily.

Until Steve.

Brave and reckless, kind and bitchy and oblivious, self-sacrificing and self-centered, vain and dorky Steve. An enigma if Eddie ever met one. One he couldn't get enough of, each layer a new but pleasant surprise.

With Steve, Eddie doesn't have to reinvent himself, doesn't have to be any of the stories or boxes or labels.

With Steve, Eddie can let go.

With Steve, Eddie can stop looking over his shoulder.

With Steve, Eddie can let down his guard and show his soft belly.

With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy, sweet and obedient and sincere.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good for me. Fucking me so well, so sweet, feeding me that thick cock of yours. Can feel it in my throat. All for me, my good boy treating me so well," Steve coos with his mouth right next to Eddie's ear. They've been at it for what seems like hours and Eddie is so far gone, trembling in Steve's arms as he keeps rocking his hips, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Being good for Steve.

He's already made Steve come down his throat, lapping up every single drop like the good boy he is, before opening Steve up with his fingers and tongue. He pulled another orgasm out of him as he kept stroking across his prostate while licking messily inside him where he had spread him open on his fingers.

Eddie thought they were done, but Steve had other plans as he gathered up his own cum to spread over Eddie's cock, intention clear. Eddie had hesitated, afraid to hurt Steve because it was too much. It was only when he told Eddie to fuck him with a smoldering look from under his lashes that he finally, carefully, pushed inside him.

He's been hard and aching ever since Steve pushed him to his knees and made him nuzzle the bulge in Steve's tight Levis.

He's been ready to come since Steve's cock hit the back of his throat, moaning so prettily as it fluttered around him.

He's been holding himself back from coming by the skin of his teeth since Steve started clinging to him, overstimulated and loving and everything Eddie could ever want, cooing the sweetest and filthiest praise as Eddie slid in and out of the hot, tight grip of his body.

"What do you want baby, tell me, I'll give you everything my sweet little thing, just tell me what you need." Steve's soothing voice washes over him and he realizes he's whimpering into the sweaty skin of Steve's neck.

"You," Eddie replies without hesitation. "Just you, wanna make you feel good, 's all I need, just you." He's babbling, too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Reduced to his soft, needy core. "Love you so much, wanna stay like this forever, never wanna leave you." Things he never thought he'd say out loud spill out of his mouth and he can feel Steve tighten around him, impossibly so and he's so close but he can't, not without -

"Eddie, baby, don't stop, 'm so close, I love you too," Steve pants before whimpering, "Oh God, you're making me come again, kiss me, please, baby, kiss me."

He can't really feel his body anymore, his mouth clumsily seeking Steve's, but he could never deny him anything. Especially not when he's begging him so sweetly.

They both come within seconds of each other, no more words needed. Steve, whose legs and arms are wrapped around Eddie so tightly that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, is the first to spill between their bellies. The fluttering of his hole, the bucking of his hips and the rhythmic way he clenches around him makes Eddie follow suit.

It almost hurts in its intensity after holding back for so long and he can't help the pitiful whimpering or the overwhelming tears.

Cradling Eddie's head in his giant hands, Steve wipes away the tears and kisses the whines from Eddie's trembling mouth. More tears follow, his love and devotion and gratitude for being loved in this way running down his cheeks as salty droplets, and Steve kisses them away as well.

"You were perfect," he whispers between his kisses, "I love you so much."

When his face is clean, the tears finally stopped, Eddie sinks back down onto the man beneath him. The man who gave him back this side of himself, a side he missed and mourned without even knowing it. A version of himself he has learned to love, to like best, thanks to Steve Harrington and his unwavering love for Eddie.

[fanaticsnail]

This is something I thought of but it suits the men you like more than it does mine

Imagine an au or smth in which your fave plays the cello

Now imagine y/n oc sitting on his lap, he's choking them while using a toy on them and in that position it's almost like he's playing y/n like they're a cello

I think you could do this prompt justice better than I ever could so I hope you enjoy it ✨️

Cellist Kid

Okay, but hear me out. Cellist Kid.

Cellist. Kid.

Thoughts below the cut.

Synopsis: your academic rival and you do not get along. You find his boorish intensity revolting, and he finds your attitude standoffish. As your conductor decides to pair you together to practice, tempers flare and passion ignites.

Themes: afab!reader x Kid, cellist!kid x flautist!reader, choking, Kid has both hands, kissing swearing, college AU, NSFW, 18+, smut, P in V sex, drabble length, creampie, enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, hate sex.

College AU with Eustass Kid wanting to practice playing electric bass, but instead joins an orchestral ensemble at his college for extra credit. They don't play metal, punk, or rock: but he absolutely has a soft spot for movie soundtracks that use heavy bass: game of thrones, lord of the rings, Narnia, all of the songs of his childhood.

He decides the closest thing to a bass is a cello. It takes him a while to understand how to use a bow, but he picks it up in no time. He enjoys this time he spends playing music, it's a way he gets to unwind and hone in on his musicality.

The only hiccup in this perfect symphony is you. Not your playing, but your attitude. You loathe him, and he despises you.

You're a flautist who often gets the lead line for the pieces because you're extremely talented and dedicated to your craft. You hang shit on Kid for joining a failing Warhammer painting group with his best friend, MSK - and he taunts you just as much for joining a Dungeons & Dragons group being ran by a DM named Usopp, an English literature major who enjoys spinning roleplaying tales.

But the more you play music together, the more the conductor of the band decides to place you two together in a more permanent way. You're perfect for each other, in your conductors opinion. The deep rattle of the bass clef played by Kid harmonises perfectly with the treble you produce with your fluttery breath and nimble fingers.

You've been aggressively quippy with each other for a few months now, the rest of the orchestra rolling their eyes every time you have a fued in front of them. Your conductor decides to place the two of you together to sort it out between you.

Now that you're in an empty classroom together, all lecturers gone for the night, the tension draws thick between you. Your snarl draws his heckles up, his growl causes your skin to ignite with disdain at him.

"What the hell is your problem with me, cellist?" You finally curse at him, acknowledging his presence for the first time in twenty minutes. He halts tuning his pegs and places his broad bow in the case at his feet.

"Could say the same for you, flooty," he spat back, his nose scrunching at you while reaching for his amber rosin.

"I hate you," you snarl at him.

"I hate you," he barked at you in response.

"I hate you first," your body moved against its will, placing your flute carefully within the hard case beside you and stomped towards him.

"I hate you second," he growls in return, the gruff grumble igniting flames in his chest as he casts aside his borrowed cello in its stand.

"What does that even matter?" you question him, cocking your head to the side and furrowing your brows, "I could wring your neck and scream at you for how much I despise you!"

"Would be a better sound than your fucking playing, that's for sure!" he draws himself closer to you, his much taller frame towering over yours.

You see red, reaching up and circling his neck with your hands. You use all your might to shove him down onto the chair he was formerly sat atop and accidentally fall on top of him. Your thighs frame his, your crotch perfectly in line with his.

This small stumble causes you to falter in your fury. Shock writes itself over your face as you notice a soft blush dust the cheeks of your academic rival beneath you. From this new position, you notice the warm hue in his hazel eyes: the tint almost rust-coloured in the pale lighting.

You both glance down to the join of your bodies in synchrony before glancing back up at each other's shocked faces.

It all happens in an instant: clothes cast aside and discarded on the floor, lips gnashing, biting and marking each other beneath your rough oscillations. You're in his lap, facing away from him with his girthy cock plunging deep within your slick cunt with a brutal rapidity.

His left hand circles your throat, causing your head to lull against his left shoulder. His right hand is plunged deep between your legs and pinches, circles and grinds against your clit as he thrusts his cock deep within you.

As his right digits begin tapping your clit in rhythmic patterns, the fingers of his left hand tighten and loosen against your flesh. The stampeding ecstacy draws ever nearer, both of your voices picking up in the corners as his knob bullies and batters your cervix with deep thrusts.

As your abdomen begins to tighten it's woven band of ecstacy, Kid's huffed breath pants out with more intentional rapidity. His thighs shudder beneath you, his body giving into the carnal urge to fuck the attitude and sass out of you with each cruel thrust.

His left hand breaks away from your neck circling in front of your chest and anchoring his body against yours to chase his climax within you. His momentum staggers as you felt his cock twitch within your plush walls.

"I-I-..." Kid stutters through his warning, mewling your name in a panted whine, "...-I'm gonna-... fuck. You feel so fucking good. I'm gon-... -I'm c-cumming."

As he whines through his panted confession, your body immediately was ushered into your bliss alongside his own. Lights danced behind your eyes as your body betrayed your hatred for him and transported your senses to become overwhelmed with bliss.

You cried his name, head lying fully back and at his mercy as he continued to bully his thick cock deep within you. Ribbons of hot, sticky cum shot deep within you, the rippling backsplash causing the translucent fluid to leak from your entrance and pool down your spread legs and onto his thighs.

As you rode through your mutual bliss, Kid offers you an apology for his prior insults.

"I-... -I don't think you're a shit flute-player," he admits, his forehead meeting with the back of your neck, "I actually think you're quite talented."

"You are too," you confess, nuzzling the back of your head against his, "But you're still an asshole."

Notes: I'm not sure if cellist Kid is a vibe or not, but it was my initial thoughts. A little bit of enemies to lovers never hurt. I could also see Law as a cellist, but Kid was screaming at me. I have had a drink, and this was done in about 20 minutes. Apologies for grammar mistakes!

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff

[teecupangel]

In a hidden cove along the coast, a mermaid and a talking bird had a standing appointment every Tuesday at dawn. The mermaid, with her shimmering tail and flowing hair, would await the arrival of the bird, perched high on a jagged rock. The bird, with feathers that glistened like sunlight on water, was special—not only could he talk, but he could also read the human language, a skill the mermaid lacked.

Each week, the bird brought a new story. Perching close to the mermaid, he would read aloud, his voice filling the air with tales of distant lands, brave heroes, and magical adventures. The mermaid listened intently, her wide eyes reflecting the wonders of the human world she could not directly access.

One particular morning, the mermaid arrived with a spark of excitement in her eyes. As the bird settled on his rock, she began to speak in her musical, lilting voice. She shared an idea for a story that had blossomed in her mind, a tale of wonder and adventure.

The bird listened carefully, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. When the mermaid finished, he promised to take her story to the ferret who writes. The ferret, known for his nimble paws and keen mind, lived in a cozy burrow near the edge of the forest. He was the best scribe among the animals, capable of turning any tale into a beautifully written manuscript.

The bird flew to the forest and found the ferret at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper and ink. He relayed the mermaid’s story, and the ferret eagerly began to write, his paws moving swiftly across the parchment. By evening, the story was complete, and the bird took the freshly written pages and soared into the sky.

His next destination was the pegasus, who lived on a high plateau where the clouds touched the earth. The pegasus was known for her speed and grace, able to fly across vast distances in a single day. She greeted the bird with a nod, and he handed her the manuscript. Understanding the importance of her task, the pegasus took off, her wings beating powerfully as she ascended into the heavens.

For days, the pegasus flew tirelessly over mountains, valleys, and rivers, until she reached a distant land where the story was meant to be shared. She delivered the manuscript to a wise owl who resided in a grand library. The owl, with his knowledge and connections, ensured the story reached many eyes and ears, spreading the mermaid’s tale far and wide.

In the letter it says: "Came across this anime where a guy turned into a vending machine and Desmond turning into that would be really helpful just by giving medicine and other supplies.

P. S Not sure if I asked this before."

You sent this last month and I finally

The anime in question is Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon

The first season is only 12 episode long so if you’d like a unique take on the protagonist getting isekai’ed.

It will definitely be OP because Desmond could turn into any kind of vending machine and there’s a lot of variety that he can play with.

We can even give him a helping hand and make him be able to change to any vending machine made even after 2012 so he has more option.

But he has to unlock them, of course.

In this one, he’s gonna be placed in Jerusalem’s bureau first because no one is strong enough to carry him around all the time and it will be a team effort.

He’ll appear in the bureau a day before Malik arrives as the new Rafiq and he’d ask the novices what this strange box is.

Due to the mission’s failed attempt, all of the people in the bureau are new and no one knows what it is. Someone suggested it must be something the last Rafiq had and they just let it be because it wasn’t doing anything strange.

Then it started talking to them but it’s all stock phrases like “Hello there!” “Too bad” and “Please insert coin.”

Malik ordered that no one touches it and he starts trying to figure it out.

Then Altaïr appeared and Malik is too annoyed (and sleep deprived) to be in Altaïr’s presence.

And he forgot to tell Altaïr to not touch the strange box that has been lighting up and trying to catch their (it’s really Altaïr’s) attention.

Altaïr, being the smart person with idiotic ideas at times, does give it coin and gets yuzu hot tea.

By the time Malik returned, Altaïr had tried out everything and has found out:

(1) the device can change its inventory AND form

(2) the device can understand them but can only reply with stock phrases (they already had a phrase for “yes” and “no” in place)

(3) the device’s name is Desmond

“How do you know its name is Desmond?”

“His” Altaïr corrected before shrugging as he answered, “It feels right.”

====================================

“Uuuhhh… this one is addressed to the grand library but there’s no name on who it’s supposed to be for?” The courier asked as he looked over the large stacks between him and the alchemist who looked busy doing who knows with the cauldron.

“I don’t know who to address it to.” The alchemist answered before waving a hand absentmindedly, “The grand library will take care of it. They’re used to me anyway.”

He wasn’t sure about that but he wasn’t going to argue with someone close to a large amount of hot liquid.

“Alright then.” He placed the small… keychain?

He wasn’t exactly sure what this rectangular shaped thing was supposed to be.

But he’ll make sure it gets to the grand library at the very least.

“See you tomorrow then?”

“Yup!”

The courier left the atelier that smelled like… steak?

[pmdfanfiction]

The next Fic of the Week is here!

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: The Amnesiacs by p-anon!

Summary:

A boy named Sanvu wakes as a Snivy with almost no memory of his past, a surely familiar tale. He’s not alone however; Pokemon of all kinds are losing memory in this world, and there’s something that’s not quite right with the local Mentage Town as a result. Can Sanvu, alongside his companion Pachuku, an odd Pachirisu, get to the bottom of their own world’s deteriorating state before it’s too late?

Events coincide with Super Mystery Dungeon, but it is not a retelling.

Check the fic out here: https://pmdfanfiction.com/story/pokemon-mystery-dungeon-the-amnesiacs/

Happy reading!!!

[louiesselfshipramblings]

Secret Level mini-review!!! Because!!!

Not gonna go over EVERY episodes, just the ones I wanted to see.

Dungeons & Dragons: The Queen's Cradle—This was a good start! It was short, maybe a lil TOO short, but it was a nice lil glimpse into the classic fantasy world with fun characters both in design and personality. Hope we see more of them somewhere! Weird a non-video game got in but eh I don't mind.

Unreal Tournament: Xan—This episode led me down a rabbit hole of finding out the Unreal Engine was based on an old game made by pre-Fortnite Epic Games, and it's apparently delisted everywhere? Sucks, but cool it got an episode! I love robot uprisings.

Warhammer 40,000: And They Shall Know No Fear—I know nothing about Warhammer except everything kinda sucks and the giant church mechs. This was a fun episode! There's a simple pleasure in watching a group of guys effortlessly tear through mooks. I suppose I'd get more if I specifically played the Space Marine games, but hey as is I liked it.

PAC-MAN: Circle—Dares to ask the question, what if "Pac" and "Man" were two separate guys? But for real though...I actually liked this one? It's horror, but not over the top, gorey but not for the sake of it. Does it use next to none of the Pac-Man iconography? Yeah. But it kinda works as its own, messed up sorta thing. I wonder if that Shadow Labyrinth game came first, or if the short did. Also, the robot is named Puck! Cause Pac-Man's original name in Japan was Puck-Man but in American they could scratch at the P and make it...ya know...Scott Pilgrim reference.

The Outer Worlds: The Company We Keep—I kept forgetting The Outer Worlds had an episode here...or that the game existed at all. Which is a shame! Sure, I heard mixed things about it, but nice to see Obsidian still making original stuff! Plus that sequel, could be better! For this episode...it was fine. A solid example of tragedy. The ending puzzled me, but in a good way. Coulda felt more connected to the vibes of the game, but def has that humor style in place!

Mega Man: Start—It was alright. Rock and Dr. Light had good VAs. Bomb Man had a cool design. Nice lil easter eggs like the "Dr. W" emblem or the DLN serial numbers, and Rock defeating Bomb Man with an ice power was clever. But MAN...this coulda been so much better if it was longer! It's only like, five minutes! I suppose its good they gave each short a variable time so they had space to tell their story, but I would have loved to see more of this world! The other Robot Masters, Roll, WILY, for god's sake! But that MM2 Wily Castle theme for the credits...oh MAN that's good! Please, make another Mega Man short for season two! Or an animated series in THIS style! Mega Man needs more good animated adaptations after Fully Charged and Ruby-Spears.

Spelunky: Tally—Very cool to see an indie game here, and for one of the OGs! Even if this one takes after the sequel...but still! This one was fun, especially since it seemed to really embrace the idea of being a video game. I'm not super familiar on the Spelunky lore, but the interpretation of the randomly generated caves and the curse that revives them were neat tidbits, and the overall message was very nice! One of the shorter ones, around the same length of the Mega Man and Pac-Man ones, but it's to its benefit. Any longer and it woulda felt dragged out. Honestly, the best way to adapt a rougelike imo.

Concord: Tale of the Implacable—Okay, ya gotta understand I HAD to see this one after Sony's blunder! And, to be honest...this may be the best one between all I've seen??? Like, genuinely!! It's one of the longer ones at around fifteen minutes, and is paced pretty well. Idk if any of these characters show back up in the game, but they were all pretty good for the brief time I saw them? The framing of this being a retold story passed as legend, with an ambiguous fate for the crew was neat and I liked the ending??? I was joking about this episode being so good it might redeem the game, but...well I wouldn't go that far, but damn, this might be my favorite behind the Mega Man and Pac-Man ones??

Playtime: Fulfillment—The last episode, and the only one not based on a specific game, instead being based on PlayStation as a whole. This was a nice closer, tbh! The ending left me a touch confused on what exactly happened, but it was a fun ride, all things considered! Seeing the Helldivers run around and shout about democracy, one of the Colossi from Shadow of the Colossus, Kratos smashing down, and SACKBOY!! I honestly just wish there was more of it! (Or that God of War got its own dedicated episode but that's besides the point). Kinda hope they do this "company" based episode as a season closer for season two, maybe for SEGA or Capcom! That'd be fun!

Overall, a pretty good series! I'd say it's worth my while, plus most of the episodes are under twenty minutes if that, so you could binge it reasonably in a day. Looking forward to that second season. Some sequels would be cool (mainly for Mega Man), but if it has to be only new games...mmmm. God of War, for sure. Mass Effect. Destiny? Donkey Kong, but that's a pipe dream. Nintendo never does cool stuff like that.

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

oh my god gym buddies!jason finally had the guts to ask her out on a date!! GO JAY GO!!! need to know how this date goes

Oh, you wanna know how the date went? Hahahaha. Ok.

Warnings, Swearing, fluff, Smut, hand holding, date, throat holding, me not know sweet fa about sports, but I made this reader sporty so I'm trying my best.

"Dude, I am so sweaty." You say to Annie as you skate to a stop at her goal post, " I can't believe I agreed to this date."

"Babes, it'll be fine," she nudges her helmet towards where Jason is sat in the stands, "he hasn't taken his eyes off you since we came out."

"I'm so nervous, I haven't been on a real date in.."

"Forever, I know." She sighs, squaring up as Mckinnley and Jones come at you both, "get out there, we need our defender."

"On it."

You're amazing, Jason thinks, so quick as you weave your way through the other players before slamming one of the other team into the barricade. No wonder you're a slow runner, you're fucking feet belong on the ice.

You move like a freight train in those pads, and he's honestly so impressed by you and the force you seem to have behind every hit. It hits him in an instant, and he whips out his phone, hoping Alfie is around to help him rearrange his date plans.

The game comes to a close as you win the game 1-0 it was really close and the Vipers really brought their all tonight, but with Annie in goal they didn't stand a chance.

Xx

"Good luck," Annie waves, as you pull your jacket on, adjusting your dress, "try not to kill him."

"Thanks, I'll try my best." You wave back as you head outside to meet your date.

He's waiting, his bulking form leaning against a black motorcycle and a spare helmet resting on the back seat. "Hello Sweetheart," Jason smiles, pushing off the bike and moving to meet you in the middle with a kiss, "you were so fucking hot out there."

"Hi Jay, I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

"You ready to go?" He rubs his hands together, "I got big plans for us."

"Can't wait," you grab the helmet, slipping it over your head and tilting the visor up, "well, we going or what?"

"Right," Jason shakes his head, his brain almost combusting at the sight of you in his spare helmet, on the back of his bike, "ready for the best night of your life?"

"Guess we'll see." You wrap your arms around him tight, your bag strapped to your back as you take off from the rink and into the night.

The bike goes fast, humming underneath you as you inhale Jason's cologne, feel his soft leather jacket under your finger tips and the wind rushes over your helmet.

"Where are we?" You ask when he pulls to the side of the road, "dude, this shady as fuck."

"Is not," he shrugs, taking off his helmet and sitting it on the bike, "where's your sense of adventure?"

"In these shoes?" You gesture to your kitten heels you bought for the date, "carrying this?" You jostle your bag, "my sense of adventure is about 2 miles away."

"You're right," he slips the bag from your shoulder, "let me carry that. Have you got any sneakers in here?"

"I mean, yeah. But what happened to take me out and show me off?"

"I think you've done enough showing off tonight. Miss I slam people so hard the ice shakes."

"You impressed Todd?"

"I'm not, not impressed." He says, grabbing your chucks from the bag and throwing them to you, "come on, it's only a ways up here." His head gestures towards the path in the woods, "it's not super far. Cardio lover like you will love it."

"Fine," you roll your eyes, tightening your coat around your dress to keep it from getting snagged in the trees.

"Where is it," Jason says, brushing his hand long the long layer of vines that sit before you, "gotta be- here!" He smiles brightly as a gate swings open behind him and you can see light filtering through the vines.

"Is this a murder dungeon?"

"Come and see," he steps through, holding the vines up so they don't snag in your hair.

You step under his arm, and the sight before you is like a fairy tale. Warm fairy lights hang over a sparkling frozen pond, a huge picnic blanket covered in tiny treats just to the side, all sitting in the cutest garden full of roses and maple trees. "Jason, this is-"

"Good right?" He starts to walk towards the picnic blanket, "do you like it?"

"Jason."

"It's not to much is it?" He turns worry written on his face, "we can go to a restaurant if you want, I just- seeing you on the ice and then I wanted to do something spec-"

"Shut up." You smile, jumping into his arms and kissing him senseless. You feel him carry you back, your backback falling to the ground next to him.

"You like it?" He whispers between your kisses, his hands gripping at your assunder your dress.

"It's beautiful, Jay."

"Like you."

"Corny." You push him gently in the chest, and he uses the momentum to fall to the ground. His arm catching the brunt of your weight.

"Oh no! I've been attacked." He jokes grabbing onto your hips and adjusting you on his lap, "whatever," he grabs your hands pulling them around his neck, "could I do to fight you off?" He winks pulling you so your chests are flush.

"You wouldn't," you squeeze your thighs on his, your nose brushing against his, "but-" You glance over to the tiny tea cakes, "I am starving."

"These -" he reaches over, sticking one half in his mouth, "are so good," you lean forward, taking a bite from it, giggling as he kisses you. Picking up another cake, "open up," he slowly feeds you the cake, then another watching as you moan at how good they are.

"You make the prettiest sounds for me," Jason sighs, holding your face to kiss you deeper, "and you taste like caramel."

"Jason," you moan into his kiss, "can we get on the ice?"

"Last one on the ice has to buy breakfast." He laughs, shoving you off him and reaching over to grab his skates.

"You're on Todd."

You zip around him, laughing as he spins trying to catch you. "Now who's the slow poke?"

"I'm going to get you," he threatens with a laugh, his hands always just beyond you, "you can't keep me away forever."

"Have you ever done a lift before?" You call out as you skate circles around him.

"You've met Grayson. What do you think?" He calls his arms, stretching out for you as you graze by him.

"Think you can catch me?"

"Don't promise to let you go if I do."

You skate back, doing a loop as you line up, "Ready?"

"Go." You take off, picking up speed as you close in on him and then suddenly his hands are around your waist, lifting you up and over his head as he spins you. The lights of the garden twinkle around you, your heart fluttering as he brings you down, your arms wrapping around his neck as you glide across the ice together.

"Fuck, you're stunning," Jason smiles, the joy shining in his eyes, his big hands massaging your waist, "can't believe you agreed to this."

"I can't believe you promised me a mind-blowing orgasm and yet," you start to play with his curls, "I'm back on the ice."

"Guess I better deliver then," he winks, scooping you in his arms and skating you off the pond, awkwardly walking you away from the lights.

"JAY," you giggle, trying to keep your skates away from his arms, "where are we going?"

"Somewhere a bit more private than Bruce's back lawn." He jokes and you have the realisation of where exactly the fuck you are right now. But when he opens the door to the greenhouse, you don't even give a shit. The moons filtering through the glass ceiling, Jason sits you on a wooden table his fingers already working to get both your skates off and when he looks up at you from the ground his eyes have gone completely feral.

"Jason," you say in a calming voice, "what's that look for?"

"I've wanted to to this all night, wrap those strong thighs around my head, sweetheart. Smother me in your strength," he pushes your panties to the side, his head disappearing under the skirt of your dress as he begins to devour you whole. Your legs clenching around his head as he sucks at your clit and he buries his fingers inside you.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow until you're a panting mess above him, crying out his name, choking him between your legs and begging for him to fuck you.

"Lay back baby," he directs you, lifting your legs over his shoulders as he frees himself from his jeans, "you want this?" He asks, slapping you with his cock, "no nodding, I want your words. I wanna hear it."

"Fuck me Jason."

"Good girl." He plummets into you, grinding down into you as his hand twines with yours, "so fucking gorgeous."

"Hurry up, please." Jason leans over you, his lips molding with yours as his thick cock spreads you, stretching you out second by second until he reaches the end of you, "holy - Jay."

"I know," he pants into your kiss, "I know, I'm gunna move now, sweetheart. You ready?"

"Yes, please move. Please." He withdraws before thrusting back into you. Fucking into you so hard that the pots on the table start to shake.

"Take it for me." He breathes, his voice a low growl, "be a good girl and take it."

Your ankles lock around his neck, your legs shaking as he pounds into you. His mouth littering kisses up your neck as he whispers how well your doing and how perfect you are for him.

"Jay, I-"

"I know baby, I know it's so good." Jason leans his face back, pressing his forehead into yours, his fingers tightening in yours, "I want your cum," taking his free hand he wraps it around your thigh, pressing his fingers into your clit, "I want all of it," he fucks down into you his thick cock grinding down into your g spot, "and you're going to give it to me."

"Jaso-" you pant over and over as your climax floods through you and onto his cock.

"I'm not done baby, I want all your cum."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." He keeps going his pace slowing as he starts to slam into you, "I know you've got more cum for me," he moves your hands wrapping them both around your throat, "this is gunna make sure I get it." His hand held over yours as you hold your throat.

"Jason, it's so much," you whine your ass inching up the table in an attempt to get away.

"No you fucking don't." He growls, tightening his grip on your throat, his solid arm flexing over your thigh to keep you in place, "you’ve got more for me, sweetheart." He growls his dick still slamming into you, "give it to me."

"I- ah. Jaso- plea-" you lose your words as your second climax threatens to kill you and Jasons cum fills you up.

He slows, still slowly fucking into you as you come down from you. Your breath still stuck in your throat. He gently drops your legs from his shoulders, wrapping them around his waist as he burries his face in your neck.

"Jason," you pant, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Is this Wayne manor?"

"Hmmm..."

"Is Bruce going to kill us?"

"No, but we should probably get going before Alfred comes to find us."

[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 3: Celeg Aithorn

AN: I'll be doing meta/headcanon posts for some of these days, hope you find them entertaining as well💙

Today's topic: Celeg Aithorn, or: We know the name of Eönwë's sword?

𓅛 To answer this question, we first have to gather some tidbits found in several sources. I'll present those first - that will be the canon part - and then move on to talk about my headcanons based on them. Let's begin!

𓅛 Celeg Aithorn was mentioned in Beleg's whetting spell in The Lay of the Children of Húrin. Here is the passage in question:

There wondrous wove he words of sharpness, and the names of knives and Gnomish blades he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall; the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades of the enchanted children of chains forged in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil, the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied; the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest, the lambent lightning's leaping falchion even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world. (The Lay of the Children of Húrin, "II. Beleg", p. 45)

For now, let's just take note and put a pin in the "cleave the world" part.

𓅛 The name Celeg Aithorn is Early Noldorin, with different sources providing slightly different meanings. According to elfdict.com, it may mean Lambent Lightning.

𓅛 In The Annals of Aman (Morgoth's Ring), we then learn of a sword that Manwë carried during the War of the Powers:

Thence, seeing that all was lost (for that time), [Melkor] sent forth on a sudden a host of Balrogs, the last of his servants that remained, and they assailed the standard of Manwë, as it were a tide of flame. But they were withered in the wind of his wrath and slain with the lightning of his sword; and Melkor stood at last alone. (MR, p. 75)

This is relevant because, according to The War of the Jewels, Manwë later gave this sword to Eönwë.

𓅛 As for the final puzzle piece, there is the old version of the Dagor Dagorath prophecy provided in Lost Tales, part of which states:

So shall it be that Fionwë Úrion, son of Manwë, of love for Urwendi shall in the end be Melko's bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away. (LT Part One, p. 219)

As many of you already know, Fionwë Úrion is the same character who later became Eönwë, changed to Manwë's herald and Maiarin servant instead of his son because the concept of the Valar having children was abandoned.

𓅛 So we have a sword named Celeg Aithorn "that shall cleave the world", an old prophecy stating that Eönwë is going to destroy the world and Manwë giving him his sword. It has therefore been suggested that these two swords are in fact that same, and I would say that a sword originally owned by Manwë and seen with lightning would fit the proposed etymology of Celeg Aithorn as well.

𓅛 Now, as you've noticed none of the sources cited above are from the Silmarillion and canonicity is a fickle thing in this fandom as is. Whether Tolkien, if you asked him today, would say that yes, this sword of Manwë canonically exists and Eönwë wielded it in the War of Wrath and is also the same as Celeg Aithorn, I can't say for sure. Best I can say is that it all fits together.

𓅛 This is why I've adopted this concept into my personal headcanon (note: I will from now on refer to it as just one sword, based on the theory that it is the same, and just call it Celeg Aithorn).

𓅛 I like to think that Aulë forged Celeg Aithorn for Manwë, either as a gift similar to the scepter the Noldor would later make for him or as a weapon to use in battle against Melkor. Manwë accepted it and also carried it, though I'm admittedly not sure if the part where he fights the Balrogs is something I'm keeping in my default verse; in verses where he is, for one reason or another, more "combative" for sure, but my take on current canon!Manwë is that he's not really a fighter (much like Melkor, funnily enough) and doesn't enjoy any sort of fighting, only defending himself or others if he absolutely has to resort to that.

𓅛 Seeing the destruction caused by the War of the Powers, knowing that going to war time and time again wasn't what Eru intended for him and also driven by his personal aversion, Manwë then gave Celeg Aithorn to Eönwë instead. Eönwë had already made a name for himself as one of the best warriors among the Maiar and Manwë sensed that there would difficult battles in his future, telling him that the sword would be of better use to him ("It's dangerous to go alone! Take this", if you will).

𓅛 This was also a symbolic act foreshadowing how Eönwë would be the one to lead the Host of Valinor in the War of Wrath, not Manwë himself, as well as both of them accepting their fates: Manwë accepting that the role of the Elder King was to stay behind and Eönwë accepting his role of fighting Melkor alongside the Children.

𓅛 Eönwë has used Celeg Aithorn ever since and it has served him faithfully. It's possible that it would betray him if he ever ceased being loyal to Manwë, but this remains in the realm of pure theory so far, given how loyal to his lord Eönwë has been.

𓅛 Being a sword crafted by a Vala and for a Vala, Celeg Aithorn is very powerful. It also shares the moral alignment of its current and previous owner and is therefore one of, if not the best weapon to fight evil creatures with (similar to the Master Sword in The Legend of Zelda, to draw a popular comparison). It was likely blessed by Manwë and hallowed by Varda, like she did with the Silmarils.

𓅛 Eönwë may have kept his old sword - the one he used before receiving Celeg Aithorn - for sentimental reasons, since he used to have it sharpened and maintained by Mairon. This may, unbeknownst to him, have saved him if Mairon, during his time as a spy, tampered with it to give Melkor an advantage.

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @singleteapot

@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams @eonweweek

[posthumanwanderings]

❄️VMII - Vapormas Winter VGM Mix Vol.1❄️ 

0:00 Christmas NiGHTS - Intro 4:20 Christmas NiGHTS - Introduce Dream (Jingle) 5:30 Christmas NiGHTS - Winter Sleep 7:40 Bomberman 64 - White Glacier 11:30 Sonic 3D Blast - Diamond Dust Act 2 17:10 Napple Tale - Spring’s Petal 19:00 Paper Mario - Crystal Palace Crawl 21:10 Magic Knight Rayearth - Cavern of Eternal Ice 24:45 Tales of Vesperia - Thousand Year Slumber of Blastia 27:20 Secret of Mana - A Wish 29:15 Sonic Adventure - Limestone Cave 32:30 Paper Mario - Snow Road 36:00 Sonic 3D Blast - Diamond Dust Act 1 38:10 Tail Concerto - Coolant 44:00 Final Fantasy VII - Buried in the Snow 51:05 Jazz Jackrabbit 2 - A Cold Day In Heck 57:50 Paper Mario - Starborn Valley Trail 59:50 Phantasy Star Online 2 - White Summit Probe Naberius 1:13:40 Napple Tale - Snowball| 1:17:25 Phantasy Star Universe - Christmas 1:23:00 Final Fantasy X - People of the North Pole 1:29:30 Tales of Vesperia - Source of the Seething Silence 1:35:20 Skies of Arcadia - Ice Dungeon 1:41:00 Seiken Densetsu 3 - Another Winter 1:43:55 Phantom Brave - Snowberry| 1:49:05 Napple Tale - Skipper 1:54:00 Napple Tale - October Child 1:58:15 Mario Kart 64 - Frappe Snowland / Sherbet Land 2:02:00 Tomba 2 - Kujara Ranch 2:04:15 Pokémon D/P - Snowpoint City (Day) 2:07:00 NiGHTS Into Dreams - Take the Snow Train 2:19:20 Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Rescue Team - Escape Through the Snow 2:22:45 Tales of Symphonia - A Snow Light (Flanoir) 2:26:00 Mega Man 8 - Frost Man Stage 2:29:20 Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Ice Cavern 2:32:30 Tales of Phantasia - Freeze 2:36:10 Super Monkey Ball - Arctic 2:41:45 Kirby’s Return to Dream Land - Snowball Scuffle 2:46:05 Christmas NiGHTS - New Year’s ‘9th’ 2:47:25 Shenmue - Silent Night, Holy Night 2:51:50 Croc - The Ice of Life 2:54:00 Mega Man X - Chill Penguin Stage 2:56:25 Advance Wars Duel Strike - Sasha’s Theme 3:01:15 Astal - The Crystal Palace 3:05:30 Shenmue - Sha Hua Christmas 3:12:25 Yoshi’s Wooly World - Frozen Solid & Chilled 3:17:00 Christmas NiGHTS - Dreams Dreams (Nightopian Ver.) 3:20:00 Christmas NiGHTS - Ending 3:23:10 Magic Knight Rayearth - The Sparkling Ice of Rosen 3:25:15 Yume Nikki - Snow World

[strykingback]

Okay so now p/apitimefire177 has responded... well unsurprisingly on a vague post (Well I wouldnt say vague) about Doom and I. So I have to pull up again since they have made the choice to mention me. So, let's go band for band and see what you had to say.

First things first, you stated how Jaune is not Aryan, including providing the definition of it and how "those guys" bastardized it. Good, you know what it is. But nowadays the meaning of Aryan has sadly since been affiliated with White Supremacy and "Those Guys" Fair enough. Let's also not forget this isnt the ONLY thing they bastardized as well.

Once again, Doom was using this as either a joke to piss you off, since you know White Supremacists like to describe the perfect race as Blonde hair, Blue Eyes, white skin....?

Which once again they could have done a Joan of Arc allusion with Jaune, but decided to go with the Paladin/Knight allusion. Showing that they only used her as the inspiration for Jaune, in no means did they explore anything with the allusion at all.

Nothing from Joan of Arc's life being used to develop Jaune even further. Just making him into a DND Paladin, with his semblance being literally. "Lay On Hands" from surprise-surprise. Dungeons and Dragons. Nothing exciting about that...

No Semblance that could make Jaune see into the future and see Cinder amongst the flames alluding to Joan of Arc's death....

Or anything about him making an effort to learn how important a sacrifice is to bring about the swan song of victory. Y'know.... just like Joan of Arc?!

Or maybe making Jaune be a good strategist despite protests from his teammates... LIKE JOAN OF ARC!

Then papi goes off again on a ad hominem tangent, calling Doom illiterate and stating that they needed to do research and state how they throw tantrums.

No Papi, you are the one throwing tantrums. You are proving me and Doom right because what did you do right after Doom and I called you out. You went back to your regularly scheduled Jaune Simping and Cardin-Hate Posting. Plus as I said before, Doom may have used this as a means of making it an INSULT to the character as a whole.

You are being a belligerent fool, and you are proving Doom right. I'm even still surprised that you havent been banned off tumblr yet for harassment, using ableist slurs (despite your half-hearted apology), and so on forth.

Now you are indeed correct.. kind of about one thing. R/RWBYCritics isnt a valuable source. But I digress because I used it for ONE thing and that was to see how much screen time did Jaune get in RWBY as part of my research cause good lord I am not going to sit around and watch Volumes 1-9 having to time how much screentime he had. . Which from Volumes 1-6 He got and I repeat from that one post.

5,489 Hours of Screentime

Which when converted into an actual time it comes up to.

One hour thirty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds

This is NOT counting Volumes 7-9 and I did NOT say that R/RWBYCritics was a Valuable source. If you actually paid attention to my other posts of me being critical about Jaune especially in the Twin-Revisions of why I think Jaune is a horrible Knight

One of the sources came from the Infographics Show. Where they gave a summarized talk about how Real Life Knights were not like the actual knights you would see in the Romanticized stories.

Even providing sources when one such historian talked with Spiegel Online about Sir John Arundel and his band of knights taking refuge in a convent violating the Nuns and stealing from them and throwing them overboard once they were all but used up.

Or how in that same video, quoted by Nigel Saul in his book Chivalry in Medieval England: "Knights only fought for three things. Land, Gold, and War Booty."

Since RWBY is a show that takes the romanticized takes of knights or stories from those romanticized stories. Such as Robin Hood, the Grimm Tales, etc. And apply them to RWBY.

Which once again, I only used R/RWBYCritics once for a source on Jaune's screentime and you falsely proclaim that I use it for all of my RWDE posts. Which I dont...

Now, let's also talk about this little thing I found where you made the statement about someone calling Jaune Fans Jaune-Turds. Which I do not know what the context was about, maybe an episode back then... but I am more surprised that you tunnel visioned to the insult instead of CHECKING THE FUCKING TAGS AND DATE.

Right off the bat. I see no mention of the RWDE tag there... and no mention of "Does this count as RWDE?" on there. This was a personal rant... and the date?

Here lemme put it in caps for you Papi.

"NOVEMBER 17th, 2018"

You are using a post from SIX YEARS ago as a means to "prove" that "Oh RWDE are all just meanies and what not." Gee its also not like you have been doing more wrong than us. Once again in my reply to your Stop The Hate 2.0 I simply put down at the START to not witchhunt you but to Block and Move On. Guess that didnt click in your head didnt it?! That was the only form of respect I was going to give you. Because I atleast have some form of morality to give you!

Lets not forget you got pissy from a post after this which was A JOKE. a fucking JOKE. Dude are you the DJ Akademiks of Jaune stans like getting all pissy over a JOKE?

I think we're done here. Pack it up. Cause listen Papi you called me out for not having valuable sources, well I provided while also once again cooking your ass in the Malevolent Kitchen. I dunno maybe at this point you are just way too easy to beat... plus the fact that it took you two months to say something about the call out, but either way. Have a good one, drink water, do some self-reflection and yeah Jaune still sucks.

Good Day.

[fallloverfic]

@nnayomaise mentioned you on a post “i don't think enough people understand that, as a...”:

@fallloverfic i think he had to be suicidal before his dungeon, (not as much as he is in the current story ofc) but purely because he chose to become a dungeon lord knowing that it would eat all of his desires and he would wither away and die- and for him having a place to go, he could very easily have left his dungeon and gone back to the canaries (yes they would've killed him but they likely would've just revived him) which would be the right thing to do, he knows this

​(continued): "he knows the process of how they remove dungeon lords, he knows this is how canaries literally save the world from the dungeons, he probably thought a lot about backing out and essentially returning to reality but the goat manipulated him into staying then ate his desire to return"

I don't personally think anything about his decision to go with and stay with the mirror/goat indicates he was suicidal at that point, and you kind of disprove this yourself by indicating the goat - an outside force - was manipulating him into his decision(s). To each their own headcanon, obviously, and I like crunchy background for Mithrun, but here's at least why I don't think we have canon evidence for Mithrun being suicidal before he was abandoned by the demon.

In Bonus: Miscellaneous Monster Tales -6-, we learn just how dangerous magic mirrors are:

The manga notes this is specifically a moment of weakness, to an object specifically designed to steal his heart. Sometimes we all get caught on bad days. This was one of Mithrun's (he made the mistake of not ignoring the mirror). He was strong back then, but he wasn't invincible.

As the Adventurer's Bible notes about the Central Watchtower (his dungeon), "Since it hadn't had a lord for a long time, it was believed to be nearly collapsed. Mithrun was dispatched to investigate a nearby rash of disappearances and got taken in." (133). This was relatively routine/not a big deal, but it got him in a chance moment. The goat struck while the iron was hot. As the Adventurer's Bible explains, "Once, while under the impression that his older brother had stolen his beloved, Mithrun wished for a life where he hadn't joined the canaries. As a result, he fell under the spell of a demon" (74). This is framed largely as an accident/bad luck: we can't all be vigilant forever, after all. He even comments about these things to Kabru earlier, "You wished for those things... . . . You wished, so the dungeon provided. . . . Don't wish often." (p.157, Chapter 61: Roasted Walking Mushroom, Volume 9). Even casual wishes can have major consequences, and that desire attracts the demon (e.g., when Marcille is trying to get control, the demon acts on her subconscious desires for protection, and the only solution they have is to trap it in a book):

A moment of weakness against resolve to continue can perhaps imply he had depression he wasn't addressing, and was likely desperate and missing things he'd sacrificed, and was vulnerable to manipulation, but none of that really indicates specifically that he was suicidal. Knowing a bad thing could happen to you - even perhaps a form of death - when performing your job doesn't necessarily make you suicidal, though it might make you a bit reckless and/or foolhardy. Firefighters are not, by definition, suicidal. And there's really no evidence that Mithrun was in his right mind when he made his wish/went with the demon. As we see with Thistle, Marcille, and Laios, the demon is a master manipulator who knows how to overwhelm its targets, where even casual things you don't actively think about can lead to your undoing.

"and for him having a place to go, he could very easily have left his dungeon and gone back to the canaries (yes they would've killed him but they likely would've just revived him) which would be the right thing to do, he knows this"

How easy would it have been for him to leave? We can see what it took to get Thistle and Marcille to leave (Thistle ultimately fell to the demon, Marcille was a special case that involved large groups of people working together to find alternate solutions), and even what the demon used to keep Laios from enacting his plan when Laios becomes lord of the dungeon (chapter 88 is really great for showing just how skilled a manipulator the demon is; and even with fail-safes, Laios + Co couldn't get around this). And it's clearly indicated from at least Kabru's perception of Mithrun's backstory that Mithrun worked hard to stop anyone from coming in to get him while he was dungeon lord. It's easy to, academically, know how to solve a problem. It's another to make it work in the field. The only reason anyone was able to drag him out was seemingly because the demon "hadn't eaten enough to build up sufficient power" and "vanished" (p.185, chapter 62: Six Days, Volume 9). Mithrun had no apparent desire to leave, and was actively working to stay, likely in part because he was under the demon's spell. He even notes in the Complete Adventurer's Guide that the demon's love is compelling to the point of mental collapse. His knowing, logically, that leaving would have saved him, did nothing for him, because a lot was working against him, including powerful magic and his own human weakness for things he could have if he stayed. And him choosing to stay, despite likely somewhere in his head knowing what would happen if he didn't leave, again doesn't make him suicidal. I doubt he was thinking of the consequences all that much: he was too focused on the fantasy the demon made for him. When you're in the middle of a high, you typically aren't thinking of the comedown.

There's also another reason he probably wasn't thinking about it, that we see with Laios (and Marcille, and even I think with Thistle): a lot of us always think we'll be the one to get one over. We think we're smart enough or strong enough to succeed where others fail. Only Laios managed to succeed in part because his plan was so ridiculous and the demon's own overconfidence got in its way. In the Adventurer's Bible, Mithrun notes that before the dungeon, he "looked down on everyone." (76). He was arrogant. I imagine that part of why he probably wouldn't have given up had he thought about his potential fate was that he thought he'd succeed in surviving. His story is very much one of hubris (e.g., his thinking for why the demon took away his eye and ear ends). In the Adventurer's Bible, we see his confidence when he approaches Milsiril to talk to her (86), and we see how he is in combat. He was confident, and self-avowedly arrogant. That's a dangerous mix.

There is some vagueness for how other dungeon lords who weren't Mithrun, Marcille, Thistle, and Laios got out of their situations: we know there are a number, because we see them in the Complete Adventurer's Bible during the group chat scene set up by Pattadol. If it's explained somewhere how they were rescued/removed, and if for some reason Mithrun knew that could be him, too, but he chose not to for specific suicidal reasons, I have no idea. cartchytuns in the notes noted that they were probably freed when Laios got rid of the demon at the end of the story, since the demon in every dungeon was all the same demon, and I think that makes a lot of sense! If this is what happened, that means even fewer dungeon lords left the dungeon of their own volition/abilities, and that decreases the likelihood that Mithrun was able to, and increases the validity that he just actively chose not to.

Mithrun was jealous, angry, arrogant, and had seemingly some form of imposter's syndrome, possibly due to being an illegitimate son when his legitimate brother was someone he viewed as inferior, but his supposed superiority didn't save him from getting sent to the Canaries, which he is bitter about. He perhaps sometimes wished at least somewhat for things he didn't and perhaps couldn't have. As he notes in the Adventurer's Bible, "And instead of [Obrin], my parents sent me to the Canaries. I couldn't forgive any of that." (76). He was also good at hiding/masking all of this and pretending to be light-hearted/have no problems and "perfect" (in Milsiril's words). He was very clearly deeply unhappy and hiding it. His already being suicidal is a neat headcanon! And good luck with it/any fics! The fun part of the story's ambiguity is how much we don't know and how fanworks can fill in those gaps! But as of this moment, I really don't see canon evidence for him being suicidal before he was abandoned by the demon.

[pocketfullofpearlies]

RISE OF RED: A TALE OF HEADS AND HEARTS

(Descendants: Rise of Red FanFiction/Reimagining)

Chapter 2

The Queen sat, awake in her bed laid with the finest red silks.

She could never sleep the night before the Heads and Hearts festival.

It was ironic how time, something that would normally pass by like lightening in Wonderland, seemed to crawl on and on when she really needed it to be fast.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself to slip into a daze.

''Come along, Bridget. Don't be scared, follow me.''

Bridget looked into the tunnel and saw nothing but darkness.

''I don't know about this, Thorne. Seems dangerous,'' she said. '' And what if we're caught?''

His eyes twinkled mischievously.

''Exactly.''

''What?''

''Come on. After me.''

''Wait,'' Bridget started to say as he sped past her. He laughed as he ran, but in seconds, the laughter turned into screams.

''Thorne? Thorne! No!''

She tried to run after him, only to be pulled back by strong arms fastened tight round her body.

''No! Let me go! No!''

''Your Majesty?''

The Queen's eyes shot open, instantly focusing on the servant's hand that lingered above her shoulder.

''What have I said about touching me?'' She asked, her voice cold and clipped.

The servant visibly shivered and stammered out her words. ''I-it w-was j-just th-that Her M-majesty was scr-screaming a-and-''

''-Enough!''

The Queen snapped her fingers, alerting the guards that were now stationed at the foot of her bed.

''Have her placed in the dungeon and prepared for beheading''

The tray bearing a bowl of rose water that the servant had been carrying clattered to the ground as she fell over in shock.

''Your Imperialness, please! I beg of you! I have a family to take care of!''

''You should have thought about that before disrespecting your Queen.''

As the sentenced servant was carried away, another scurried in through a back door and into place, bowing humbly as she presented a fresh bowl of ice-cold rose water to the Queen.

Before she started her morning routine of inhaling the rich scent and dipping her face and hands into it, she snapped to another guard at the far end of the room who rushed over to her.

''See to it that my daughter is out of her room in the next twenty minutes wearing the dress I had made for her. And get Mr. Hightopp here immediately.''

''I'm sorry, your Majesty, but who's that?'' The Guard asked.

The servant holding the tray looked up and tried to signal him with her frantically moving eyes and small head shakes.

The Queen paused and looked him dead in the eye.

''You don't know who Mr. Hightopp is? The Mad Hatter?''

''Oh! A thousand apologies, ma'am; I'm new.''

''Ah, of course,'' the Queen said, smiling tightly. ''And now you won't be able to get old. It's off with your head too!''

She snapped at the new set of guards at the foot of her bed and they snatched him up and took him away just as he began to process what she had just said.

With a sigh, the Queen gestured at the new guard coming in to replace him.

''Do exactly what I just told that hair brained buffoon to do,'' she ordered her, before turning back to continue her routine. ''And you; fetch me a fresh bowl. Extra cold!''

The guard and servant sped off, narrowly managing not to collide with each other.

''Imbeciles,'' the Queen muttered to herself.

But nothing and no one was going to ruin this day for her.

Not even the memories turning over like acrobats in the back of her mind.

♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥

Red expected the pounding knock on her door and rolled her eyes.

''P-Princess Red?''

''I'm awake!''

''Your mother asked that you be ready in twenty minutes, and you should wear the dress she had made for you.''

''Oh no,'' Red said to herself as she heard hastily retreating footsteps.

''Say, isn't that the dress you burned to a crisp the other day?'' Cheshire cat said, appearing above Red's head with a toothbrush in his mouth.

''Yup, the very one,'' Red replied, throwing off her covers.

''Wow. You're definitely setting yourself up to be chopped, huh?''

''Not funny, Chesh.''

She went into the bathroom and came out wrapped in towels, only to see about a half a dozen handmaids standing before her.

''What's all this?''

''Her Majesty, the Queen, sent us to help you get dressed, Your Highness,'' one of them answered.

Red nodded. ''Right, right. But, uh, you see the problem is, the dress my mum wants me to wear....it doesn't fit anymore. I had way too many expanding cookies the other day, you know what I mean? Bummer!''

''Oh, well that's no problem, Your Highness. Your mother had another one made.''

The handmaid stepped aside so Red could see the one directly behind her who was holding up an intricately designed, blood red and black gown similar to the ones her mother usually wore for special occasions.

Red maintained her fake smile. ''Okay, but like I said; not my size anymore.''

''That's still no issue. The Queen specifically had this one made with stretching satin. It could fit a Jabberwocky.''

''Fantastic!'' Red exclaimed. ''Could you give me some room to do my hair first, please?''

The handmaids glanced at each other nervously before another one spoke up.

''Actually, Your Highness, we were asked to do your hair and makeup ourselves, to suit your mother's taste.''

''Of course you were. Since I'm still in just a towel, wanna scrummage through my butt too? Make sure it suits my mum's tastes in there?''

They all blinked at her and she sighed.

''Whatever, let's just start.''

♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥♠♥

''Good of you to join us, Red,'' the Queen said, her voice dripping with disdain.

She was seated on a throne at the head of the heart shaped breakfast table, her meal on a heart shaped plate in front of her as Tarrant Hightopp, the Mad Hatter, and his son, Maddox, stood at her left side.

As usual, she was dressed to perfection, but her dress today was the times more intricate than her everyday ones; a black and red structural masterpiece that wrapped around her waist snugly before spreading out into a magnificent ball gown skirt that had been embroidered with blood red, heart shaped rubies to match her heart motifed makeup and hair.

Red gave her mother and all the guards and servants around a close-lipped smile as she struggled under the weight of her hair, which been styled into a gigantic heart atop her head.

She sat at her seat on the other end of the table, uncomfortable as the fancy dress she wore dug into her skin.

''What do you have for me, Tarrant?'' the Queen asked, beginning to cut into her bacon.

''Some bad news, I'm afraid, Your Majesty.''

The Queen dropped her fork and knife, looking at him directly.

''Go on, then.''

''Your Majesty, it's about your portrait that was in the Royal Courtyard. It seems a vandal came in the night and -well- vandalised it with paint and playing cards.''

Red and Maddox shared a quick glance, both of their heart rates picking up.

''A vandal, you say?'' The Queen sounded almost amused. ''Well, the Royal Courtyard is a heavily guarded place, isn't it? Where were the guards?''

''Well, Your Majesty. They were shrunken at the time of the vandalization.''

''Shrunken?''

''By means of shrinking cookies, according to them.''

''Right, right. And this vandal; surely, the state of the art security camera system that you created and installed should have caught whoever they were?''

''On a regular night, yes, Your Majesty. But as I checked the footage, I noticed that the camera lenses had been covered in what appeared to be a gelatinous substance.''

The Queen's right eye twitched slightly. ''So..jelly? Jelly is the reason that the vandal isn't kneeling before me right now begging for their life?''

''Unfortunately, Your Majesty.''

''Oh, it's a good thing you said the word 'unfortunately', Tarrant. Because things are about to become even more unfortunate.''

The Queen snapped at one of the guards.

''Get me all the guards that were on duty at the Royal Courtyard last night. NOW!''

The guard left quickly and she turned to her daughter.

''Red, you were outside last night...did you see anything?''

All the blood in Red's face drained and she felt herself get pale, but she shook her head.

''Mum, come on. Let's not do this. Can't we just remove one of the tons and tons of portraits of you here and place it in the Courtyard? Plus, we have a time schedule to meet, don't we? Heads and Hearts Festival is supposed to start in an hour.''

''I rule Wonderland, so I say when anything, and I mean anything is supposed to start. Nothing starts without me saying it does.''

As she rounded up her statement, the guards arrived, heart shaped handcuffs on each one of their hands.

''Well, if it isn't the idiots who couldn't watch over my gorgeous and expensive portrait. KNEEL!''

All the guards went down on their knees, trembling with fear.

The Queen had a small, sick smile on her wine red lips as she watched them.

''I'm not even going to ask for any details,'' she said. '' Or maybe I should....it would make me even angrier than I am now.''

''Your Majesty....have mercy,'' one of the guards begged, tears and snot streaming down his face in an embarrassing combination.

'The Queen laughed; a high pitched, manic laugh that stopped at her mouth and didn't reach the rest of her face.

''I'm being merciful right now by not skewering you like a kebab with your own spear,'' she said, drily.

Guilt was beginning to eat Red up and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

''Mum, I- ''

''-It seems you have a lot of ideas today, Red,'' The Queen snapped. ''How about you suggest how best I deal with these numbskulls?''

The air in Red's lungs seized and her mouth hung open.

''I,uh...I..''

'' And you had better make the punishment a good one, or it'll be your head on the chopping block.''

Red caught Maddox's gaze again, then turned to look at the kneeling guards.

''I can't, Mum,'' she managed to say.

The Queen's eyes blazed in anger. ''Are you really going to embarrass me in front of everyone like this?''

Red opened her mouth to speak but the words came out as a croak.

''Is this what I pay you to teach her, Tarrant? To go against me so blatantly?''

''Your Majesty, I get paid to teach Princess Red all she needs to know as a royal. That includes regular school subjects, etiquette and elocution, not how she should rule,'' the Mad Hatter replied.

''Really?'' The Queen drawled. ''I'll have you know that it is your years of friendship and good service that is keeping your head on your shoulders right now.''

Suddenly, a servant ran in, waving a letter in his right hand.

''Your Majesty!'' He called out, attracting the attention of everyone in the dining room.

Maddox stepped aside to collect the letter from him.

''It's from Auradon Prep. Signed by the Principal, Uma.''

That caught the Queen's attention. ''Uma? Ursula' s girl? She took over the school? Impressive.''

''Actually, no, Your Majesty,'' Maddox said. ''Uma was chosen for the position by King Ben and Queen Mal as part of their Auradon-Isle alliance.''

The Queen scoffed and rolled her huge, expressive brown eyes, that had been expertly lined with red.

''I still can't believe that forest rat's daughter couldn't go through with her mother's plans. And then what? She marries a guy whose father spent decades as a literal rabid animal, and we're supposed to take them all seriously?''

''Um, w-well, the letter seems to have been sent for Princess Red, Your Majesty,'' Maddox said, not quite knowing how to respond to her rant.

''For me?'' Red asked, the exact same time as her mother asked, ''For Red?''

Maddox looked carefully at the envelope again and nodded.

''Give it to me,'' the Queen ordered, stretching out a manicured hand.

She snatched the letter from Maddox and tore the envelope open with one of her stiletto nails.

The letter floated, twinkling with Auradonian magic and began to read itself out in Uma's voice.

''Greetings-''

''-Oh hush!'' the Queen snarled, making the letter go silent instantly.

She grabbed it and read through the contents, an undecipherable expression clouding her face the further she went.

The rest of the room waiting silently with bated breath.

''What's it say, Mum?'' Red eventually questioned, curiosity loosening her tongue.

The Queen put down the letter and looked at her.

''They want you at Auradon Prep. As a student.''

''Wait, what? You're joking, right?''

''I do not joke, Redwina.''

''Okay...but I know I'm not going.''

''On the contrary. You will go and attend Auradon Prep.''

Red looked around, trying to see if everyone was hearing what was.

''Huh?''

The Queen clapped her hands and guards came to lift up her throne from the ground.

''Go get changed and pack up a trunk; we leave at once,'' she said simply. '' Tarrant, you and your boy, assist Red. As for the rest of you, remain here till I'm back.''

The guards carried the Queen's throne away as Red sunk back into her seat.

''What just happened?'' she asked Maddox.

''Honestly, I don't know either, Princess,'' he said.

The Mad Hatter took off his hat and pulled out a full shot glass, downing it all in one gulp.

''I'll be in the Shoppe, son. You take care of Her Highness,'' he said to Maddox.

Maddox nodded and walked over to Red, offering her a hand.

''Come on, Princess.''

Still dazed by her mother's abrupt decision, Red managed to stand up, and Maddox led her all the way to her room.

Once she was safe within her own space, Red sank down to the floor.

''She wants to ship me off to Auradon all of a sudden? No! This is definitely a trap....some kind of excuse to have me killed where no one would be able to save me.''

Maddox crouched down next to her and rubbed her back to calm her down.

''Maybe you should give your mother more credit, Princess. I know for a fact that the letter was authentic.''

''But why? She didn't even let me attend school here like you and other Wonderland kids, and suddenly she's okay with me attending some fancy boarding school in a kingdom she detests? I don't get it Mads.....I'm scared.''

Red was shaking as Maddox hugged her to himself.

''It's okay, Princess,'' he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. ''It's all gonna be okay.''

She sniffled, syrup-like tears streaming from her eyes and smudging her heavy makeup.

''Think of it this way; you'll be away from your mother's control, in a kingdom that supports individuality and self expression. You won't have to hide or lie or trick anyone with weird snacks to be yourself,'' he told her. ''And you'll be interacting with other royals your age and learning from the best tutors and lecturers of all time. It'll be great.''

They were both lying on their backs on the floor at this point, hands intertwined.

''I suppose when you put it like that...''

''And, hey. If there's any trouble or you absolutely hate it, you could use this.''

He rummaged in his pocket with his free hand, eventually pulling out what appeared to be a thick pocket watch held with a crystalline rope.

Red gasped. ''The time machine! But I thought that-''

''-It could still destroy all time and life as we know it,'' he warned. ''So please, I literally beg of you; don't use it unless it's really, really necessary.''

''Okay,'' she said, attempting to take it.

Maddox raised it out of her reach and she made a face.

''I mean it, Red,'' he said firmly.

The use of her real name shook her slightly and she nodded.

''I'm trusting you with my life and yours and everyone else's by giving you this, Princess,'' he added, sitting up and pulling her up with him.

''I know,'' Red said as he placed the small device in her hands.

She looked at it, wrapping the rope round her fingers as she admired its simple intricacy.

''I won't let you down, Maddox. I promise,'' she told him, making the boy smile.

He had such a pleasantly handsome face, with strong features that somehow managed to appear gentle, coupled with tanned skin smothered with freckles and dancing green eyes canopied by thick, silvery eyelashes.

As he turned his face away slightly to hid his flushed cheeks, Red leaned over and gave him a soft peck, leaving a heart shaped lipstick print on his cheek.

Maddox faced her sharply, his breath hitching.

''What was that?'' he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Red smiled, her eyes getting watery again. ''That was 'thank you'.''

He reached his hand out hesitantly and she lowered her cheek into his palm, immediately wetting it with tears.

''I'm not sure when next we'll see each other, '' she said, looking up at him.

''Can I....say goodbye?''

His voice was filled with emotion, and his eyes that were fixed on hers told her everything she needed to know.

''Yes.''

With that, Maddox leaned in and kissed Red, using his hand under her cheek to position her better as his other hand went to her waist.

Red's eyes fluttered as she kissed his back with equal intensity, enjoying the feel of his soft lips caressing hers.

He held her gently but firmly, each movement eliciting reactions in his body he had never felt before.

''Princess,'' was all he managed to say when they paused for a second to catch their breath.

Her slightly swollen lips stretched into a smile but quickly parted to let out a gasp-like moan as he placed his lips on her neck.

She reached her hands upwards, knocking off his hat and sinking her fingers into his silky curls as he sucked on her neck with open mouthed kisses.

His one hand on her waist drew her towards him as close as she could possibly be in her fancy gown and she shivered at the sensation.

Eventually, he pulled his lips away from her neck and they shared a tender look, eyes speaking a thousand words as their chests heaved with effort, just about to continue when a knock sounded on the door.

''Princess Red? Your mother wants you to hurry it up. She says you have to be in Auradon by this afternoon.''

Red groaned and buried her face in Maddox's chest.

He rubbed she shoulders, planting gentle kisses on each of them.

''How 'bout I give you some room to change and then come back to help you pack?''

''Okay.''

He stood up from the floor and helped her to her feet.

''See you in a bit, Princess,'' he said, giving her a brief but passionate kiss before he left.

Cheshire Cat slowly appeared as Red smiled at Maddox's retreating figure.

''Well that was as steamy as it was boring,'' he said, making her jump.

''Way to ruin a perfect moment, Chesh,'' Red retorted, rolling her eyes and kicking off her shoes.

''Tick-tock, Reddy Red. Auradon awaits,'' he said in a sing-song voice, fading away gradually till only his smirk floated in the air.

Taking a breath, Red went to the bathroom and filled her tub with water.

Once it was almost at the top she stuck her huge contraption of hair into it, letting the water dislodge all the gels and sprays that held it in place.

Then she went over to her sink and scrubbed her face clean of her mother's prescribed makeup.

She looked at her reflection, hair drenched and dripping her face and smiled.

Auradon would soon get to meet Princess Red 2.0.

Chapter 3:

https://www.tumblr.com/pocketfullofpearlies/762187532638306304/rise-of-red-a-tale-of-heads-and?source=share

A\N: Hi everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Don't forget to like and repost. Kk, bye<3

[kiwi-tmntfan]

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My TMNT iteration: #rpwasobt My art: #my art Random stuff idk: #kiwi scraps Texts from my cousin (And other people sometimes): #texts from my cousin Asks: #kiwi answers

I had changed my blog url at some point, so if any links are broken pls lmk and I will fix it 👍

RPWaSoBT blog: @rawpizzawithasideofburnttoast Side blog (for extra random stuff idk): @kiwi-scraps

Interests: Drawing Rainbow Loom Video editing Flute ~~~~~ Birds Marine animals Wild cats ~~~~~ Wild Kratts TMNT (mainly 2012, Rise, MM/TotTMNT atm) STH (mainly Sonic Prime, TMoStH) Marvel (mainly MCU) Alvin and the Chipmunks (movies) Dwampyverse (P&F, MML, H&G) DuckTales (2017) Avatar: The Last Airbender Hamilton Detroit: Become Human

Currently watching: Stranger Things (season three) Tales of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles The Afterparty (season one) Toradora! Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 1987 (season one) My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic (season one) Recently finished: Delicious in Dungeon Bluey Sonic Prime

[massivedreamer]

THREE DAYS

Pairing: Dave York x Cartel boss Fem!Reader

Summary: The greatest thing Dave York will ever learn is to be loved… and to love in return.

Rating: E

Word count: 6,304

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, language and explicit content, no age gap, no use of y/n, use of a nickname, no physical description. Kidnapping and captivity (don’t worry, David's a big boy and it all ends up consensually), mentions of corruption, drugs, violence, prostitution, child trafficking, illicit activities in general, infidelity, invasion to privacy, masturbation (male/female), unprotected p in v (don't do it at home, kids), rough sex turns vanilla cause two baddies are in love, face riding, doggy style, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cream pie, emotional orgasm. I think that covers it all.

A/N: This is some psycho killer rom com fever, I have no idea where it all came from but I'm a Pisces so there's that.

My first fic in a long, loooong time and my first Pedro's boys related tale. Encouraged to go back to the writing path by the lovely @lavendertales. English is not my native language, so please, forgive any trespassing. Written for the @pedrostories 's celebration (Did I make it before the deadline??)

Hope you like it and do let me know what you all think!

Yes, there's also a PLAYLIST

The kidnapping was the easiest part. Dave York´s daily routine must have been as predictable as his sex life with the wifey. It was disappointing, really. Your team had only surveillanced him for a couple of days and got his schedules and routes all figured out. For a DIA agent, not to mention a DIA agent-turned-mercenary, he had been sloppy. Lazy. The enemies gained through so many years of being a traitor and a greedy scumbag were all out there. Did he really think he was safe living his suburban life? Wasn't he scared his side job would have consequences at any point?

Did Dave York really consider the possibility of you forgetting him? 

Of course, you sent Chet. He was your chosen brother, your lieutenant, your most loyal dog. Even though he could have done it alone, he took three of the new boys with him. He had personally trained them and thought this task as their perfect baptism of fire. The jet would be waiting. Your newest runway for the Washington deliveries, paid by unaware constituents, would be ready for the illegal flight in which only Dave would be sent to California. To the mansion/dungeon they had just finished building according to your specifications, somewhere in the desert. 

-“Not again…” said Dave, rather calmly and through the hood once he could sit up and hear Chet´s voice. He could recognize that ridiculous high pitched male tone anywhere. “¿What the fuck does she want now?” 

–” I don´t know, York. And it's not my place to give a fuck. But I hope it hurts”. Chet turned to the driver and whispered instructions on how to get to the private tarmac, fast but inconspicuously. 

Dave chuckled and kept his cool, but on the inside, he began to worry. They had seized and crushed his iPhone as soon as they got him in the truck. Carol would soon start freaking out if he didn't answer her messages. Why the hell didn't he bring the satellite tracker today? He tried to guess where they were going, paying attention to the stops, the turns, the sounds. He could definitely recognize when they were passing Constitution Ave. But that was it. He had the feeling the directions Chet was giving the driver were solely to confuse him. After a while, the rhythm of the vehicle became monotone. They were cruising a highway. But, which one? Nevermind. It was obvious that the destination was in the outskirts of DC. 

- “Out, York!” 

Trying to deliver his most menacing voice, Chet yanked Dave by the arm and handed him to someone else. The highway trip was about 20 minutes and even though he was still with his head covered, it didn't take too much effort for him to realize they had arrived in some sort of an airport. She is definitely thriving. 

- “I guess we´re not going to Cozum…?”

Dave didn't have the chance to finish the joke. The needle did its job perfectly. You couldn't risk your favorite bad boy using his legendary photographic memory, not even from the air. 

A white room.

A bed. 

A chair.

One small window.

Sunlight.

What time was it? What day was it?

Shit. Dave opened his eyes and before moving a muscle, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He had to make sure he was the only one in that cell. Because that's where he was. You had put him behind fucking bars. He´d be lying if he hadn't considered the possibility of going to prison someday. But that you were going to be his judge, jury and executor? 

In the upper left corner of the locked room, there was a discreet, up-to-date camera that definitely recorded sound. Two speakers, matching the color of the walls, were hanging at each side of the bed. It was a California King Size. All of the sudden, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby” started blasting through them. Dave sat up and some obscene flashes from the recent past slapped his memory. And, unexpectedly, fueled his groin. 

-”There´s not coming back from this. Did you know that, right?” – Dave spoke over the loud music, not sure if you were able to hear him. “You kidnapped a federal agent. You´re fucked!”   

Donna stopped abruptly but you continued the singing. You always had a lovely voice. In another life, you could have been a terrific singer. “IIIIIIII… love to love you babyyyy…!” 

“Did you change your number?” – you asked, with a fake curiosity. “I cannot seem to reach you anymore…” You sighed, almost moaned. 

“I only updated my spam call list” – Dave answered, nonchalantly. “What do you want, Killer Q?”

“ I can’t stop thinking about you” 

“ Awww...  You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby…” – Dave laughed. 

That laughter hurt. Look at what this motherfucker does to you. One year ago, you were the most ruthless woman that had ever set foot in the drug trafficking industrial complex. As a boss. And in the US, of all places. Your facade of a succesful businesswoman, though a cliché, was more than efficient. The reality was that you had become the cocaine Godmother, the meth Empress, the Goddess of opioid. Your name had started to be known across the substances’ world, with a reputation forged under seas of blood. Every single poor devil, with so little brain to disrespect you and everything you had to go through to get where you were, was either impaired or underneath some surface. 

And you were a witty bitch. While supervising the traditional kneecapping session reserved for dealers with dreams of entrepreneurism, you love to deliver some really funny lines. And yet, Dave York mocking you, left you speechless.

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then I guess Muhammad must kidnap the mountain…” – You were back. 

“I thought we were done doing business” – Dave started losing his confidence. Not knowing what the hell you wanted started to have its effect on him. Deep down, and after all he had seen and heard, he had to admit he was a bit afraid of you.

“Business?” – you tried to disguise your vulnerability. “So, I’m just another deal to you, huh? 

“Yes…" –Dave looked at the ceiling – "And no? I thought you and I were benefiting from each other AND having fun.” 

There was a silence that, by no means, you intended to float so heavy in the air.

“Well, I guess for me… it turned into something more than entertainment…” 

You had to close the mic to drink from the Evian bottle. You hadn’t planned to spill your truth in the first minute of conversation but there you were. Finally, admitting it. Out loud.

Were you going to say the word though? One thing was for sure: you had never felt like this. Let's be honest: a 13 year old, lured out of her miserable home, from a miserable town, having her soul ripped by men and their huffs and grunts, every single night, for a decade, was never meant to be the fairytale princess archetype. And other 10 years of her life, just surviving, lowering her head, listening to the important conversations, connecting with the right people, even escaping slavery through a marriage of convenience with a kingpin, didn’t contribute much to her personal knowledge of what love was. Or is? 

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” – you demanded. 

“What do you want me to say?” – Sat at the edge of the bed and in the absence of the woman confessing such feelings for him, Dave just kept staring at the wall. “That I still don’t know why I’m here?”

“Oh you do…” – you sounded darker – “Think”

“Wait… Do you wanna have sex with me, Killer Q? Is that it?” 

Now you were the one laughing. 

“Oh my God… Men. Why are you all so basic? – You were enjoying this – Do you really think that if I only wanted to fuck you, you’d be in that cell, without me all over you? C’mon, try harder, York…” 

“Do I really have a choice…?” Dave mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, his brain trying to come up with what scheme could be the closest to the one in your mind. You made it clear it wasn’t sex. Money, maybe? Extortion. You were infatuated and planning to send some incriminating material to Carol. You surely could have set up the equipment to record your encounters. Vegas? Last Spring? That’s when Donna played over and over, right? Memorable. 

You watched through the monitor and smiled at the sight of the supposedly cold mercenary, slightly blushing. 

“What do you feel for me, Dave?” 

“Right now, I hate you.” 

“I doubt that, baby… I got a better idea. It’s getting late, I’m tired and I need to go to bed. It’s sad we can’t share it yet. We will. But first you´ll have to seriously examine your actions, thoughts and, most importantly, your feelings in the recent time" – you took a long pause – "so you can be more honest with your responses in the next three days we’ll spend together. Night night, David” 

"What? Wait! Three whole motherfucking days here?!” Dave was equally outraged and concerned. “I’m hungry! And…” - he hesitated and lowered his voice – “What about going to the bathroom and…?”

Two sliding doors opened almost in unison. One, small and by the bed, produced a tray with some delicious seafood dish, a glass of Chardonnay and a generous portion of Creme Brulee. The other entrance, bigger and near the main gate, showed him a luxurious bathroom, with a change of comfortable clothes and toiletries.

“You have two hours until the lights are off”

Day ONE

Daylight bathed the cell and Dave was surprised by how soundly he had slept. It must have been some residual effect from whatever tranquilizer they gave him before getting him in the jet. Or was it maybe that he felt comfortable? Bullshit. He was the renowned CIA agent David York and this was a dangerous situation. Even infatuated as you claimed to be, you were a threat. And, come on… you didn’t mean anything to him. He’s had his pretty decent share of affairs and he had come to terms with his cheating asshole condition. You were no different from the parade of office girls who begged on their knees for one more night of cuffs, lube and discarded condoms, right?

Right.

Still in bed, Dave looked longingly in the direction of the food door, mentally begging for a black coffee, no sugar, scrambled eggs and bacon. Not knowing the time was slowly driving him crazy. He trusted his appetite and the sun elevation angle to say it was close to noon. Of who knows what day but it was something. He went to the bathroom and freshened up.

“Uhmm.. Hello?” — Dave talked to the air, in the hopes you presented once more, vocally. Not that he was particularly interested in hearing your voice again or anything. “I could use some breakfast, you know? By the way, dinner last night was awesome. If you tell me where we are, I would highly recommend this place on TripAdvisor!” 

Nothing.

Nada.

Wait.

There was something.

Suddenly, and as if he was in a real hotel and some nextdoor honeymooners were doing what honeymooners usually do in hotels, Dave started to hear some lewd sounds coming from somewhere nearby. At first, it was barely audible, which made it difficult to pinpoint the source. But it rose to a crescendo, getting higher, clearer. Hotter. Dave realized it was not coming from any place near the cell but from the speakers crowning his prisoner bed. 

“Give it to me, daddy…! Ohh…Fuckfuckfuckfuck… Yesyesyesyeyes!”

It was you. You were fucking some random dude and broadcasting it live and in stereo. For him to be the only audience.

"Ooooh Gooood…Yeaaah… Harder! Please! Please! Pleaaaase! I’m so close! Make me come! No one can make me come like you, daddy…!” 

Dave was standing in the middle of the room, hands on the hips, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. If this was your strategy, it was beyond pathetic. The skin slapping skin sound was getting louder and faster. You sounded so satisfied, kept moaning and begging. Dave had to admit that the guy was doing a great job. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just panting and grunting. There was something about him though. The noises he was making, the pace he was fucking you… The only sexual activity Dave had eavesdropped in his life was his dorm roommate, back in college, 25 years ago. And after all that time, he still recalled it was a lousy job. So, even though there were no parameters to be based on, in this case, Dave could strangely tell, just by listening to his performance, that for this guy it wasn’t just sex. What a loser, putting so much care into making you come, probably watching your face in ecstasy, proud of himself, thinking you’d adore him afterwards…

You came. Hard. 

“What are you doing?” – Dave was done.

A giant screen popped up from one of the walls, revealing some truly NSFW scenes. So it was not just audio after all. There you were… and Dave York, fucking you senseless, chasing his own high in that Colorado cabin, last time you were together. 

“You mean, what are we doing?” – you sounded so full of yourself. 

“Take it off” – He was watching the video, weirdly mesmerized. - “Take. It. Off”

“Oh but here comes the best part! - You imitated a little girl who didn’t want to go to sleep.

“Take it off. Or I will “ – Dave grabbed the chair and walked in a menacing way towards the screen.

His movements in the video were frantic. His beautifully formed butt, hammering between your legs, was the star of the piece.  He was about to watch himself reaching orgasm, with a woman who wasn’t his wife. What a piece of shit he was.

“Ooooh fuuuuuuck… unnngh… I fuck…ing.. I... fucking LOVE YOU…”

Dave dropped the chair and the screen went to black. It’s not that he didn’t remember saying that. The problem was that he had been trying to forget that he said it. He composed himself.

“You gotta be kidding me…” – he chuckled and calmly returned the chair to its place – “Really? What’s your point with all this?” 

“I think it’s quite obvious, David” – you lit up a cigarette and reclined in your leather armchair. 

“You know? I thought you were crazy, but with this, you’ve exceeded my expectations”  – Dave didn’t try to conceal his rage anymore – “Do you really believe that the shit we say during sex is meaningful?!”

“I have a question for you, Dave. If this thing between us was nothing, why didn’t you stop calling me? Because let me remind you that it was you who looked for me. Not the other way around” 

You were right. He desperately tried to find a plausible answer to your question. “Well, I guess it´s because you´re a great fuck, Q.”

“I am. In fact, I absolutely excel in bed. ” – You paused – “And yet, none of all the men I’ve been with, not a single one of those motherfuckers really wanted to see me again after a couple of times” 

Dave remained in silence.

“Oh but you were only ‘having fun’ with me for, what? Almost 2 years now? – Yes, you were counting –  “Until you cut me off completely, last week. Excuse me for only being sensical at reading this situation, York"

He had to admit you were right.

 “So tell me… What happened? Little Carol found out about your feelings?”

“Don’t you bring Carol into this…”

“Oh but she already is! What was it? – You fake a gasp – Did you say my name while making love to her tenderly…?”

“Shut up!” – Dave almost growled. 

“Sorry” – you said, sincerely.

“What?” 

“I don’t want to antagonize you, Dave. It’s just…”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why you kidnapped me…” 

“You gave me no choice, Dave. Look, I know you think I’m a heartless woman. I myself thought I was. This is my desperate measure, to my desperate times. I love you. – You fought the impending tears with all your strength – And call me crazy all you want, but I know for sure you love me back. That’s why you ghosted me. It scares the shit out of you feeling something like this for someone like me.”

Dave couldn’t think of any explanatory response. Because, in fact, he had none.

The little door suddenly opened, showing a bistec with a colorful salad, his non-optional lunch offer for the day, that went uneventful after your mic turned off.   

Day TWO

Nothing had happened since the dawn of that second day. Dave hoped you were having second thoughts and maybe were planning on releasing him. He also questioned himself if that’s what he wanted. After a quick shower, he noticed night had finally fallen in whatever place this majestic prison was located. He had no clue what time it was and, honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. While laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was the only entertainment he could find, Carol and the girls suddenly came to his mind. What would they be doing right now? He felt for them. Even though he had long come to accept that he didn’t love Carol anymore, he truly valued her. She was a great woman, a perfect mother, and at this point, a resilient wife. And his daughters… They were the most beautiful beings he could have produced and the only decent footprint he will leave on this Earth. What would they think of him if he divorced their mom? Dave mentally punched himself for considering that.

Complete darkness swallowed the cell. Of course, it was getting late for the daily event. All lights went dead except for the big screen that suddenly started showing some CCTV images. It was Dave’s street. 

“Have you been to my home too, Q? Pfff, I don’t know why I’m surprised…”

There was not a comeback from your part. 

After a few minutes, it was clear that the footage was an edition from different days, but at similar hours. Dave realized that in those cuts there was something concerning. The same man appeared  to be jogging, but discreetly glancing at his house. Everyday. He was wearing different sporty outfits and anyone could think he was simply a neighbor trying to be fit. But for the trained eye of Dave York, it was easy to understand that that guy was something else. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember the job I got you, 6 months ago, for that Qatar minister? You and your men failed, Dave. They launched an investigation over the dude. And he eventually had to resign. Guess what? He isn’t the forgiving type. He came to me and asked for your personal inform…”

“You put my family in danger, you fucking psycho?!” Have you lost your mind?

“Do you really think that your family would still be alive had I done that, York? 

“Q, you have to let me go” – Dave didn't want to joke anymore – “I need to warn them. Please, let me just do this and I promise, I swear on their lives, you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Please.” 

That pleading made you fall even more in love with him. 

Dave kept watching the footage, terrified of what could be coming next. The video was fast forwarded and he could see as the jogger, who was running his usual target street, crouched and pretended to tie his shoelaces. All of the sudden, he disappeared behind a white van that passed by him and slowed down right where he was. He never reappeared after the van kept on going. A knife was left abandoned on the pavement. Exactly 15 seconds after that, the Mercedes with Carol and the girls turned around the corner, coming back from school. Now Dave remembered the night his wife had commented how weird it was finding that knife in the middle of their street. Dave didn't think anything of it.

"Sometimes I ponder how easy and convenient it would've been for me to let that "tragedy" to happen"

"What about Al-Salim? He could send more people…"

"He fell into depression. And sadly took his own life back in Qatar, the very afternoon this healthy man suffered a heart attack, at the entrance of the George Washington hospital. Dark coincidence, don't you think?"

Dave was at a loss for words for the longest moment. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you’d done for his family. For him. 

"I guess… you don't need my services anymore. It seems like now I can hire you for this kind of job. Thank you, Q" 

The screen went dead and it was pitch black again. Dave didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Aren't you curious about how I hacked your security camera?  And your home intranet, DIA agent?" – your tone was playful again.

Your voice wasn’t coming through the speakers anymore but from right outside his cell. Like in a theatrical performance, the beam of a projector somehow lit up only you and your body. There you were, no make up, loose hair, sitting on a kitchen chair and wearing nothing but a white long dress. The powerful lightning made you look like a sexy specter. 

“How are you Dave? Comfortable, I hope” – You crossed your legs and adopted the pose of a therapist who was about to have her first session with a new patient. 

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it” – Dave was not lying. 

“I suppose you do. Tell me, do you also sit in the dark at home, late at night, when you Google me?

“Oh, please… Don’t flatter yourself, Killer Q”

“Please, your Honor! I have some unmistakable evidence to substantiate my case…”

You stood up and the projector revealed, over your curves, recordings from a computer screen, where your name appeared, over and over again, in searchings with a variety of word combinations that ultimately lead to the same topic: your romantic life. Your name + the terms “boyfriend”, “dating”, “partners”, “love life”, “marriage plans”, “past relationships”. 

 Dave felt his face on fire and thanked the darkness for concealing it.

“That could be anyone's computer”

The images of the hacked screen then changed to a divided layout of his deceitful puppy eyes, his hands on the keyboard in which he was entering the terms, all matching the dates and times of the searches you previously and sensually had helped showcasing. 

“I think that’s your computer, agent York.”

You got up and came closer to the cell, took down the dress straps, one at the time, and let it fall to the floor. You could barely see Dave but you could sense his eyes roaming your naked body. Neither of you said a word. You ceremoniously came back to the chair and sat again, feeling the wetness that had been accumulating since he had thanked you for saving his family. 

“I just know it, Dave. Please, just say it” – you begged with hooded eyes.

The projector was now bathing you with a soft shade of pink, matching the glistening between your legs, on full display for your prisoner to see. When you started circling your clit, your nipples rock hard even before getting undressed, you knew you were not going to last. On the other side of the bars, Dave was breathing heavily and his bulge began pulsing. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t give in to the need to pull his cock out and get himself off to the magnificent scene he was witnessing. He had always thought your body was glorious, even with your scars. Maybe, because of them. 

“Baby… Mmmm… can’t you see? This is… all… yours… Oh… I… am yours…”

You were stabbing your cunt with two fingers, curving them at the right place, at the right rhythm. The sounds you were making, increasingly wetter, desperately faster. One foot on the ground, the other stepping on the spindle, you had definitely used that wooden chair for sinful exercises before. And your moans echoed in the room where Dave was. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, gulping and palming himself, fully erect and finally doing what he very much had resisted. You could hear him and it turned you on even more. Almost standing up, you went back to your clit, frantically rubbing it, keeping your eyes fixed in Dave’s direction. When he saw you come, it was like looking at some goddess sculpture, with a gaping mouth expression, frozen in ecstasy for a few seconds, screaming his name right after. Spitting his hand and fisting himself, once, twice, thrice, Dave spilled his seed all over the tile floor. Panting and slightly sweating, still in the dark, he watched you approach the cell again, still naked and with a satisfied grin on your face. Your hand, still covered in your juices, went straight to grab one of the door metal bars and smudge it with your flavor. Then, you picked up your dress, gave Dave one last look and left. Everything went dark again. But before any light would turn on and gave him away, Dave rushed to the door and licked what you had left for him.   

Later in the shower he had to take care of himself for a second time.  

Day THREE

A huge smash woke Dave from one of the best sleepings he had had in a long time. The lack of proper rest in the past 48 hours had been highly balanced out by the self pleasure activities shared with you the previous night. In his haze, he could hear that there was some commotion out there but, again, he was unable to determine the source. “What is it gonna be today…” He rubbed his eyes and then rolled them. 

Dave stood up and walked to the door, grabbed the bars and listened closely. There were two voices. They were arguing. And it didn’t sound pretty. “You don’t understand! It’s not because of you! That was definitely your voice. “Why the fuck do you even bother? With him? I always stood by you, you ungrateful bitch…!” 

Chet. 

Wait. Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Dave was baffled. He had always thought your loyal lieutenant was a rampant homosexual.  “Chet, stop it, please!” You sounded more and more scared, on the verge of tears, almost. Dave’s heart started racing, his knuckles turning white while squeezing the bars of the door. It was like Chet was bringing the whole house down. Glass crashing, furniture flying, walls being punched. Then Dave heard a slap and a muffled gasp. And he lost it. 

“Cheeeet! You coward piece of shit, leave her alone!!! You want me??? Here I am!! Come and get me, fucker!!!” 

Dave started furiously kicking the bars, of course, to no avail. He searched and searched, for some sign of a door opening device, while he kept hearing your screamings. He scanned the cell and looked at the chair. The window. He probably was not going to be able to break it, or fit into it but at that point anything was worth trying. He stepped on the chair when suddenly everything went quiet. Fearing the worst, he stepped down. The screen turned on and there it was your face. Dave York never thought the day would come when he’d get to see you in such a state. Your hair in disarray, reddened puffy eyes, bloody lips and sheer terror plastered in your expresion. Still so beautiful. You were whispering to the camera installed in the control room from where you clearly operated all these days, looking to your side every five seconds, afraid of Chet entering any minute. 

“I’m so sorry Dave! – you were sobbing but quickly tried to get yourself together – “There’s a panel… uhm… hidden, on the inside wall… it's the right side… No! Sorry! Sorry! Left side by the cell door! You give it a little push and…” – you froze and glanced at your flank –  “It will show a big red button…You push it and it will open the door. Please, you gotta help me, please! He’s gonna kill me, Dave…! Forgive me, I was so stup…”

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed you by the hair and yanked you out of the frame. The screen went dark.

Dave heard three gunshots somewhere nearby.

He rushed to the door and followed your instructions. Once he was free he ran like a madman. He didn’t recognize himself, feeling a desperation so uncommon for a cold mercenary like he had been for so long. It was corridor after corridor, and they all looked the same. The walls were slightly curved, lacking any pictures or decoration. The little windows above his head, just like in his cell, provided great lightning, but he couldn't help thinking it was like being inside a pantheon. He tried one door, then another. And another. They were all locked. It resembled a mental facility, Greek style. At last, Dave reached a T turn and when he looked, it was a long corridor on both sides. But to the left there was something he hadn't encountered so far: an opened door. In fact, it was ajar. Dave came to the frightening realization that Chet could still be around, armed. While he only had his bare hands. He cautiously entered and came across your control center. A dozen monitors, a camera, a microphone and a tumbled armchair. Some screens were still transmitting video from different parts of the house and Dave instinctively looked for the one broadcasting from his dungeon. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you, laying still on the California King. Dave didn’t stay to check on your state through the monitor but ran through the door and raced the corridors again, trying to remember the path back to the place he had been for the past three days. Were you passed out? Or were you dead? Focus, Dave. Hurry up. 

“Wow. For someone who only had fun with me, that’s… pretty moving, baby”

Dave had run so fast the last part of the hallway leading to the cell, that he virtually bounced on the ending wall. It would’ve been almost comedical if he hadn’t launched like an animal to the now closed jail door. When he desperately looked inside it, there you were. Unharmed, gorgeous, laying on your belly holding your head with your hands, looking at Dave with innocent eyes. Naked. He was trying to catch his breath, holding the metal bars, looking down. A smile, one that you had never seen on him, appeared on his face when he lifted his head and gazed at you. 

“Let me in” – Dave said in a deep whisper. His smile was gone and his eyes were almost black. 

“Have you had enough time to think about our conversations…?” 

“Let me in” 

“You know? I’m not so sure… What are your plans to spend this lovely afternoon in this cozy space with… me?”

“I want to eat”

Your cunt pulsed at those words. Dave looked indeed like a vampire.

You stood up and went to the opening panel, taking your time, walking painfully close to Dave, cold metal as the only barrier preventing him from pouncing on you. You finally gave a push to the red button and the cell was open. Dave stood still, leaning on the threshold. 

“This isn't what I signed up for when I joined the DIA”

“What?  Consorting with criminals…?”

“Falling for the fiercest of them” 

Dave charged and lifted you in one powerful move. And you held onto him for dear life, your mouth colliding with his, so happy you could cry. You locked your legs around him while he carried you until you both crashed against the nearest wall. Dave stopped for air. He caressed your cheek and took a good look at your face, every inch of it, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He once again tried to devour your lips but you put your fingers on his mouth. 

“Wait... Can I ask you something?

“Fire up” 

You both giggled.

“I don’t want you to fuck me…” 

“But…” 

“I want you to make love to me”

Dave's perplexed reaction turned to a sassy one. 

“How many orgasms do you think you can handle?”

“Five”

“I like those odds” 

He put you down, laid back on the bed and went upwards in the direction of the headboard. 

“Up, Q”

You moaned loudly when you sat on his face and Dave started his attack on your pussy. His tongue had been there hundreds of times now. And yet it felt like it was the first time he was licking and sucking your folds like that. 

“Oh my.. God… Dave… Keep going, like that, please, oooh please…!”

His brown eyes alternated between being open and fixed on you and closed due to the pleasure. The noises he was making, how your juices began dripping down his stubble, the way he was gripping your thighs, everything had you riding him like there was no tomorrow. 

“Dave, baby… Unnngh… I’m… Mmmmcoming… Please, make me come…”

Instead of fulfilling your wish, he pushed you away, making you lose your balance and falling on your back. But you didn’t even have time to protest since Dave was on you again, turning you around, on all fours. You felt his still clothed erection grazing your ass. 

“Are you ready to receive my love, Q…? – He cooed in your ear. 

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“All of it?”

“Give it to me…” –you sounded almost pathetic. 

You heard him taking off his shirt and sweatpants and then slapping his cock. Ass up, your wetness was now going down your legs. Proudly licking his lips, where he could still taste you, Dave teased your entrance with the tip of his length and you squeezed the sheets in desperation. You cried his name when he entered you and couldn’t breath when he started his thrusting. Slapslapslapslap. His big hands sank in your flesh, keeping you in place so your face was pressed to the mattress, muffling your whimpers. Dave then lifted you, tenderly embracing you from behind and also reaching your clit and circling it with expertise. 

“Are you close, baby? Hmmm? Talk to me…” 

“Yes baby, I think I’m… explode… am” – you weren’t coherent anymore.

“Lay back…”

He gently pulled you back, making you lean on him, both now seated on the bed.

“Open your legs, Q. Open them wide”

You obeyed. Dave put one hand on the bed for support and the other one went straight between your legs. When you realized what he had in mind, you granted him more access, placing your hips forward. 

 “Two. Or three?” 

“Three… is my lucky… number” 

He then started fingering you. He went in and out frantically, making sure he was properly hooking his fingers to get to the patch of heaven inside your vagina. Your eyes went to the back of your head and you were unable to make any sound. Dave wished there was a mirror in front of the two of you so he could witness your cute O face. All of the sudden, a loud squelching echoed across the room and Dave grinned in anticipation. 

“Here it comes, baby. Alright baby, alright, baby. Come on now” 

“Ooooohhh mmmm... Ghhhhhhhaaaaah!!!!!

You felt indeed like something had exploded out of you. It was liquid pleasure like you had never experienced before. It kept on leaking, down your legs, down the bed, down Dave´s hand. You weren’t sure how to feel or what to do next. Dave continued encouraging you, kissing your earlobe and cradling you in his chest, waiting for you to get down from your high. When you were back on Earth again, you turned around and looked him in the eye.

“Love me, Dave”

He flipped you over, kissed you lovingly, fist himself a couple of times and entered you. His pace was now slow, with a calm he had barely known in his whole life, in any aspect of it. How long he’d pretended you were merely a substance trader who happened to cross his path of illicit choices. You kept your eyes open. You wanted to make sure he was there, that he was real. That he was David York. The mercenary, the federal impostor, the cheating husband, the lover you never thought you deserve. That this wasn’t another of your sex fantasies at night. 

“I love you, Killer Q”

Dave increased his rhythm. 

“Say it again”

“I. Fuckin. Love. You”

“Come for me, daddy”

Dave thrusts became erratic, his breathing increasingly difficult. You held his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m here, baby. Look at me. Give me everything you got. Fill me in”

Those words did the job. Dave groaned deep and long, as he spurted his hot load inside you. But he was not finished. With what was left of his magic, he intended to make you come one more time. In and out, in and out, in and out, just at the right angle, to burn your clit one more time. 

And it happened that you burst into tears as you orgasmed. Dave kissed them dry.  

“Don’t cry, Q.” – Dave stared at you adoringly –”Thank you”

“For what…?” You used the pillow case as a Kleenex.

“To show me what an idiot I’ve been all this time. I really deserve being hurt by Chet. Hopefully, he’s not around...”

You laughed.

“He’s with one of the new boys”

“Training him?”

“I don’t think so…”