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chrissturnsfav · 24 days ago

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⋆.˚✮ singer!reader shows rapper!chris how much she liked his lyrics about her

it’s late—too late, really—but that’s when chris does his best work. the soft glow of led lights lines the walls, bouncing off his chain and casting a blue sheen over his focused face. chris leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, watching the track play on the monitor in front of him. a faint bassline thumps through the speakers, followed by his smooth, rhythmic flow.

next to him on a chair, you lounge with your legs crossed, your baby pink nails tapping rhythmically on your thigh as you listen closely.

you've been known for your own music—sugary pop with catchy hooks and infectious beats. tonight, though, you're there just for him, in his oversized hoodie and sparkly pink slides, your hair pulled up in a high ponytail.

there’s a hunger in his voice as he raps that wasn’t there before, something raw. the verses hit hard, the lyrics sharper than usual. you can tell he’s put more of himself into this one.

then, a certain line drops—one that catches you completely off guard. his voice lowers just a bit, smooth but unmistakably suggestive, "keep ya tits around cause they nice t'look at", you feel a flush creep up your neck, unable to hide your reaction, as the implication lands squarely between you two.

soon enough, the track ends, the beat fading into silence. chris raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the look on your face. “didn’t think you’d catch that line, huh?” he says, smirking a little.

a faint smile tugs at your glossy lips, “oh, i caught it,” you say, folding your arms with a sly grin. “got a lot of nerve talking about me like that on a track.”

he chuckles, pushing his chair away from the desk and crossing the short distance between you two. “yeah? thought y'might like it,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

you try to keep it cool, rolling your eyes, but the tension is thick, and he can tell you’re a little thrown. he leans in, one hand resting on the back of the chair beside you, the chair he's sitting in now between your legs.

“didn’t mean t'shock you,” he teases, his face close to yours now. “but i meant it. got pretty tits ma," chris grins, running his tongue over his teeth like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

"i really liked it. really bold of you," you say back quietly, his nose brushing against your own and you feel yourself rushing with desire already with a small smirk on your plump lips.

"mm, yeah?" he taunts, his hand moving to rest on your upper thigh, "wanna show me how much y'liked that?"

your smirk grows and you nod your head, bringing your face closer to chris' to brush your lips against his. "i do," you mutter, your voice hoarse with arousal.

"get on those knees f'me then," he says demandingly, his blue eyes glimmering with lust as his dick grows beneath his jeans.

you waste no time in doing what he says, pushing yourself off the chair to get on your knees in front of chris. he smirks wickedly down at you as you look up at him with wide doe eyes, sparkling beneath the blue led lights.

he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, one of his hands slowly gripping your jaw while his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, "gonna jus' stare up at me or y'gonna do sum'n?" he mumbles.

you smirk up at him softly, shifting your eyes to his lap as you undo his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

chris lifts his hips up for you, allowing you to pull his boxers and jeans down to a necessary spot just enough to free his rock hardness out that's already dripping with precum.

you look up at him seductively, one of his hands moving behind your head and massaging your soft hair with a smirk of anticipation on his lips.

you spit in your hand, wrapping it around his base and he exhales in arousal. you then lick a long stripe from his base to the tip, your dirty eye contact with him never ceasing.

"yeah, keep those pretty eyes on me ma," he mumbles, his voice raspy with desire as you nod.

you wrap your lips into an 'o' shape, taking just his tip into your mouth before swirling your tongue around it. chris grunts lowly, gripping your hair tightly as you kitty lick his sensitive tip.

you use your other hand to slowly move your hand up and down him, seeing chris get impatient at your painfully slow pace. he grunts as he speaks, "c'mon, jus’ take it. show me how much y'loved that verse mama."

his fingers tangle your through hair, gripping hard at the back as he pushes you further down on his cock. you gag a little when he hits the back of your throat so quickly.

you give into his impatient attitude, starting to quickly move your head up and down on him, your tongue swirling all around his lengthy, hot dick as drool seeps past your plush lips.

“yeaaah there ya go baby, jus' like that, my fuckin' filthy girl," he mutters, continuing to push your head.

you gag on him again, coughing around him and he chuckles darkly through breathless pants, his grip around your hair loosening a bit to let you catch your breath, "c'mooon you can take it. you loved the song so much didn't ya? show me ma, c'mon i know you can."

you nod, flickering your eyes pricked with tears up to his face and he smirks, biting his bottom lip when you move your head again. your lips are stretched around his girthy cock, drool pooling at his base and dribbled onto your chin as you continue.

your hand moves at an ungodly pace, jerking whatever couldn't fit in your mouth as you continue to suck his cock like it's the best popsicle you've ever tasted.

chris' smirk deepens at this as he groans, biting his bottom lip and gripping your hair tightly again at the immense pleasure, "look at you, so pretty. always a fuckin' droolin' mess on my cock," he grunts. "now, lemme see those pretty tits i was talkin' 'bout."

you use your other hand to pull the hoodie up, bunching it at your neck while chris' free hand moves to squeeze your plump tit with a hiss of pleasure as your mouth continues moving vigorously up and down his wet dick.

"there they are, such pretty tits my girl's got, so pretty 'n perfect," chris groans, his hips involuntarily thrusting up into your mouth again which you gag at, making him moan quietly.

his fingers pinch at your nipple, making you moan around his cock. the vibration sends a shiver through his body as he grunts, beginning to push your head down again as he grows close.

"jesus—fuck m'so close, keep goin' f'me...my good girl, takin' my cock like that," chris groans, hissing in pleasure through deep pants. his hips begin thrusting up into your mouth as you gag and moan around him.

he moans under his breath, breathing heavily as he squeezes your tit hard, fingers tangled in your hair, "yeah, jus' like that, doin' so good, lookin' so pretty wit' those lips wrapped around my cock."

chris' thrusts into your mouth grow erratic when the knot in his stomach tightens, leaving you whimpering and gasping around him. drool drips down your chin, bubbling around your lips as you repeatedly gag, "shit," he grunts.

with one final thrust into your stretched out mouth, his warm cum shoots inside. his eyes roll back, his grip on your hair and boob tight as he throws his head back with a low grunt.

chris pants, coming down from the high before you pull your mouth off of him and catch your breath, wiping your messy mouth with the back of your hand with his load still on your tongue.

he nods at you, "open," he says between breaths. you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show his hot and white seed on it.

chris smirks, humming out a soft chuckle before he speaks, "mhm, now swallow it."

you close your mouth and he watches your throat bob as you swallow every drop. he nods in satisfaction, his smirk deepening before he pats your cheek, "good girl."

you smirk cheekily as you stand up and watch him pull his boxers and jeans back up, "did that answer your question?" you say with a giggle.

chris scoffs, standing up from the chair and rebuckling his belt while he smirks at you, "do i even need t'answer that?”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: chris rapping in the new video made me go feral. like he sounded so good i'm being dead honest. kinda feel like it could've been better cuz i got a lil lazy lol butttt i hope you guys loved thissss!!

thank you for reading!! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

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spencerscookies · 1 year ago

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Bathroom Kids Jacksonville Example of a small, modern kids' doorless shower with black and white porcelain tile flooring, a wall-mount toilet, and white walls.

#square led lights #bathroom #tile accent wall #beach home #wall mounted sink faucet #modern #wall hung sink

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hoaxsuicide · 1 year ago

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Traditional Family Room in Richmond

Inspiration for remodeling a mid-sized, timeless family room with a medium-toned wood floor and brown walls, a standard fireplace, and a wood fireplace surround.

#open floor plan #american four-square #led flush-mount ceiling lights #12 foot sliding glass door #3-blade ceiling fans #craftsman style

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adragonprinceswhore · 29 days ago

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Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat.

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance.

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you.

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you.

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times.

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind.

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him.

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker.

His texts became constant, then invasive.

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform.

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again.

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things.

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address.

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway.

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change.

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits.

Things you had never shared with anyone.

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence.

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence.

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew.

The letters were even worse.

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets.

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments.

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well.

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night.

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know.

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight.

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat.

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home.

As with the other terrors, it began subtly.

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look.

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable.

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness.

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days.

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known.

It doesn’t shout or approach.

It simply waits.

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move.

Always lurking just out of reach.

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched.

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you.

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching.

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps.

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you.

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out.

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone.

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe.

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder.

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice.

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence.

Just beyond the walls.

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room.

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest.

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more.

It’s not a text message.

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach.

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight.

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously.

The Targaryen summer house.

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs.

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure.

You remember the day clearly.

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros.

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets.

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue.

Your stomach turns.

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face.

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there.

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake.

The message confirms your deepest fear.

This isn’t a recent obsession.

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories.

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go.

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind.

How long have they been there?

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers.

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault.

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel.

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles.

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts.

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up.

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper,

“-you know”

“No, I don’t”

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye.

Does he not believe you?

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss.

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?”

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video.

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back,

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh”

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that,

“Aemond, please, I have more”

You sound so small. So defeated.

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry.

So cold.

Maybe it’s what you deserve?

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain”

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago.

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you.

“Go on then”

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare.

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream.

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me”

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless.

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb,

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs.

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly,

“Thank you, Aemond”

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath.

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting.

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within.

Another knock.

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear.

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom.

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out.

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor.

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it.

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written.

This note is different.

Let me in.

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you.

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day.

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you.

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government.

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply.

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary.

Will this be your new normal?

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves”

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him.

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long.

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa,

“You can stay here as long as you want”

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you”

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him.

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner.

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot.

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up.

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening.

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed.

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him,

“Thank you. For everything today”

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting.

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe”

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip.

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back.

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking.

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear,

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin.

“Me too”, you sigh.

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more.

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand.

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown,

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean”

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more.

“I’m not. You know what I want”

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea.

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him.

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it.

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe.

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you.

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat.

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you.

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin.

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance.

He’s laughing.

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock”

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him.

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape.

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much.

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks,

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better”

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path.

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it.

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night,

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek,

“Good girl”

After that day, things change.

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar.

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully.

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort.

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away.

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone.

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read.

He's always near.

Always ready.

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #my fics

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moha-madhoun · 26 days ago

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Urgent Help !!

Please don't skip , and take a moments to read 💛

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters ✅️

Hello , my name is Muhammad Al-Madhoun. I am 35 years old. I live in occupied Palestine, North Gaza, which I love , and which has been subjected to criminal war and genocide since October 7, 2023 more than 400 days.

I was working in a law firm before the war, and now I have been out of work and without any income for more than 400 days.

The picture below is of me working in my law office before the genocide began.

I have two children, Ziad, 5 years old, and his sister Mirna, 2 years old. We were living a good life before the current war in the Gaza Strip. After the war, my children, like the rest of the children in Gaza, lived a miserable life in a shelter center that includes more than 300 people. My family, my children and I are constantly exposed, almost weekly, to diseases resulting from infections and viruses resulting from the unsuitable life and the great mixing between the displaced people in the center and moving between different shelter centers more than once.

I have been displaced for the sixth time to the Khan Younis (Al-Mawasi) area. I live with my family and our belongings in a room inside a shelter that does not exceed 12 square meters. Living in a shelter is indescribably difficult in all aspects. We face many problems every day due to the high prices and scarcity of basic materials such as food and cleaning materials, which has led to us bearing very high daily expenses in light of the loss of my source of income.

The photos below show me with my children Ziad and Mirna before the genocide.

- Since the beginning of the genocidal war, I have lost my only source of income until now, as I have been working in the legal profession as a "lawyer" since 2016-2017, and it seems that I have stopped practicing this profession since the beginning of the genocidal war on Gaza City, as a result of the complete destruction of my law office and the workplaces associated with this profession, such as courts, ministries and commercial companies. I have lost my profession completely or partially for many years as a result of what the devastating war on Gaza has caused.

Since the beginning of the genocide in the Gaza Strip and for more than a year of complete loss of income, due to the scarcity of basic goods and the increase in prices of many of them by nearly 20 times, and due to the repeated displacement of nearly 6 times and moving from one place to another, all the money I had was depleted. Now, for many months, I have been completely dependent on what I get through my campaign on the Gofundme.

The picture below shows the room i live in it with my family.

The picture below shows my little daughter mirna helps me filling water

In the preparation of food, we often rely on some canned food that arrives to Gaza from outside, in addition to some grains such as lentils and rice, which are available in a scarce way in Gaza.

Obtaining vegetables has become a very difficult task, due to its scarcity and scarcity of some of them, and their prices have risen about 40 times or more, as a result of the absence of any land farming operations since 5 months since the beginning of the war in Gaza, with an almost complete lack of all kinds of fruits, because they did not enter through aid. or crossings.

During this genocidal war which is still going on to this day and more, my house was severely damaged which resulted in the destruction and vandalism of the roof, walls, tiles, decorations, doors of the house, etc. It also caused almost complete destruction and loss of most of the contents of the house especially the furniture, wooden doors of the rooms, all the windows, electrical appliances, children's toys and everything in my house.

It also displays my law firm, which is the only source of income for destruction and destruction, including the contents, furniture, electrical appliances, laptops, important files and documents , etc. in addition to the complete destruction of most of the headquarters related to my work, such as the courts. And the public prosecutions, burning them, and destroying all their documents, which exposes me to a high probability of losing any financial income through the legal profession for a period of up to 3-4 years or more.

Here are some pictures of them in our partially destroyed house

I need the support of friends abroad to help me buy daily supplies and needs such as food, clothes, cleaning materials, cooking gas, etc., in addition to rebuilding and repairing some of the partial damage to my home when the war ends and I return to my home in northern Gaza, in addition to buying what I lost, whether in my home or the law office, and buying the necessary home furniture and electrical appliances, and to be able to find an amount of money that will help me continue my daily life as I lived before the war, or enable me to travel outside Gaza, or enable me to establish a suitable small project, or any other work through which I can provide a good financial income after I lost my profession for many years to come, which may be very long due to the destruction that has affected all aspects of life in the Gaza Strip.

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affordablelighting1 · 2 years ago

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Square Steel Light Poles: The Superior Choice for Outdoor Illumination

This blog post explores the advantages of using square steel light poles for outdoor lighting projects over traditional round ones. It highlights the aesthetic appeal, visibility, durability, and ease of installation that square steel light poles offer. The post also provides information on the pole options available at Affordable Lighting, making it a one-stop-shop for all your lighting needs.

Click here to read the blog: https://affordablelighting1.blogspot.com/2023/03/why-choose-square-steel-light-pole-over.html

#steel pole #street light pole #square steel pole #led light fixtures #commercial led lighting

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swordsandholly · 7 months ago

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Fancy

Ch 1: Here’s Your One Chance | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire! Poly! 141 x Plus size! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A permanent darkness rests over the city. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city and the constant chill on your skin.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century due to pollution and overpopulation. It will turn your lungs black before the age of five without the proper protection.

Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway.

You squeeze into a black mini dress, tying your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own - the only thing worthy of this club. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips. Red lipstick as a final touch. It’s corny, you know, but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums. To at least make it to the middle city. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles a bit as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop in the upper city. The one that blows all the grime and smog downhill.

The club sits square in central downtown - the bottom level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. It sparkles underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the hunger in their eyes when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light. When your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses.

It’s hard work. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your future.

“Hey! New girl!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Ruin everything? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a call out. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear his words. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are harsh and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough tips to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your hands and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of four thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It’s far more quiet here. The music from the floor muffled by distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight. They could be anyone.

You hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting around the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable customer service headspace you’ve curated over the years. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t’ Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body slack and comfortable.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. One of your earliest memories is her lifting you into her arms and spinning around to the song. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes glow in the low bar light. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. Theres a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades. They’re cold and leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s hand rests on your upper thigh. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just smells incredible.” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down. That feeling comes back.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at your mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it.

“Alright boys, time for business.” John sighs. He suddenly grabs your chin, turning you to face him. It’s a light touch, not too rough but solid. His pupils dilate and yours with them. “You’ll forget everything we say from now until I snap my fingers.”

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… touched. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by several empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood and pleasure - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They feel heavier in your hand the normal.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it?

There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in it.

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