#v; to a brighter future

[asumofwords]

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband. 

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement. 

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven. 

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily. 

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe. 

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him. 

Need him. 

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony. 

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been. 

A Valaryian. 

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware. 

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully. 

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers. 

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body. 

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

-

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband. 

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours. 

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare. 

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother. 

And so the ceremony began. 

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago. 

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced,  “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen. 

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table. 

-

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement. 

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in. 

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand. 

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her. 

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it. 

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Of course you did. 

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more. 

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.” 

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup. 

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.” 

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice. 

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage. 

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that. 

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up. 

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come. 

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him. 

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose. 

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth. 

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond. 

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes. 

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke. 

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.” 

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?” 

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended. 

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it. 

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

-

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony. 

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother. 

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet. 

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony. 

Your blood ran cold. 

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother. 

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince. 

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy. 

Almost. 

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin. 

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head. 

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down. 

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him. 

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips. 

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him. 

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors. 

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you. 

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before. 

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room. 

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone. 

Your heart skipped in your chest. 

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision. 

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck. 

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly. 

Angrily. 

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear. 

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him. 

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips. 

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help. 

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to. 

But no help came. 

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word. 

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin. 

You would not show weakness. 

You would be strong. 

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent. 

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness. 

But he didn’t. 

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid. 

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers. 

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.” 

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled. 

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.” 

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed. 

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave. 

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him. 

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly. 

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan. 

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks. 

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound. 

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements. 

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience. 

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement. 

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?” 

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down. 

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before. 

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched. 

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face. 

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded. 

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides. 

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had. 

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open. 

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above. 

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.” 

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you. 

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing. 

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear. 

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck. 

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once. 

It was overwhelming. 

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust. 

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth. 

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering. 

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him. 

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat. 

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?” 

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed. 

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face. 

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt. 

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you. 

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades. 

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you. 

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer. 

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given. 

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer. 

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought. 

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man. 

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him. 

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge. 

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant. 

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial. 

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more. 

It was wrong. 

But Gods did you need it. 

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner. 

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up. 

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core. 

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed. 

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest. 

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done. 

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly. 

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.” 

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine. 

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one. 

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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[beescake]

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

or

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

[farfromstrange]

Now That We Don't Talk | Frank Castle x F!Reader

BONUS FIC

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Read Is It Over Now? for better clarity.

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader (past Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Summary: You go home with the guy from the bar, and he makes you forget about your ex.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "attagirl", slight Dom!Frank, song references, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: You wanted a part 2, so you're getting a part 2! Anyway, I don't write Frank often, so I hope it isn't too bad. It's also not as spicy as you probably expected, but I wanted this to fit the vibe of the previous fic (link above). You don't need to have read it to understand this, but it is highly recommended because some references might confuse you. Thank you all for taking part in this event!

You believed that your life had ended when you lost him. He painted your world in the brightest colors, but by breaking your heart, he took them away. All that was left to see was a boring shade of gray in a sea of sadness. 

Matt told you from the start that being with him wouldn’t be easy. You were willing to try. He needed someone, and you wanted to be that someone to him. You accepted him unconditionally. 

In the end, giving everything wasn’t enough. He chose her over you, and the castle you two had built came crashing down on you while he stood idly by. 

You’re not a bitter person, you have never been, but he made you fall for him; he made you believe that there was hope for the future and that you would grow old together. He stole years of your life in which you were trying to save him from himself. In return, he took the best care of you, but that doesn’t matter much now that he has taken your heart and shattered it like a glass of red wine on a white cloth. 

When you left him, you thought the distance would kill you. You truly believed that this was the end of everything, not just your relationship with the man you thought was the one but yourself as well. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he said the day you found out the ugly truth.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. The pain burned brighter than the sun, and it dried your eyes before they could even shed a tear.  

He argued with you that, “It was just a kiss,” but you not once believed him. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No.”

It was at that moment you lost all of your trust in him—in what could have been or should have been the two of you, forever—and it was also the moment that Matt realized he had lost you. 

You believed that he took everything you ever were that day because your life revolved around him, and only him. 

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said, begging you not to leave. 

“Fuck you!” you had never sworn at him until that day.

You still remember the way the necklace with his initial felt when you tore it off your neck and tossed it at his feet. He knew you better than anyone, and you felt like you finally belonged somewhere. That necklace was a symbol of your undying love, or so you thought, anyway. Now you know that he may have known you to some extent, but you didn’t matter enough for him not to climb into bed with his ex-girlfriend.

You couldn’t even look at the necklace. He told you, “This is a piece of my heart,” when he gave it to you on a snowy Christmas Day three years ago. You cherished it the same way you cherished his soul. He was broken, but he was your broken man. He was everything to you. 

Matt Murdock was your moon, your son, and your entire universe. It all seemed far away that you could ever feel about anyone this way again. 

You saw a future with him. Married, a house in the suburbs, and working with Foggy and Karen in their new law office after everything they’ve been through. You were a hopeful person back then.

Karen told you that he went to a party a couple of weeks after you separated. He didn’t look like himself. You wonder if he felt anxious, knowing his only source of comfort was no longer there. You wouldn’t know until you asked him, but you refused to answer his calls.

Part of you felt euphoric, knowing that he was broken too, but you also felt angry because he was the reason you found your heart beyond repair as he stepped on it like a burning cigarette, and in your mind, he had no right to feel this way.

You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock! I wish we’d never met.

“Another one for the lady,” a voice says beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears and a full one slides in its place. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He gets up from his seat and sits down on the empty bar stool next to you. “You look miserable,” he says.

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand. You introduce yourself. 

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

You thought nothing and no one could pull you out of the dark hole your breakup tossed you into. You believed yourself dead and long beyond the point of redemption. You accepted it. You swallowed in your misery, giving up on finding a new purpose in your life because the one great thing you had was no longer yours. He fell into a grave that he dug for himself, and he dragged your relationship down with him.

Looking into Frank’s eyes now though, you no longer feel like a corpse. And you realize that you are not dead, not at all—you are very much alive. 

The door almost breaks off its hinges when Frank shoves you into his apartment and back against it. The decision to come back to his place was fueled by a lot of alcohol and the way he looked at you. You were desperate to feel something other than the hollow ache that has consumed you every day for months. His eyes told you that he may be able to give you just what you need, no strings attached.

The way he kisses you breathes new life into your mangled soul. He swallows your mouth and your needy moans with his own, and his tongue forces itself down your throat as your teeth clash in a fight for dominance. You’re both tipsy, but he seems to know just what he’s doing.

His calloused fingers burn against your skin. In the back of your mind, Matt is still so present. His hands are the ones you can’t help but compare him to. 

The way he used to kiss you before fucking you into the mattress for hours on end, switching between tasting and fingering you until you were whimpering and begging him for release might have screwed you up forever. He told you one night that he wanted to ruin you for any other man. Back then, you both still believed that you would grow old together.

It is truly ironic how fast things change when you are truly happy and believe that nothing can burst your bubble.

Frank’s large hands brace against the door on either side of your head. His lips disappear from yours. “Who is he?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel.

You meet his eyes, unsure of what to say. Your mind is everywhere but here, and yet it is right with him. Whether it is alcohol or self-loathing, you’re not sure. 

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re trynna forget someone. Who is it?”

He is a lot more perceptive than you thought.

You swallow, blood rushing to your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you didn’t what? Think? You feel utterly pathetic.

Instead of throwing you out though, like you expected he would, he reaches out to caress your cheek. His eyes soften as they gaze at you. “Whoever he is, he obviously didn’t treat you right,” he says. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppin’ you, but if you wanna forget whoever is fuckin’ with your head, I’ll make damn sure you forget his name by the end of tonight.”

There is something excitingly terrifying about the look in his eyes. A shiver runs down your spine, and your thighs clench at the thought of feeling his hands somewhere other than your face. Somewhere other than your hips and thighs. His kisses knocked the air out of your lungs. You want more, you need more, but you don’t know if you can take it. Not him—even though you’re also not quite sure if you can take him—but also the offer he is presenting to you. As lucrative as it sounds, fuck, you are not over Matt. And you’re not sure if you can ever forget him.

You want to though. You have to. And you want to be thoroughly fucked into the next day and forget the name of the man that makes you so fucking angry.  

“Talk to me,” Frank coaxes your head toward him. “Do you wanna forget the useless bastard that made you feel this way?”

“Yes,” you manage a breathless whisper.

“Did he hurt you? Break your heart?”

You nod.

“You deserve better.” His grip tightens, and his hand slowly slides to your neck. “I’m not, but I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget his name and scream mine loud enough for this fuckin’ city to know who’s making you feel good. ‘s that what you want, hm?”

He’s dangerous, but that has never turned you off, even when it should have.

And when you finally open your mouth and tell him, “Yes, please. Make me forget,” the switch inside of him flicks completely.

He takes his time to worship between your thighs. His tongue buried in your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit without mercy. He eats you out roughly but sensually, keeping you spread wide open for him with both of his hands and a force unmatched—like a five-course meal, and he has all the time in the world for you. 

You’re lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to buck your hips against his mouth because no matter what he does, you’re on fire and you just can’t get enough, but he is so powerful that you can’t fight him. He has you at his mercy, your body in his hands, and all the control in the world over you. 

You pull at his hair, moaning helplessly as he feasts on your pussy. You’re going mad, you’re sure. He’s doing this on purpose, driving you to the edge before stopping the wave. Frank waits until your orgasm is just far enough for you to last a little longer, kissing the inside of your thighs, and then he dives right back into your wet folds. He thrusts his tongue into your hole, licks up to your clit, and then sucks on the swollen bundle until your legs are shaking in his hands. 

“Jesus, Frank!” you moan out. A trail of sweat runs from your temple down to your breasts. 

Your hands search for something to hold onto, tangling in the sheets and the pillow behind your head before pulling at the fabric. You tried pulling at his hair, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a desperate shout as your orgasm crashes into you. 

“Attagirl.”

Your brain is hulled into an endless fog, but Frank doesn’t stop. 

Soon, you’re on your stomach, gripping the headboard as he pounds into you from behind. He is long and thick, and with every thrust, he forces your face deeper into the pillows. Your eyes have rolled back into your head. He hits that spongy spot inside of you whenever he pleases, and the gurgled moans from the pit of your throat spur him on to speed up, change the angle and thrust even deeper. 

He pulls out all the way, thrusting back into you with full force until he is completely sheathed in your pussy. Your heat consumes him, and he sees red. But so do you. He has reduced you to a few incoherent thoughts, babbling his name in the wake of the drool that is dripping from the corner of your mouth. 

And when you come this time, it is pulled back straight against his chest with his fingers rubbing circles over your already abused clit. You come with a scream of his name, and nothing else matters but his cum in your cunt and the unbelievable depth of the feelings he is eliciting within you. 

You drop to the mattress like a wet towel, covered in his and your cum, and your sweat that has mingled with his. His smell lingers in the sheets as you bury your nose in it. He collapses on top of you. The crushing weight of him offers a sense of comfort that almost makes you cry. And he holds you as though you mean more to him than a One-Night stand he picked up to help forget a man who broke her heart. 

“What’d he do?” Frank asks into the silence later that night.

You are lying on his bed, covered by only his thin sheets. He’s sitting on the other side, nursing a glass of Bourbon. He held you, he cleaned you up, and he offered you some clothes, which you denied. He is kinder to you than you thought he would be, and it warms your heart in a way you can only deem utterly dangerous with how vulnerable you are. Broken people make dumb decisions, and you do not ever want to go through the same pain again. 

At least you know that you are still desired. That you’re not dead. Perhaps, there is still hope for a better future. You made Matt Murdock your life for the longest time, and maybe, as you realize now, that was a mistake. There is more to life than him, and you can live without him. That it took fucking a stranger after weeks of being miserable baffles you, but some things are just meant to happen. Maybe it was destiny, after all. 

You look at him when Frank repeats his question. “What’d the bastard do, hm?” he asks.

Where do you even start? 

When you last checked in on him through your mutual friends—you know it wasn’t the best choice, but you couldn’t help it—they told you that grew his beard, and he last had a haircut when you were still together. It suits him, apparently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at a picture of him.

Foggy told you that he isn’t taking home girls when they go to a bar, even though he could have all of them. He’s sad. He drowns himself at work and beats his fist bloody every night. The old you would have jumped up to help him. And it is true that you will probably always love him, in a way, but you refuse to crawl back to him.

The more you gave, the more he took, and at the first chance at getting a woman he claimed to no longer love when she came back into your lives, he took her. He couldn’t have wanted you as badly as he claimed if that was enough for him to flush years of loving each other and going through hell together down the drain, knowing it would break your heart into a million pieces. That is probably the worst part about all of it.

You take a deep breath. Frank is still staring at you intently, waiting for an answer. “He fucked his ex,” you finally confess. “Four years of being together and it still wasn’t enough.”

His grip tightens around his glass. “Want me to pay him a visit?”

You chuckle, but you know that he would. “No. But thank you.”

Matt was fading long before you left. Even if you did choose to forgive him, you couldn’t be his friend, so things are better the way they are now. You paid the ultimate price for sacrificing your heart to a man who had too many struggles to deal with himself.

In the silence, you find a little light. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like Jazz anymore,” you say. 

Frank takes another sip, asking, “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Jazz. He loves it. He…He’s special. Well, he was to me, anyway.”

“Special? Fuck, the guy did a number on you, huh?”

You scoff. “You have no idea.”

The only way back to your dignity is to learn how to be without him. You have to turn yourself back into a mystery and learn how to trust someone again before your fragile heart breaks again.

“You still talk?” Frank asks.

You shake your head. “No. It’s over now,” you say. “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Told ya. You deserve better.”

“Nah.” You reach for his glass, taking a sip of the bitter liquor that you used to despise. Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stretch his leg toward him. 

You need to keep forgetting Matt’s name, no matter what it takes or the reminiscing will surely kill you.

“Right now,” you murmur with an irresistible smirk that makes him leap at you as soon as the words pass your lips, “I just need to forget he ever existed by screaming someone else’s name.” 

Frank captures your lips in a bruising kiss, leaving you speechless and breathless all the same. 

Matt chased you, he caught you, and then he lost you. And now that Frank has you, you never want to look back. 

Now that you don't talk.

I don't have a tag list for Frank, so I'm just leaving this here.

[just-a-ghost00]

A message from a beloved soul 🕊️

Recently, I felt called to ask for advice from passed on artists that have greatly impacted my life. A few months ago, my role model and most beloved artist passed away suddenly. I never thought this day would come. Or rather I didn’t want to think about it. And lately I feel his energy very strongly. I thought that maybe some of you could need some advice from an artist you miss dearly as well. I’m sorry if this triggers anybody. I thank these beautiful souls that have provided us with light and love for all these years for their messages and I hope that wherever they are in the Universe, their soul is at peace. ❤️

Group 1

Letters : B Y I T J S L G K M U A P G D F Words : guys, tails, mask, Sag, just, Jiluka, Atsuki, July, Aug, days, pay, gay, Yumi, Yuki, Bad guy, kid, must play, guita(r), fly, BSK, family, silk, ask my pals if I still must (???), stalk, dumb, Mt Fuji

Tissue box messages : Singer, blue eyes, Scorpio I TRANSFORM Nov 23 to Nov 29, Capricorn I CREATE Jan 20 to Feb 16, 6th house daily life I LOVE, 12th house Spiritual life I DREAM

Their channeled message to you :

Baby the world is yours to take. Fate is yours to create. No matter the pain, no matter the fears, no matter the obstacles, you must live on. Do you hear me? Live. Scream at the top of your lungs. You can cry too. But don’t give up. I am with you every step of the way. My wings will carry you for as long as I can.

Clarifications - 10 of swords, Black Numen, King of cups, King of wands, 10 of pentacles, 10 of cups

This artist that you are asking about knows that you are going through a hard time and that a part of you doesn’t believe in your ability to make it through but they want to reassure you because not only do you have what it takes but the outcome is going to be much more brighter than you could ever imagine. You’re getting there. You’re so close to reaching your goal. I believe that there are actually two artists that are surrounding you with their love. They are both encouraging you to keep moving, though you may not understand where this will lead you, though you may not see the bigger picture. Because after this period of grieving and emotional turmoil, of hardships and uncertainty, awaits a bright and warm future, full of joy and abundance. While one helps you heal your wounds and deal with possible depression/mental health issues, the other is helping you manifest success in all areas of your life by fueling your fire and inspiring you. You may feel like your creativity is boosted and your mind is fuming with new ideas. Both of them are masculine in their energy. One of them may especially connect with you through your dreams while the other would rather put on your way resources and people that are beneficial to your growth. The channeled message you received was from the one you were asking about. But the other artist still wanted to silently show their support. I believe that in their living time this person wasn’t very talkative but would instead show their love through actions. They remained the same in the after life.

🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

Group 2

Letters : A V U S E I F S V N A U I M K P Words : miss u, veins, pain, pause, Suki, fave, fame, pave, Mana, Aki, naive, invasive, Nivea, niveau (French for level), suave, Kaname, kiss me, five men, fans, vie (life/live), Pisa

Tissue box messages : Gym rat, creative soul, dorky/quirky, Scorpio I TRANSFORM Nov 23 to Nov 29, Ophiuchus I HEAL Nov 29 to Dec 17, 1st house awareness of self I AM

Their message to you :

My Jade ~ You are so beautiful. Your soul is so beautiful it shines all the way to heaven. God and the angels are so pleased with you. Seeing you grow so much has been my biggest joy and pride. I believe that you can light up this world and save so many people from themselves. But first make sure to save yourself, okay?! Love you ❤️

Clarifications - 9 of pentacles, The Lovers, Knight of cups, Judgment, King of cups, 6 of cups

You must prioritize yourself by choosing to give yourself the love you so willingly give to others. That much is clear. When the time is right and balance is restored, a soulmate will be sent to you to pour more love into your cup. They will come to you slowly but surely. You will recognize them by their piercing gaze and their powerful voice. You know them already. Wow that was very specific. There are a lot of water related cards, three of which can be associated with Scorpio. Then there is also Gemini energy and Taurus energy. I believe that in their living time the artist you asked about was a very generous and wise person. They were probably an old soul and had a hard time finding people they could deeply connect with. I get the feeling that you followed this person since you were a child and you looked up to them. They are a soulmate of yours. Their energy feels very balanced. I believe this person was very spiritual and always did their best to do the right choice and be the bigger person. They would always think of their loved ones before anything else and maybe that is one thing that caused this person a lot of sadness. Which is why they urge you to prioritize yourself. They know too well the cost of overgiving to others only to be left with so little.

🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

Group 3

Letters : C N L C Z E K U V O T B E A V M Words : clean, zen, luck, black, block me, metal, zone, cat, melon, love u, meat, meet u at ten, note, bone, tune, name, bake, cake, Ameba, volcano, Kubo, Kobe,

Tissue box messages : Gym rat, bookworm, unconventional, Leo I SHINE Aug 10 to Sept 16, Taurus I PROTECT May 13 to June 21, Sagittarius I KNOW Dec 17 to Jan 20

Their message :

Dear friend,

I am so glad the universe has sent me to you. I am so proud of you for fighting for your dreams and doing your best every day to be a better person. You have no idea how much this means to me that you are working so hard to walk in my footsteps. My soul is filled with warmth because of you. Thank you so much.❤️ I love you too!

Clarifications - 6 of cups, 6 of swords, King of pentacles, 8 of pentacles, Queen of pentacles, High priestess

This artist is a soulmate of yours. They had to leave for you to thrive. It was part of their journey to pass on to the other side for you to grow and for them to guide you. It was necessary because their departure triggered an awakening in you. Your gifts wouldn’t have woken up the way they are now otherwise. It was their duty to contribute to your accession to your throne. By that I mean that in order to claim your power and rise up to their level, they had to eclipse themselves and now evolve in the « dark » or in other words on the other side of the curtain. You and this artist mirror each other, especially when it comes to your careers. I would even go as far as to say that for some of you they are a divine counterpart. You are the High priestess. And I saw behind her the Magician. They were the spark and you are the torch that will pass on the knowledge. They’ve taught you everything they had to while they were living. Now is your turn to do the same. You can connect with this person through hard work but also by working on your gifts, especially your intuition. When they were living, they were very intuitive too. They were known as a hard worker and a force to be reckoned with. They inspired people to leave behind what didn’t serve them. And they are now trying to help you do the same thing they did : be a mentor and a guide for others, especially younger souls.

[rveyjules]

A Second Chance

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Prime Minister's Daughter! Reader (ft. Ada Wong)

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst

Warning: cheating, Leon is obsessed with the reader, taking photos, the reader is cold but deep inside she’s a sweetheart, mentions of arranged marriage, pure smut (masturbation, foreplay, kissing, breasts fondling and sucking, markings,  p in v intercourse, virgin sex, penetrative sex, Leon is huge [I think it's at least 9 inches, sheesh], creampie, aftercare)

Word count: 6.2k

Summary: As the eldest daughter of the Prime Minister and one of the faces of the family, you received multiple assassination attempts. So, your father hired someone to keep an eye on you. And to your surprise, out of all people, it was Leon Kennedy your father picked for you. You and Leon had a secret relationship but soon did not last because another woman came into his life. Now that the both of you meet again, will it be the start of chaos or a continuation of romance?

author's note: This is the second part of my story. This story is entirely fictional. I do not know what the President and the Prime Minister exactly do for the country. Same with the occupation of being a prosecutor and the chief of the CIA. English is not my mother tongue so pardon if you encounter mistakes and grammatical errors. This is only for entertainment purposes only. And minors, please do your homework first.

—

“The jury found the defendant guilty.” 

               Joyful sounds were heard from your client, who was the victim, and from her family. You closed your eyes and a sigh of relief escaped your mouth, smiling at your performance today. You just won another trial. The suspect is proven guilty with the evidence you have against him and the jury was on your side. 

“The jury is thanked and excused. The court is adjourned.” 

               You turned to your female client. She’s a 22-year-old who was a victim of rape and sexual assault. You promised her that you will do your best to give her the justice she was longing for after being made fun of by her schoolmates, calling her such names, giving her judgemental looks, and earning a lot of hurtful words.

        It has come to the point where she almost took her own life on the rooftop of the apartment she was staying at. Being a victim of rape is traumatizing. It would take time before you recovered completely from what happened by going under rehabilitation and psychological observation. But today, justice is served.

“Thank you so much, prosecutor!” Her mom shakes my hand repeatedly. You can’t count how many times her family expressed their gratitude for helping the child. You giggled and patted the mother’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you hired me as your lawyer. By the way, how was your rehabilitation?” You asked the last part, looking at your client. She has a smile on her face, brighter than the times we met before the trial and you just realized how pretty the child is. 

“It’s all nice and okay. Prosecutor,” She took a few steps ahead towards you and held your hand. “I don’t know how to express my feelings in court. Our opponent came from a prestigious family in the town. I am afraid that we will not win because of how powerful their family is. I think I underestimated you a little and I’m sorry for that. I see how focused you were in every trial session. And now that it was confirmed that he was the bad guy, I felt so happy. So, thank you so much, Prosecutor L/n.” 

            You smiled at her and cupped her cheeks. “You’re a law student, right? I want to give you some advice that can help you when you become an attorney one day,” I paused. “I considered going into law. Not because of money, but for the thrill of problem-solving. And always remember, be an independent woman. You are what you are. Face them with your head high. Justice is served and the suspect is proven guilty.” 

            The girl nodded and gave you a tight hug. “I hope we will meet again in the future, attorney.” You nodded your head and hugged her back. “I’m looking forward to it, dear.” 

           From a distance, Leon watched how you comforted a girl after winning a nerve-wracking and intense trial in the court just now. He crossed his arms and smiled, seeing you being warm around your client. Leon received a voicemail from his earpiece, 

“Agent Kennedy, the Prime Minister, scheduled a meeting with Prosecutor L/n.” 

“Copy,” He replied before approaching you. 

               The mother of your client acknowledged his presence as Leon made his way toward you. The older woman smiled at him before looking back at you and asked something unexpected…

“Is he your husband? You two look great together.”  

                 Your eyes widened and immediately denied it. “No, we’re not. He’s not my husband. I’m still single.” You awkwardly replied. Leon was taken aback by the woman’s question and quite affected when you quickly denied the woman’s question. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of you being his wife. 

“Sorry for misunderstanding but he’s only my bodyguard. He’s only with me for safety purposes.” You explain, smiling to ease the uncomfortable feeling you have. The woman nodded in understanding.  

“You’re too pretty to not be in a relationship but I respect your decision if you’re not into relationships.” She smiled and you thanked her for understanding. When your client and her family have left, you turn to Leon and shoot him a death glare. 

“Seriously? You as my husband? Hell, no.” You sharply claimed. Leon cleared his throat and replied, “I just want to say that the Prime Minister scheduled a meeting with you.” You rolled your eyes at him. 

“When you received a voicemail, I received a text message from the Prime Minister.  At least you should have waited for my client to leave before popping out of nowhere only to be misunderstood as my husband.” You snarled. Leon finds you cute, though. 

“Bet you feel the butterflies in your stomach, don’t you?” He asked flirtatiously, making you scoff. 

“Butterflies,” You scoffed and chuckled sarcastically. “I got headaches.” With that, you walked past him to the exit. 

—

“Papa, you know I don’t want to be in a relationship. How many times do I need to tell you that? I don’t even want to go on a date, why are they trying to put me up in an arranged marriage?!” You snapped, rubbing your temples. 

            The meeting your father scheduled is private and personal. Right now, in front of your parents and the Senator’s son that was supposed to be your husband in this arranged marriage, looked at you in disbelief. You declared your plan in life and that is you’re not going to get married to anyone. 

“Y/n!” Your father yelled angrily. “For our family’s sake! Senator Carter’s son is the right man for you! You know that this man has the potential to become a President in the future! I want you to become the First Lady of this country.” 

“But being a First Lady has limitations, Papa! And also, it will only give me more responsibilities!” You retorted back. 

“You’re already thirty-three, Y/n. A perfect age to prepare yourself—” 

“I am not interested in becoming a First Lady,” You interrupted. "Besides, I am not into politicians. Helping the government is enough for me but marrying a politician? No." 

          With that, you grabbed your bag and walked out of the room, leaving your parents disappointed and frustrated. You can hear your dad calling out your name but you did not turn back. Tears filled your eyes, and you couldn't bear the fact that your parents are forcing you to marry someone you don't love. 

           Leon noticed your expression and he knew something was wrong. "Y/n, what happened in–" He was interrupted when you snapped at him, “Shut up! This is all your fault!” 

        He was startled and the guards that were securing the area looked in your direction. Tears started falling down your eyes, and couldn't bear the pain. “This is all your fault.” You whispered before storming out of the establishment. 

            You get the keys from your driver and ride the car before driving on your own. You sobbed as you sped up on the highway but were still aware of the speed limit. You want some time alone. Betrayals, family pressure, arranged marriage… Goddamned it, why can’t you be free from this? The trauma of your past relationship with Leon did a lot of damage. You run your hand on top of your head, calming yourself down.  

—

            In your house, you are checking the report of the CIA. There are files that must go under your consent so you have a lot of papers to sign. It’s not new for you anymore. Being a prosecutor, a superior of a top security agency, as well as being a politician’s daughter has its pros and cons. When it comes to wealth and fame, you got the jackpot. But when it comes to responsibility…

“Goddamn, I need a vacation.” You sighed as you signed the last file and put them organized on the shelf. 

           And then, Leon popped into your mind out of nowhere. He has been working under you for three months now. You are secretly doing everything to make him leave. You mean it when you say you don’t need him anymore. But there are times where Leon would be so caring of you. He’d hold your hand secretly when the two of you are close to each other in crowded places. He’d take off his jacket and put it on your shoulders when he saw you shivering. Although you are cold and dismissive to him, he’s still caring for you and his love language was still the same as before. 

           Turning your heel, you went to the window and watched the city lights of Washington D.C. You want to take a break. You want to sleep all day,knowing that you deserved it for doing a great job. But you simply can’t. Even falling asleep in your room is sometimes difficult, especially when you feel something is not right. The President needs you to be active 24/7. The White House could call you anytime when an emergency occurs. Even if it was two in the morning, you need to get up and meet the President and cabinet secretaries. 

           You are so powerful that’s why there are people who tried to kill you. Imagine, surviving five assassination attempts. You may be looking cool but deep inside you are scared. Those moments where you were stunned when the assassin pulled the trigger of his gun and you barely dodge them. It makes you feel like a child, being scared when you are supposed to be brave. 

           Taking off your gloves, you looked at your scars and caressed them. You thought the pain was gone, thinking that your scars symbolizes your bravery despite being left out. But everythings is coming back ever since Leon came back. With that you remembered how you struggled just to survive.  

         Three days after Leon left with Ada, you almost lost your sanity thinking that surviving the apocalypse is impossible. You have no one to lean on. You barely make it to find an abandoned store with foods and drinks that can ease your thirst and hunger. The city was filled with zombies. Finding a safe place to stay is difficult. The device you used to track Ada’s identity was broken. It was your only hope to contact your father. 

         Every day, you’d cry while washing your wounds on your wrists to prevent contamination and easier access for infection. Being alone and desperate to survive scared you the most. You are asking yourself what you ever did to them to leave you in this state. As for your relationship with Leon, thinking about those times when you caught him with Ada, doing the unthinkable emotionally damaged you. 

“Leon– ahh!” Ada moaned as Leon pressed his half naked body to her, sucking her neck and leaving marks on her skin. “Y/n would get suspicious where did I get this,” Ada said but Leon didn’t budge. 

            Instead, he lifted the skirt of her dress and pulled her underwear out of her legs before undoing his pants and taking his member out of its cage. “Just be quiet. She wouldn’t know that we’re doing this.” He smirked before slipping his hardened cock into Ada’s aching hole. 

           They tried to be quiet to hide their secret affair while you were standing by the door, sobbing quietly. You heard how Ada moaned and praised Leon at how good he makes her feel. And then there was you, heart shattered into pieces. You felt numb and couldn’t feel or hear anything aside from the sinful sounds coming from them. 

           That piece of memory made you punch the mirror in front of you, breaking it. Your knuckles started to bleed. You covered your ears as you fell on your knees, traumatized and heartbroken. You knew that things would go wrong between you and Leon. But this is beyond your expectation. Never in your life you thought that he would do that.

          One day, you found a radio in the establishment where you are currently staying. It was functioning and you heard voices coming from the radio. You realized that it can connect to a military base. You grabbed it and spoke to the speaker. It says that the government will bomb the city to stop the virus from spreading. Hearing this increased your fear. You don’t want to die with these monsters.

“Is this the military? Please, help me. I’m a survivor.” You said, hoping that they will hear your voice. 

        After a few seconds of silence, the voice on the other line spoke. “This is Commander Valdez speaking. Please, state your name and current location.” Your hope was growing as the commander replied. 

“My name is Y/n L/n, daughter of Senator L/n. I’m a first year college student, studying Law. I am in a safe room of the high-rise hospital in Raccoon City. Please, help me. Zombies are surrounding the area.” You sobbed. 

         Hearing that you are the daughter of the Senate President caused the Commander to order to gather up his men and prepare to rescue you and also ordered the President to refrain from releasing an order to wipe out Raccoon City until you are completely rescued. 

“Miss L/n, listen carefully to my instructions. My men will be there in less than an hour. Now, I want you to prepare yourself to fight against the horde of zombies. The President has moved the time of releasing the bomb. They will nuke the city after we rescue you. I know you have limited resources to use as your weapon but I hope you can find some to defend yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The military is on its way. Go to the rooftop of the hospital. The military chopper will come to rescue you. Goodluck.” Then your conversation ended. 

             This is your last chance. You must make it out of this damned city. You went to the bathroom of the safe room and looked at yourself through the mirror. You washed your face to make up your mind and covered your injuries with a clean cloth. You wear your jacket and luckily found a baseball bat as your weapon. With a deep breath, you gathered all your strength and prepared yourself for a life-or-death fight against those monsters. 

            You walked out of the safe room quietly to prevent attracting the attention of the zombies. You held your weapon tightly, alert for any zombies to come to your way. You are currently on the 20th floor of the hospital. The rooftop is on the 25th floor. Of course, as you expected, zombies found you and chased after you. You run for your life, hitting those zombies who will try to grab you or block your path with a baseball bat. 

            Anger was rushing through your veins that you went on a killing spree with a single weapon. You looked out the window as you ran and found the helicopter coming to the hospital you are in. This increased your hopes in survival. Little by little, you made it to the rooftop. You closed and blocked the door with anything that you think can prevent those zombies opening the door. 

          The helicopter has found you from a far distance. You waved your hands in the air as you jumped to gain their attention. But the zombies managed to break in and it found you. You turned around and fear creeped out to your veins. A large horde of zombies are coming towards you. Then, you heard loud gunshots coming from the soldiers, shooting the zombies as the helicopter moved downwards on the edge of the rooftop.

“Miss Y/n! Hop on!” A soldier yelled through the loud sound of the propeller. 

                You ran towards them and jumped to the helicopter, feeling a little relieved to be rescued. The helicopter started to move away as the zombies were falling down from the building, mindlessly trying to reach for us. The soldiers check on you to see if you are bitten. The pilot spoke through the radio. 

“General, Y/n L/n is successfully rescued from the Raccoon City. She’s not bitten or infected, just some injuries that need medical attention. Aside from that, everything is cleared.” 

“Roger that,” You heard the military general replied through the radio. 

               After a few moments, when you are far enough from the city, you hear a loud, roaring, and huge explosion. You looked out and saw an atomic bomb explosion, destroying Raccoon City. You saw how wide the bomb reached to kill those who were alive or undead. You survived the chaos on your own. You make it out of the forsaken city. You are the last man standing. The city where Leon promised you that you build your dreams and goals has been wiped out into ashes.

            A sigh escapes your mouth as you caress your scars. For everyone who barely knows you, wearing gloves is your trademark in fashion. People never see you take them off or go out without gloves on. But your family and other important people in your life know what’s behind that piece of clothing. It’s not like you were ashamed of it. It’s just that it hurts you emotionally as you remembered that you went under hard and difficult circumstances just to survive as those people you helped betrayed and left you to die. 

            Your phone opened and rang, snapping you back to your senses. You turned around and grabbed your phone. It’s a call from your older brother, Judge Dylan L/n. You picked up the call and put the phone next to your ear. 

“Dylan? What can I do for you?” You asked. 

“Y/n, Papa called me just now. What was that behavior?” He asked calmly but there’s a lingering strict tone. 

“If you’ll scold me, I’ll hang up.” You scoffed. 

“Y/n, you are the only daughter of the Prime Minister of the country and has the potential to become a First Lady.”

“I know that. Among the Prime Minister’s five children, I am the youngest and the only daughter. But that doesn’t mean that I need to go under his order to marry a politician.”

“But the boy is the son of the Senate President.”

“Dylan, please. Don’t make yourself a problem for me. He didn’t even congratulate me for winning my case today. He just called a private meeting only to say that I am bound to marry the man and ended up scolding.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Y/n,” Dylan paused. “I know that your past relationship still affects you. But in this case, you are just proving to them that you haven’t moved on from your ex-lover. Y/n, it’s been fifteen years…” 

             You sighed, heading over the table to pour yourself a glass of wine. 

“Please, believe me when I say that I truly moved on from my past relationship. It’s just that…” You paused, trying to find the right word to say. “The pain was coming back. You know that feeling when you believe in yourself that you are completely free but the truth is you are still chained up to the past?”

“Did you and that guy cross paths again?” He asked and you hummed. 

“I don’t know if fate is fooling around with me. After fifteen years, why did he come back? I mean, I don’t want to see him or even cross paths again with him but then, one day he just appeared out of nowhere.” You explained. Your brother chuckled at your response. 

“I think I know the guy you are talking about. Leon Kennedy, right? Your ex-lover but currently your bodyguard.” You pouted as his response. “If Papa knows that Leon Kennedy is your ex, what do you think he will do?” He asked.

“He will fire him immediately, probably.” You replied. 

“Wrong,” Dylan quickly responded. “You and Papa never interact with each other that much, that's why you don’t know the possibility of his reaction regarding the issue.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked. 

“Y/n, please. If you interact with Papa, you will find the answer. That’s all for now. I have to prepare for my trial tomorrow. I just called to check on you.” 

           You bid goodbye to each other before ending the call. You received another phone call from the Senate President’s son. You picked the call…

“Let’s have a drink. The usual place.” He said.

—

        Leon can still hear how loud you were when you snapped at him earlier. He can tell that your meeting with your family did not end well. The way your eyes teared up when you yelled at him, gaining the attention of the people who were in the area at that time. Leon gulped down another glass of whiskey, slightly wincing at how strong the alcohol is as he ran his thumb against your photo, which he secretly took throughout the years. 

         Yes, he has been stalking you. After saving Ashley Graham from an insane cult in Spain, he immediately did some research on you. And there he found out about your success after leaving you in a hard situation in Raccoon City in 1998. At that time, you were a newly licensed prosecutor but you became one of the most influential prosecutors in the Supreme Court as you easily solved and won cases back then. Your father was a Senate President back then and having you beside him is a big asset. With that, your father managed to reach the position of Prime Minister. 

          Every event you need to attend whether it was a national or international, he was there. He camouflaged within the crowd so that you wouldn’t see him or feel his presence. He took a lot of pictures of you, keeping them in a secret room of his house. He was obsessed with you. He even finds himself masturbating in his room with your picture in his hand, looking so elegant in every angle, every outfit you wore, every look you pulled out, it drives him crazy. 

           For his latest mission, which was in China, he brought a dozen of your pictures as his motivation and inspiration. Weird but he did. There are times when he was in a tight situation and went through near-death experiences but he remembers that he needs to come back. For you. He encountered Ada again but this time, he was not her puppy anymore, who would follow her demands and manipulate him. 

“I heard that she’s the new Chief of the CIA aside from being a prosecutor. Seems like your ex-lover has already moved on from you.” Ada smirked as she looked at the photo of you in a black dress, holding a piece of paper while speaking in court. 

“Give it back,” Leon demanded. “What are you even doing here, Ada? Are you going to use me again?” He added and Ada chuckled in response. “What do you think?” 

             What Ada did not expect was Leon’s sudden attack. He disarmed her and took the photo out of her grasp, hissing when it was crumpled slightly. Ada noticed his unusual behavior and smirked. 

“You’re obsessed with her. What is she going to think when you two meet again? What will be her reaction if she meets the one she loved the most but also the one who betrayed her?” Ada asked, trying to provoke Leon.

           Leon got furious when Ada dug up the past. Without hesitation, he pulled out his gun and shot Ada in the shoulder with eyes full of anger and guilt, not for her but for you, who he left just to escape that damn city. The woman looked at him in shock. Never in a million years did she expect that Leon would do this to her. He was different from the one she used to order around. There were also times when Leon almost got down on his knees and worshiped her like a saint. But now, his eyes are filled with the flame of anger. Leon wasn’t hers anymore, but yours even without knowing it. 

         Five months after that mission, he was summoned to the White House by the President and they talked about the assassination attempts you had. His face remained calm but his hands were clenched into fists and his insides were burning in anger. When the President asked him if he could be your bodyguard, he immediately said yes. Your father, the Prime Minister trusted him the moment the President introduced him as a recommendation. That’s how he got into your life again. 

            He prepared a plan on how he was going to win your heart again. He thought it would be easy but it turns out it isn’t. You are colder than he expected. You never look at him the way you used to look at him before. It wasn’t easy to make a conversation with you as you always dismissed him. His top priority is to keep you safe away from assassination attempts you might encounter again in the future while finding a way to see a crack in your armor. 

           He believes that you will give in to him someday. He laid down on his bed, closing his eyes, and imagine how good it feels to be between your legs as he fucks you hard. The way you’d moan loudly or even scream, praising him for making you feel so good. You’d hold onto his shoulders as he pounds against your cunt, tip kissing your cervix that sends you crying. 

          His mind was filled with lewd images of you, wearing tight blouses and pencil skirts, teasing him as you walked. Your curves are perfectly fitted into the skirt and he will pounce on you and rip all of your clothing until you are completely naked under him. You and Leon never made it to take your relationship to the next level because you were just eighteen and in your first year in college back then. You two agreed that you’ll only do it when you are ready or wait until you get married. Although your relationship was a secret, you both gave pure love to each other until shit happens. 

            He believes that your virginity hasn’t been taken yet. For someone like you who focuses on studies and two professions as well as having trust issues, he’s sure that no one hasn’t touched or even kissed you. And the thought of taking your virginity sends him to the edge as he found himself masturbating. 

“Y/n… you feel so damn good. So tight!” He moaned, imagining how tight you are when he pushed his pulsating cock inside your wet, aching, virgin pussy. 

              Your moans ring into his ears as he fucks you. The way you’d ask him to be gentle or be careful of you, sobbing. And the best part of it is when he spilled his warm seeds deep into your cunt. In real life, his cock spurted his juices, staining his hands and abdomen as he trembled from his orgasm, groaning as he let it out until the last drop. 

             No, he did not feel guilty. Why not? He’s going to take you back. Now that he heard from his co-worker that you are bound to marry the Senate President’s son. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Not even over his dead body. If he needs to go through hell just to win your heart again, he will do it without any hesitation. 

—

         On the other side, you are back in the VIP Room of the bar where you usually go. You are currently with the Senate President’s son. There’s an awkward tension between the two of you. David Carter is sipping on his glass of vodka while you are drinking wine. 

“Your outburst earlier is unexpected,” He chuckled, studying your expression. You glanced at him as he started the conversation. “A lot of women tried to catch my attention but then there was you.” 

“Is that a compliment?” You asked, sipping on your wine and he nodded with a hum in response. 

             David might be quiet and did not have a chance to explain himself during your meeting yesterday but he is one of the most respected and most influential men in politics just like you. He’s a congressman with the potential to reach the highest rank in the country. That’s why your father wants him to be your husband. 

“Yes. I rarely compliment a woman. You know I have a high standard when it comes to women and you passed.” 

“Because this is me.”  You rebutted, rolling your eyes, and smirked. 

              You two are good friends. You went to the same law school and passed the board exams together. When you were elected as the new Chief of the CIA, he was elected as a congressman. Coincidence? He would say no but you would say yes. David understands why you suddenly snapped at your father upon mentioning the arranged marriage. He knows that you have a trauma in love although he doesn’t know who caused you that pain to be so dismissive of love. But deep down, he wished that you would realize that he has hidden feelings towards you. 

“I noticed that you are not with your personal bodyguard today. Leon Kennedy, right?” He asked, causing you to scoff and roll your eyes again. 

“I don’t know. I don’t care though. That guy needs to breathe from my dark presence.” You joked. 

“I’m surprised that he’s not resigning yet when you are so cold and dismissive to him. In my perspective, men who manage to stay despite your bad side are the ones who have true feelings for you.” You paused and glanced at him. 

“I feel this agent knows you better than I know you. For the past three months of him being your bodyguard, I have never seen someone who's more patient than your father. I noticed that you throw your tantrums on him often but he will only look at you and give you your favorite coffee. Your former bodyguards never bring you your coffee without you telling them which one you prefer. But this agent, he will just pop out of nowhere with a cup of coffee you like. Is there something I don’t know about? Do you have connections with each other?” He added. 

“Oh, David. Stop the spectacle of yourself. Agent Kennedy is nothing but only an agent who saved Ashley from Spain and is currently my bodyguard.” You retorted. 

“But a bodyguard wouldn’t act so protective and caring of you. I mean, he’s crossing the line of being a bodyguard and you don’t notice. He’d protect you from the media, people who will tend to cause you discomfort, and bodyguards should keep an eye on his distance to his boss. But he will take off his jacket and put it on your shoulder like a man who cares for his lover.” 

“Enough!” You snarled. 

“You’re guilty because it’s true. A bodyguard shouldn’t look at his boss with stars in his eyes.” David added. 

              What's surprising about him, even though he has secret feelings towards you, it feels like he’s helping you regarding your issue with Leon which you never mentioned to anyone before. 

“Admit it already, Y/n.  You and Agent Kennedy had a thing before.” 

                   You looked at him, speechless. David is a very observant person but he takes that to another level that's beyond your expectations. He raised his eyebrow at you while you shook your head in defeat. 

“You’re right. We used to be lovers.” You admitted. 

—

             Leon was in his apartment across the apartment building you are in. He purchased the unit to keep an eye on you a few years ago. He knows that this is the place where you usually go to ease your mind rather than going to your own home. He brought his own telescope, not to look up in the sky but to stalk you. With his knowledge in hacking, he used to sneak into your apartment unit and set up small cameras that are difficult to see around your place to see what you are doing when you are out of his sight. 

            You just came back from your hang out with David. You are quite tipsy and tired after a long day. Leon watched you from his computer, your every movement is being captured by the  hidden cameras he put around your apartment. You kicked off your heels and put them on the shoe rack before heading straight to your bedroom to have a nice and cool shower. Undressing yourself, Leon watched your naked figure step into the shower. The sound of water running as you hummed a song sent shivers down to his spine. 

            He watched how you touch yourself as you scrub yourself with soap and wash your hair with shampoos. The way the water ran down your body is something he can’t ignore, but craves. Those perfect large breasts, slim waist, and thick thighs, ugh. He badly wants to go there and fuck you already. 

            After thirty minutes of shower and skincare routine, you came out of your bathroom, wearing nothing but your robe and drying your hair with a towel. Leon continued watching you. He observed you as he realized that you were looking out the window, staring at the apartment building where he was currently in. He looked out too and there he found you standing, seemed to be in a deep thought. He studied your face and he believes that you’re unable to see him because his window is tinted. 

         But for you, you can definitely see him. Since Leon has become your bodyguard, you were even more observant of your surroundings. You've always had a feeling that someone is watching from the shadows and the moment you meet him again, your questions have been answered. Earlier, you and David had discussed this without mentioning Leon’s name. 

“You know, obsessive people are usually more on body language, eye contacts, and sometimes, they use metaphorical words. They are waiting for the right time to have their way to their target. I suggest you give this man a little show. I believe you can do this easily. For a seductress like you, I think this is an easy task.” David smirks as he sips on his whiskey.

“What kind of ‘show’ are you talking about?” You asked. 

“A strip show…” 

            You glared at him at the idea he suggested. “But be careful. Don’t let your bodyguard know about this show you are about to pull out or else you’ll receive a severe punishment from your daddy.” He chuckled. 

            He doesn’t know that the obsessive man you are talking about was no one but your bodyguard himself… 

           Sighing, you untie your robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing your perfect naked body. Leon gasped as his eyes widened in surprise about your sudden, unexpected move. You looked like a Greek Goddess that came down on Earth to seduce men and fulfill their lustful needs. You smirked before getting inside, slowly walking, naked. You grabbed your phone and played soothing, yet seductive music. 

             You started dancing and closed your eyes, feeling the rhythm and the melody of the music. Your hair dances in the air as you turn gracefully. Leon watches you, smiling to himself. Seeing you dance like that felt like nostalgia but way different from before. You changed from a sweet teenager into a seductress. Leon smirked, crossing his arms. 

             After a few minutes, you stopped dancing and went to your closet and wore a silk nightgown, gloves, and a coat. You put on your sandals, dried your hair, and put on a light shade of lipstick. You left your apartment, leaving him wondering what the hell just happened. You just gave him a little strip show, unsure if you did it on purpose or was that just some naughty habits he had never seen until now. While Leon heaves out an unsatisfied sigh, you went to the apartment building across yours to confront him already. 

              David is right. He crossed the line of being a bodyguard. Though he is affectionate to you when the two of you are together, you did not expect him to be this obsessive of you. 

“...or just give in to his needs already if you find yourself attracted to the man. Confront him.”

                You remember David gave you another advice earlier before going home. You also thought about this while taking a shower. You are aware that there’s a hidden camera around your house. Yet, you don’t feel creeped out at all as if you know who’s responsible for this. All the dots are connected and the mystery is solved the moment Leon came back and got hired as your bodyguard. The spark you felt towards this obsessive person sparked even more when it comes to Leon. It’s always him. Every question you make about this emotional stuff always leads back to him. 

             The ding of the elevator snapped you back to your senses as the doors opened. You stepped out of the elevator and went to Leon’s apartment unit, Unit 2704. You pressed the doorbell and waited for Leon to open the door. 

            He went to the front door and looked at the peephole. He was surprised to see you standing on his doorstep. He opened the door, you looked at him and he was surprised to see you. 

“I need to talk to you,” You started in a stern tone.

—

To Be Continued...

[garnet-xx-rose]

Wild af how much Catra v Hordak discourse existed back in the day because I still love the idea of her being an unofficial aunt to his and Entrapta’s kid.

First creation after the fall of the horde but still linked to it, while representing a brighter future for the rest of the descendants. Entrapta noting how without Catra, she and Hordak would’ve never met, thus would’ve never had their family. Hordak pointing out to Catra that their child has Heterochromia like her.

Anyway, I’ve always enjoyed Catra and Hordak’s odd relationship and it was always strange to me how people wanted to separate them and their journeys. Idk mate I think those two are tied for life whether they like it or not.

[eisdendrobium]

my first and last letter for you.

pairings : childe x reader summary : after getting your heart broken by childe you decides to move away so you wouldn't see him again, and so you wrote him your first and last letter. note : there'll be a bit of childe and reader's past relationship written so i highly recommend you to read/re-read the first part! ^v^ also this hasn't been proofread!

read part 1 here! : where’s my happily ever after?

ajax, how're you doing these past week? finally getting that girlfriend you've been searching for? lumine right? yeah i met her earlier today, and i could say that she's not what i thought she is you know?

i tried to hate her, and i did, i hated her for taking you away from me. you, someone who i found comfort in and you, who i foolishly fell in love with.

i hated every moment i spent seeing you with her, i hate how pathetic i feel watching you with her.

"why would you like her? someone who just entered your live, someone who you barely know?" that was what i thought back then

but i met her today, i saw how beautiful she is inside, and i hate it. how come she's so nice? how come she's so perfect? she's such an angel compared to me.

i understand why you love her ajax, i would too if i were you. i mean how could you not? i've treated her like a disease yet she's still so friendly, so nice, so caring towards me...

a part of me still hates her, a part of me still can't seem to let you go. you were my everything ajax.. you saved me that day when i was in the brink of death, you taught me what love is - what love could be.

and i thought we had something you know? the way you act, the way you talk, and the way you treat me as if i'll break if you did something wrong. You were my savior, you whom i fell in love with.

but i guess you need someone who could comfort you in your dark times too right? i suppose i was never the person to express my feelings.. never was the person who could comfort people..

but what i didn't expect is the fact that you turn cold so fast. how could you ajax? how could you leave me like that? maybe you finally had enough of my antiques? haha..

since you've already know about my feelings towards you before i had the courage to tell you myself i suppose i'll confess everything in this letter hehe :

ajax, the guy who saved my life when i was in the brink of freezing, the guy who warmed my cold heart and showed me what love is, everything we did i store inside of me dearly.

i still remember that day you knelt down and gave me those qixing flowers, that night you saved me- you bought me warm soup and clothes to warm me up, so many things..

perhaps i didn't thanked you enough.. thank you for everything ajax, thank you for saving my life, thank you for helping me survive, for teaching me how to love, for letting me love you.

yet i'm afraid i couldn't stand seeing you with lumine again, i'm afraid if i stayed here longer the ice you melt will freeze again, freezing me from the inside.

you're happy with her, she's perfect for you, and i've come to realize that i'll have to let you go... i can't share ajax, you know that right?

it's either you for me or not at all, and you love her so i wouldn't force you to love me

goodbye childe, may we meet again in brighter future.. please take care of yourself and her for me yeah?

i love you.

signed, your companion [name].

a/n : reblogs are greatly appreciated! and please feel free to comment what you think about this fic ^^

[loki-cees-all]

Ch. 4 - Hope Against Hope {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Previous Chapter / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : After you and Loki do the deed, Loki does a little soul-searching.

W/c : 4.7k words

Content / Warnings : Smut (p-in-v), angst (knife-in-heart), mentions of a future addiction for the reader (nothing specific is mentioned, and no actual use of illicit substances ever takes place), and Loki rifling through all of your stuff. It's fine, though! He has a good reason!

Author's Note : Apologies this is so late! It really, really got away from me, and I was absolutely struggling to get it done. But, it turns out I was just trying to do too much in one chapter, so once I cut it off at what was the halfway point, it became much more manageable. (Major shoutout to @infinitystoner for helping me with that. I love you!) Anyway, happy reading!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 26th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Throughout his thousand years of existence, Loki had witnessed a great deal of beautiful things. The golden shine of the palace he’d grown up in was the first; its light reflected brighter than the birth of a newborn star, shining down with a brilliance unrivaled to anything short of divine intervention. 

Every morning, he’d awake in awe of its splendor, and every night, when he laid his head upon his pillow, he’d wonder if anyone else ever noticed the terrible irony of such a gorgeous place containing the harshest of people. 

The exquisite gardens of Asgard had always been his favorite place to be. Carefully tended to and guided by his mother’s loving hand, they contained every species of flower from each of the Nine Realms - meticulously organized by the shade of their petals, and perpetually in bloom thanks to her seidr. 

It was the perfect place for reflection; he had spent many late nights in those gardens, wandering up and down the rows, taking in the sweet aroma of the flowers and pondering his lot in life. And during the worst of Thanos’ many tortures, he’d often imagine he was back there inside Frigga’s gardens - shielded and protected, and lost in majesty instead of in pain. 

And the stunning destruction of the Bifrost would haunt him for the rest of his days. The explosion’s light caught the shards of the Rainbow Bridge and almost blinded him, illuminating nothing but his many failures in the most glorious of ways as he fell into its wake. The Bifrost had faded into golden dust, and clouds of sapphire and ultramarine had swirled together beneath him, and it was so magnificent that he almost forgot about the look of sheer disappointment upon his father’s face. 

But none of those things, not a single one of them, could ever compare to the sight of you coming undone beneath his devoted tongue. 

Loki continued working, his mouth and eyes eagerly taking in the evidence of your pleasure. His hands gripped your waist tight, as if to squeeze out every ounce of it that he could, while his lips and tongue lavished your clit. He’d never tasted something so divine, and he never wanted your pleasure to end. 

You cried out his name like the holiest of prayers, and Loki moaned its accompaniment. He could almost see the light radiating off your skin as your back arched off the bed, and the blood in his veins surged with want as your thighs trembled against his ears. He desperately needed more, to keep you sated and satisfied in euphoria for as long as he could - but he also needed to be careful. 

Because as far as you knew, Loki was just another simple mortal - one that had a job, and a family, and paid taxes. A human man, one that played rugby on the weekends, someone who was going to die in about forty years - when he was actually the furthest from anything that even resembledbanality. 

Ordinarily, in situations like this, Loki’s seidr would be on full display - to set the mood by lighting the fire in the hearth and the candles on the nightstand. To keep the wine flowing in their glasses, and the sheets warm against your bare skin. To remove his clothing in a flash of green light, just so he could bury himself inside you the exact second he wanted to. 

And Gods, how he helplessly wanted to be inside you again. 

Loki hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since the night in the alleyway. It had been feral and hurried, dangerous and reckless, to take you against that wall and in public, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the best he’d ever had. And it was so foolish of himself to think he could get by with only having you once, and so incredibly selfish to take you again while knowing what he knew about your future…

But even still, Loki’s cock ached underneath his trousers, throbbing in sync with every single beat of his heart. Desire coursed violently throughout his veins, mixing with both heat and adrenaline as he continued ravishing between your legs. He could feel you clenching rhythmically, your fingers tangling in his hair and your hips grinding upwards, and he could never deny you what you wanted. 

You were just past the height of ecstasy when Loki began to crawl up your body, following behind his lips as they worshiped your skin. He kissed his way up your belly, gazing up at your ethereal expression as your head lolled back and forth on the pillow. Aftershocks washed over you, one by one, and your lips parted with desperate breath and pleasured murmurs. It was beautiful, and perfect, and of nothing but sheer divinity. 

Loki kept his gaze locked on your face as he slowly kissed along your ribs, and your feet flexed, pressing into his hips as yours continued writhing. Your fingers curled tighter around his hair, a silent plea to urge him on, and he couldn’t believe that even after all of this, even while completely lost in the throes of ecstasy, you still wanted more of him. 

His initial plan had been to take you as slowly as possible - to savor, and to idolize you. He’d never been wanted like this before, and he didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d get to experience it. A lifetime of neglect had taught him affection was ever fleeting, and he should always relish it whenever it came. What little patience he had was quickly disappearing by the second, soon to be nothing but a distant memory of the time before he was whole again. 

Your eyes stayed closed as his name tumbled from your lips, and Loki knew this was the moment. He kept one hand clutched tight around your hip, and brought the other down to his belt, unbuckling it just enough to make a sound before his seidr dissolved the remaining clothing from his body and transported them to the floor, as if they’d been tossed aside in a hurry. 

He moved upwards again, and when he reached your nipple and pulled it into his mouth, you whimpered in pleasure and dragged your nails across his scalp. A deep groan rumbled in his throat and he began to suck harder, flicking his tongue wildly against the stiffening peak. This time you let out a sharp gasp, and your feet planted on the mattress to arch your back even more and press your hips against something, anything, of his. 

Loki graciously slid his thigh up to soothe the ache between your quivering legs, and you eagerly locked on to it, grinding your swollen clit against his taut muscles. You had been more than wet when he had gone down on you before, but now you were positively drenched with arousal, and Loki loved that about you. He’d never been so hard in his life, precum dripping onto your belly from the head of his glistening cock as the musk of sex filled the room. 

Your head tilted back into the pillow and your thighs trembled violently, supported only by your tiptoes and your upper back as another orgasm ripped through you. Loki cupped your other breast, his thumb circling its nipple as he sucked even harder on the first, trying desperately to hold back his own ecstasy until he was buried deep inside you. 

But that battle was becoming more and more difficult to win, and his equanimity was dissipating with each and every one of your breathless moans and whimpers. Loki moved his hands to carefully guide your feet flat, and then massaged your calves and thighs into relaxing as he carefully pulled his lips away from your nipple. 

As he moved closer, your hands shifted to cling to his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Anything you could read, everything about him that was solid and real. He wanted so badly to assure you that he was, to shout it from the rooftops that he wasn’t just real, that he was - in fact - yours, and that was the only real thing that mattered. 

Loki’s lips were on your collarbone when he finally coaxed your legs into position, relaxed but open for him. You were making unintelligible noises and your body continued trembling, but your hips kept rolling as he slowly settled his weight onto you and pressed his hips against yours. 

“Loki…oh my, God, Loki…” you gasped breathlessly, sliding your hands up along his neck to his hair, to tangle in the mess of matted and sweaty curls against his scalp. 

His breath shuddered as he gazed upon you, eyelids fluttering open and shut, and pupils dilated so wide to take him all in. His lips hovered just a touch above yours, inhaling as you exhaled, leaning in as you pulled him closer. He wasn’t running or cowering away, there was no fleeing or escaping. For the first time since the Tesseract had slid to his feet in the lobby of Stark Tower, Loki was exactly where he wanted to be. 

“Yes, my darling…I’m here, just breathe…” he whispered, dragging his nose along the edge of yours. His voice shifted into a groan as you wrapped your legs around his waist; the soft skin of your thighs burned against him, branding a reminder into his flesh that this was where he belonged, and the soaked heat between your legs beckoned him back home. 

The two of you were as naked as the day you were born - one born on Earth, and one born on Jotunheim. Dark green and satin sheets lay beneath you, twisted and tangled upon your bed. The air inside your room was almost overwhelming, a delicious mixture of heat and musk, and despite the very early morning hour, the city of London still bustled just outside your window, cruelly unaware of the magic that was about to happen above them. 

Your lips met again, and even though the kiss was just as hungry as that night in the alleyway, there was something else now with it - a touch of familiarity, of knowing and acceptance even though it couldn’t really be - not with all the lies he’d been telling, and the truth he’d been withholding. Loki kissed you harder, trying to push those thoughts out of his brain, and you happily reciprocated. 

As you introduced your tongue to the kiss, Loki cupped the back of your skull with one hand, and brought the other between your hips as he began to rock against you, dragging himself against your entrance and teasing you both into oblivion. Neither of you needed any further teasing, but he did it anyway, just to add the final touch of urgency. You whimpered and opened your hips even further, and on the next push, he was inside you again. 

Suddenly, everything made perfect sense as the entire universe opened up before him. Loki let out the hoarsest of groans as he pushed deeper, and your lower back arched even more beneath him. Your fingers curled even tighter around his hair, your lips fell from his to moan his name again, and you were so wet and warm and safe that he felt like nothing could ever hurt him again. 

All he ever wanted was to feel like this, and he slowly pulled himself out, just short of all the way, before sinking himself back inside. Your hips writhed uncontrollably as he did that a few more times, and Loki realized that you also needed the reminder that even if he pulled away or left completely, he would always come back to you. That he would never not be thinking of you, or of this. 

Loki was already ruined before he began thrusting even faster, and there was absolutely nothing that could have ever stopped him. He buried his face against your neck and arched his back more harshly, pulling all the way out before pumping back inside. Your muscles squeezed around him, and your voice was nothing but breathless and incoherent gasps and moans as you took him in over and over again. 

He snaked one arm around your back and the other around your waist as he moved faster, grunting and groaning against your skin as your fingertips scratched at his scalp. His muscles tensed as yours did, and he could tell by the sound of your voice that you were getting close already. His own orgasm was just seconds away, coiling around in his belly, stretching and yearning to break free as he drove himself harder, faster, deeper. 

The tension broke simultaneously, and you cried out together, curling tightly around each other’s bodies, clinging for dear life as you came together. Endorphins and hormones coursed through Loki’s veins as the universe came into being, with stars exploding and dust swirling to form the galaxies and planets and realms that could stretch longer and further than anyone would ever know. 

You clung so tightly to him during it all, as if you could see what he saw, but somehow he was the only thing that mattered. How could that be, that while an entire universe was being born, that the goddess of a mortal underneath could only look up at him? 

Loki didn’t understand it one bit, but he didn’t need to, because all he could feel and see and smell was you. His hips continued rocking, shallower now that he was absolutely spent, and his sighs were heavy in the crook of your neck. He was in total and complete bliss when you let out a choked sob against his ear, and it instantly brought him back to reality. 

“Darling…darling, what’s wrong?” he murmured, kissing your neck and squeezing you tighter. Had he done something wrong? Had he unintentionally hurt you in some way while lost in his own pleasure? 

He could feel you shake your head, even as another sob escaped you. He could feel the tears streaming down your face and coating his own cheek, but your limbs still wrapped harder around him. Slowly, Loki lifted his head even though he was terrified of what he might see upon your face. His heavy eyelids fluttered open, his blurred vision effortlessly obscuring the tangled limbs and sweaty skin you both shared. 

But when your face finally came into view, there was a smile beneath the tears on your cheeks. Your messy hair framed your face like an untidy halo - disconnected from, but still beautiful and fitting for the angel who wore it. Loki would never forget that smile and its tears, so happy and yet so sad all at the same time. 

“I don’t know why, Loki…but I’ll be fine, I promise…” you answered in a voice that was so floating and breathless and light.

He could tell you meant it, and it should have reassured him, but it didn’t. The image of that newspaper from 1983 suddenly flashed before his eyes, and Loki remembered the initial reason he had come home with you last night. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 27th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Loki wasn’t exactly sure what he was searching for, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. 

The sun was just beginning to encroach over the horizon, sending its rays over the city and into the bay windows of your high-rise flat. He padded cautiously into your living room, thankful for the plush white carpets between his toes to mute his exhausted steps. 

There was nothing he wanted more than to slip back into bed with you and sleep the day away, but he had to take this opportunity while he still had the chance. 

Loki could still see you, sleeping soundly in the arms of the duplicate he’d casted so as to not rouse any suspicion while he snooped. It felt so wrong to be doing this now, so soon after the night you’d just shared together, but the guilt of your future was driving him forward, egging him on and eating him away so badly he wouldn’t be able to have another decent rest even if he tried. 

And it was odd, feeling jealous of something he’d conjured to keep you distracted, and in bed. It was, technically-speaking, him…but it wasn’t him- and he was the one who desperately needed the rest. Loki hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since well before Thanos’ capture, since he had lived in the palace on Asgard, and he had no idea when he’d be able to have it again…

Nevertheless, Loki shook his head and rolled it back and forth between his shoulders. His joints popped and cracked as he stretched his arms up over head, extending and pulling and desperately willing his limbs to fully awaken for the task at hand. He opened his eyes wider to take in more light, and he filled his lungs with as much oxygen as he could muster, held it for as long as he could, and released it slowly through his nose. 

If anyone else could see him, they’d say he was stalling. Deception ordinarily came easy to him - Odin had taken advantage of that many times - but this was different; in fact, this was much, much worse. And he knew he wasn’t going to like what he found, but it needed to be seen anyway. He had to know if he was the cause of your future addiction, or if had already started before you’d even met. 

Loki began his search in the kitchen, opening up the cupboards and pantries, quietly sliding items aside so he could see any possible illicit substances hidden in the back. He checked on top of the refrigerator and deep inside the freezer for excessive quantities of alcohol. He even looked through the drawers of silverware and utensils, the mail on top of the counter, the pockets of your coats hung by the front door for something, anything, that hinted at your painful future. 

But he found nothing, just like he was afraid of. And it wasn’t because he wanted you to have an addiction, to be suffering silently and hiding your pain away from the world - he didn’t want that to happen to you at all, ever. But the more he searched, the more it became apparent that he would be the eventual cause of it. 

And if he did manage to find something, he could offer you the help you needed. He could take care of you, instead of hurting you. He could be of use for something good, instead of the destruction he normally was. 

From the kitchen, he returned to the living room, shoving his hands between the couch cushions and underneath the sofas. He flipped through the magazines stacked on the coffee table, and pulled the books off the bookshelves. All the while, trying so hard not to think about how he was going to eventually make addiction a reality for you. 

Loki could tell you were eager to learn more about him, to know him more than just as a man who kept you company at night, and it was getting harder to dodge your questions. He knew you would have more when you awoke, and it wasn’t that you didn’t deserve to hear the answers, because of course you did. You deserved everything happy and safe and beautiful there could ever be, and Loki truly wanted to be the one to give all of that to you. 

But Loki didn’t know what to tell you, because that had never been the truth of his reality. So what was he supposed to tell you? That he was the monster that parents told their children about at night? 

That he’s an alien being from another realm, who could travel through time and space? That there were different versions of every single person living within multiple universes, and that in 35 years his past self would try to lead an alien army to violently take over New York City? 

At best, you wouldn’t believe him at all, and at worse, you’d absolutely hate him for it…even if doing that is exactly what brought him to you in the first place. 

After the last book was slid back into place, Loki sighed and turned his attention to the living room as a whole. Everything was clean and organized, everything had a specific place to be and was already there, and absolutely nothing was amiss. Nothing and everything was wrong, all at the same time, and the realization almost brought him to his knees. 

Loki was going to ruin your life eventually; the only question now was how he was going to do it, and when he was going to hammer that final nail inside your coffin. Was it going to be as soon as you woke up? Was it going to be because he finally told you the truth? 

His fingers pressed into his eye sockets as he collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing away furiously as he pondered his options. Truthfully speaking, how much time did you two have left together? The Loom was still on the verge of total destruction back at the TVA; his friends were back there right now, working tirelessly on a solution while he selfishly snuck away to see you again. To coddle his own emotions and guilt, when none of that would matter if they were unable to save the timelines at all. 

And what was he supposed to do if they managed to prevent the Loom’s destruction? Keep sneaking away to come see you like a long-distance lover? Make up a pretend job for himself, never tell you the truth, and force you to perpetually linger in the liminal space between his crafted persona and who he actually was? 

Not even he could keep a lie that massive forever. You would eventually discover the truth, or perhaps you would realize that there even was a truth different from the one he was selling you. Maybe what the truth was actually didn’t matter; maybe what mattered was that you couldn’t keep living a lie, and that was all it took to break you. 

Loki leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows digging into his knees while dragging his fingertips down his cheeks and over his mouth. His palms pressed together in a silent prayer as his eyes roamed over the room. His eyes filled with tears as he realized this would have to be the last time he ever looked upon it. He would have to leave you, before either of you fell too hard - and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to save you more than it would destroy him. 

His expression was solemn as he stood back up from the sofa. He hoped he’d been overthinking your expression in the alleyway a week ago, in the club the night before, in your bed as you’d come together. His heart broke as he prayed that you didn’t actually care about him as much as he already cared about you, that this would actually be easy for you. That you still had the strength to pick up the pieces and carry on with your life. 

As Loki turned to leave the living room, to start the long journey back to your bedroom and kiss you goodbye, his eyes caught the painting above your dining room table. His frown shifted into a smile, although his eyes were as distraught and disillusioned as ever. He stepped closer and pressed his fingertips across the frame, thinking about all the stories this single painting told. 

You were so unbelievably talented; every brush stroke had been as carefully placed as the belongings inside your flat. How he wished he could see this tree that you loved so much, and how he longed to feel the same kind of permanent comfort that it seemed to bring you even now. He’d never felt such everlasting solace in his entire life, and he’d even happily settle for being able to provide that kind of love for you some day. 

But it just wasn’t meant to be. And for now, all Loki could hope for was that your father or your friends could help you still move on. 

He reluctantly pulled away and returned down the hallway, training his eyes straight ahead to avoid the beautiful and happy photographs plastered all over the walls. He tried desperately not to look at the candelabrum on the narrow bookshelf. But of course, the morning light caught it, reflecting off the polished brass and right into his anguished gaze. 

Loki couldn’t help but pause in front of it, right outside the doorway to your bedroom. He could hear you breathing in your bed, slowly and peacefully, in the arms of his duplicate. You were so close, and yet so far, because he couldn’t tear himself away from the hall and its haunted reminder of his past life. 

He’d seen that candelabrum before, but he didn’t know how it had found its way here. Surely, it had to be a coincidence, right? That the asymmetrically curved pieces swung upright to form the horns of the golden headpiece he used to wear before the TVA had taken him away? 

Devil’s horns, the enemies of Asgard used to call them. The Dökkláfar of Alfheim had considered them omens of death, but it wasn’t in the same way they had feared Odin’s power, or his brother’s hammer. Those items could always be seen before striking down their enemies; their power was out in the open, demanding to be witnessed, and punishing for their disobedience to the throne. 

But by the time an enemy ever saw Loki’s horns, it was already too late. The damage was already done, secretly in the shadows and hidden upon layers and layers of deceptions and lies. His enemies were already dead by the time Loki finally revealed himself and his Devil’s horns, and their last few seconds were usually spent wondering which trick it was that struck the final blow. 

So what were they doing here, in this young woman’s flat? In London, in 1977, where he’d never been before and surely would never return to again? Surely there was no way you knew what they actually represented. No, it had to just be an unhappy coincidence. 

Back on Asgard, Loki had been repeatedly regulated to operating within the shadows. In his younger years, he had believed it was simply because that was where he excelled. But then he knew better; he knew that Odin had kept him in the shadows intentionally, that he was fit to exist in the light. And now, he was being forced to recede into the shadows yet again, to be nothing but a hopefully wistful and fond memory of yours. 

He had only just found you. He had only just come to know the caring touch of peace, and already he was having to give it back up. 

Another tear rolled down Loki’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He let out a sharp breath, steeled his jaw, and stepped back inside your bedroom, not at all ready to do the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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[day-drawn-blog]

Part II : Slow burn ❤️‍🔥

Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

I feel your breath on my neck, the soft caress as cold as death

Your blood like wine, I want it in, oh darling make me drink and make me feel

- I want to live

Tags: angst, fluff, sadness, angst, fluff, then maybe eventually smut because I do love that

Pairing: Astarion x Reader -- Set in Act I

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : Maybe tonight, I'll rest in peace

Part IV : There is much to do and I still want to live

Part V : Our futures bound, our bodies known

Part VI : These ain't my sins, I'm not to blame

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours

Part VIII: your blood like wine invites me in

Part IX: I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die

---------

Next day, you woke up early and you remembered the rollercoaster your heart had been through. And your little secret. Ah, you almost forgot. So caught up were you in your pining you ignored the safety of those around you, and the resolve you had made last night to help and protect those around you. And right now, nothing posed more of a threat than a blood sucking vampire posing as an ally. You did not quite trust him yet. After all, you did not know him well at all.

You left your tent, resolved to confront him.

To settle this issue as best as you can on behalf of those innocent of his real identity. You spotted him next to his tent. His messy curls, even more disheveled in the morning. But his countenance brighter than yesterday. You wondered if it was the effect of the favor you did him. Somehow a part of you felt happy, that you made a difference to him.

You broached the subject.

"Can we talk?" He looked up surprised. "About your... condition. I was curious how we were going to feed you from now on."

His eyes widened.

I guess he did not realize you would confront him about this first thing in the morning. But it has to be done, sooner the better. Before everyone else wakes up. "How... how are you?" He managed, flustered. At least he has it in him to be polite and ask, you thought. You approved of his shallow charm. Now to the point.

"I am alright. But I am worried." "You have my word. I will never put any of us in harm's way. And if I ever do, I will ask, first" he flashed his cheeky grin. You almost gave in. And then suddenly, rustling behind him, startled you both.

Shadowheart walked out of his tent.

You were completely blindsided, Astarion was more embarassed and looked away.

Shadowheart was surprisingly, normal. "Good morning. Are you guys planning breakfast? I heard talks about a meal, or something... " she drawled in her usual charming manner.

"Ah yeah.. something like that.."

you managed to say, and decided to drop it. Before your heart shattered into pieces again, you decided, you walk away.

You wished you could leave them at camp.

So you didn't have to be distracted by those two as you navigated such dangerous lands. But, you all always travelled together and at least there will be other people, to distract you, from Shadowheart and Astarion's intimate moments together, where he held out his hands, to help her on a step. Or she cast her guidance and radiance to protect him, or where he took out a threat with his sneak attack before they ambushed her.

You felt weaker in combat that day.

Several times, Karlach had to protect you. You almost got knocked down, and she had to help you up. Thankfully Wyll had your back too. You felt terrible how much you let this matter get to you. Back at camp, exhausted, and down to your last breath, you decided to put him out of your head once and for all. You needed to wash up, and rest.

This was not serving you.

As you sat in your tent that night, going over the events of the day. You felt tears come up. You wanted to be the one being protected. Looked after..by him. To be important enough.

To be valued and loved, by him.

Dammit. Why should you put him on a pedestal like this. Better start thinking really hard how you could avoid that from happening again. This was your only way. Should you ask them to stay behind at camp the next day? No ..you need every ally you can get fighting for your life.

Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. You were confused, you thought everyone had gone to bed early that night, tired from all the ambush you had faced that day. So who was it? And why were they coming inside your tent?The tent flaps parted, and you saw a familiar tall silhouette.

You stopped breathing in surprise.

You both stared at each other for a few moments before he broke silence. "I am sorry to disturb your rest, the hour is late. Terribly, and truly" and it seemed like he was second guessing himself and walking back out again. Then he stopped and turned around "You see, this was my first.. I had never drank from a ...thinking creature before. Cazador... my master, would only ever let me feed on rats. "

Where was he going with this?

"Would you be so kind, as to grant me this favor one more time? I completely understand if you don't want to, and this is, well very embarrassing for me to admit" You could see his ears turn red as he shiftily looked anywhere but at you. "But ever since last night, I have not been able to forget... how you tasted". "I could do anything for one more time...please?" And he looked at you with his eyes full of endless misery, that familiar pleading voice and gaze...

You were weak against that but you were annoyed.

Who does he think he is. Does he think himself so charming that he can just waltz into your tent, demanding you donate your blood for free while he went back to Shadowheart right after? You did want to be the hero to those that needed you, but this is just taking advantage of you. You liked him a little less at that point. You were fully resolved to turn him down. After all, this felt wrong, not just to you, but to Shadowheart as well.

You got up.

"I am afraid, Astarion, I will have to turn you down tonight. Isn't Shadowheart waiting for you? What will she think of your absence?"

"She doesn't know. No one does. And I would like to not tell everyone, as long as I can, if you help me. You are the only one, who knows. And if everyone were to find out, I am afraid they would not show me the kindness you did. I would be cast aside. And left to fend for myself."

For all the outward intimacy between him and Shadowheart, you realized, they were not after all, close at heart. What did you expect. Did you expect him to be someone that would allow himself to fall in love with someone or genuinely love and care for someone other than himself? Your first impression of him, was right. The suave and snooth bad boy, with a thousand charms was after all, just that.

You sighed.

Battling with your moral dilemma. You wanted to cave, and earn his trust even more, and maybe a bit of affection. But was that really the right way to go about it. To exploit his weakness? You couldn't. You needed to save everyone. Even the ones that were too proud to admit they needed saving. You sighed again.

"Astarion, I would like to help you. However I cannot, be your only source of.. sustenance. This will affect me in battle. And I thought we agreed you would feed on our enemies, since they are as good as dead, as you said."

If he was disappointed he did not let it show.

"But of course. I only just wanted a little bit. You wouldn't even feel it. I promise. It will be a gift, that I will never forget" He looked at you with his intense gaze that sometimes betrayed the storm raging inside him you suspected. "I understand..." His countenance fell. He was pained. "Have a good sleep. I'll see you around in the morning" And he turned to leave.

"Wait"

Dammit. You cannot turn him down. Or anyone. When they genuinely seem to need your help. But did Astarion really need you? Or was he being greedy? Were you being deceived? Probably. Behind the facade of one who seeks your help is someone simply using you. You felt that. And yet, you were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

"Yes, you can...again, tonight. Only a little bit"

"Really? You would?" Genuine surprise in his voice. He quickly stepped in and drew the tent flaps shut. He took your hand and suddenly took the lead. Taking you to the back, gestured to you to sit. You sat down, he knelt in front of you, lifted your arm like last time, with both his hands, gave it a kiss, and looked at you one more time, as if to ask for your permission one last time, and when you nodded, proceeded to bear his fangs at which you looked away.

It didn't hurt, nor did it last longer than a few minutes. Afterwards he drew away, and sat down next to you, as if sated to his utmost. A grin across his face like last time. you looked at your wrist, and the two little dots where his fangs had pierced your skin. The ones from last night were fading. Tonight's red. He looked at you looking at your wrist. "Does it hurt?" He seemed...guilty.

"Let me wrap it"

He proceeded to tear a bit of linen from somewhere nearby and tie it around the bite marks. Hiding your doing, I see. This is no act of kindness. You felt your resolve melt. You felt glad to have been of use to him. But also sad, he was about to leave. And go back to shadowheart. You had served your role. He had used you, and no longer needed you.

Thank you ...you whispered to him

Part III : Maybe tonight, I'll rest in peace

[slwithanl]

Hyperfixating on Dedf1sh cos i got that Achtism

The title of this is v funny isnt it ive used it on every upload of this piece hehe, really like this one, pose is referenced('referenced') from Avril Lavigne apparently i traced it cos i thought it was a stock image but it wasnt so i feel kinda bad about that ill be more careful in the future, really love the light and vibrant bits, the purple outline gets brighter the closer to the light sources, i love the black dark abyss surrounding them someone taught me that i am v grateful, idk what to say if ur dedf1sh i love u

[kckt88]

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 3750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

The fog-shrouded streets of Victorian London welcomed Aemond Targaryen as he arrived in the bustling city, a hopeful yet innocent youth with dreams of a brighter future. With the passing of his grandfather, Otto Hightower, Aemond found himself thrust into a world of opulence and intrigue beyond his wildest imagination.

As he stepped out of the carriage onto the cobbled streets, Aemond's eyes widened with wonder at the sights and sounds of the city. Towering buildings loomed overhead, their grand facades casting long shadows upon the bustling thoroughfares below. Pedestrians bustled past, their attire a dizzying array of colours and styles, each one seemingly more extravagant than the last.

Guided by his grandfather's solicitor, Aemond made his way through the labyrinthine streets until they arrived at the opulent townhouse that would now be his home. The imposing structure stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Hightower family, its grandeur unmatched by any other in the neighbourhood.

As he stepped through the ornate doorway, Aemond was greeted by the rich scent of polished wood and fine fabrics. The interior was a marvel of Victorian elegance, with intricately carved furnishings and sumptuous tapestries adorning every surface. It was a world far removed from the humble surroundings of his upbringing, and Aemond could scarcely believe that it was now his to inherit.

But amidst the grandeur, there lingered a sense of melancholy – a reminder of the grandfather he had lost, and the weight of responsibility now thrust upon his young shoulders. Otto Hightower had been a pillar of the community, revered by all who knew him, and Aemond was determined to honour his legacy in any way he could.

With a solemn resolve, Aemond set about making the townhouse his own, determined to carve out a place for himself in this new and unfamiliar world. Little did he know the trials and tribulations that awaited him amidst the gaslit streets of Victorian London, where danger and intrigue lurked around every corner. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his newfound fortune, hopeful for the adventures that lay ahead.

After performing a mesmerizing piano solo in front of the upper classes of Victorian society, Aemond Targaryen found himself amidst a flurry of praise and admiration. As he basked in the warm glow of applause, a figure approached him, his presence commanding attention amidst the throng of well-dressed attendees.

"Bravo, Mr. Targaryen," the man said with a charming smile, his eyes alight with admiration. "Your performance was truly captivating."

Aemond returned the smile, feeling a flush of pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of modesty. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

The man introduced himself as Criston Cole, a renowned painter whose works adorned the walls of the most esteemed galleries in London. He spoke of beauty and art with a passion that ignited a spark of curiosity within Aemond's soul.

"It would be an honour to capture your likeness on canvas, Mr. Targaryen," Criston said, his tone sincere. "Your beauty is a rare gift, one that should be preserved and admired for all to see."

Aemond hesitated, taken aback by the offer. He had always been told of his striking appearance, but to have it immortalized in paint was a prospect he had never considered.

"I... I am flattered, Mr. Cole," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with colour. "But I fear I am not worthy of such an honour."

Criston shook his head, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear boy," he said firmly. "You possess a beauty that transcends mere mortal standards. It would be a crime not to capture it for future generations to behold."

And so, with Criston's persuasive words ringing in his ears, Aemond found himself agreeing to sit for the portrait. Little did he know that this decision would mark the beginning of a journey that would forever change the course of his life, leading him down a path fraught with danger and sin.

In the lavish halls of a grand Victorian mansion, Aemond Targaryen found himself drawn into a conversation with Lord Tyland Lannister, a man whose reputation preceded him as an aristocrat with a hedonistic worldview. Lord Tyland exuded an air of confidence and charm, his every movement a testament to his belief that beauty and sensual fulfilment were the only things worth pursuing in life.

"Aemond Targaryen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lord Tyland greeted with a smooth smile, his gaze appraising as he took in Aemond's striking features.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Lannister," Aemond replied, returning the greeting with a polite nod. Despite his upbringing and the values instilled in him by his grandfather, Aemond couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at the man before him, whose aura of decadence seemed to pull at him like a siren's call.

Lord Tyland's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me, Aemond, do you believe in the pursuit of pleasure above all else? In the beauty of indulgence and the ecstasy of desire?"

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a provocative question. His upbringing had taught him the virtues of duty and honour, but there was something intoxicating about Lord Tyland's words, a tantalizing allure that beckoned him to explore the depths of his own desires.

"I... I suppose I have never given it much thought," Aemond admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there is certainly a certain appeal to the idea of... indulging in life's pleasures."

Lord Tyland's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Ah, a man after my own heart," he exclaimed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy. "Come, let us toast to the pursuit of beauty and pleasure, and may we revel in its delights together."

And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement swirling within him, Aemond found himself drawn into Lord Tyland's world of hedonistic excess, where the boundaries between right and wrong blurred in the intoxicating haze of pleasure and desire. Little did he know the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare him in a web of temptation from which there may be no escape.

Seated in the dimly lit studio of Criston Cole, Aemond Targaryen found himself bathed in a soft, ethereal light as the artist worked diligently at his easel. Lord Tyland Lannister stood nearby, his keen eyes observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"My dear Aemond, you truly are a vision of perfection," Lord Tyland remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. "Your beauty is timeless, a masterpiece in its own right."

Aemond offered a modest smile in response, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched Criston deftly apply paint to canvas, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of youth and beauty was but a fragile illusion, destined to fade with the passage of time.

"Will you not sit for your own portrait, Lord Lannister?" Criston inquired, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Lord Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear Criston, my beauty is but a fleeting thing," he replied with a smirk. "Unlike our dear Aemond here, whose likeness will remain untouched by the ravages of time."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at Lord Tyland's words, a sudden realization dawning upon him. His beauty, though captivating now, was not meant to last. And yet, the thought of growing old and withered filled him with a sense of dread unlike anything he had ever known.

"I... I cannot bear the thought of losing this," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "To watch as my beauty fades, as I wither and decay... it is a fate too cruel to imagine."

Lord Tyland's gaze softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Then do not imagine it, my dear boy," he said gently. "For there are other paths one can take, other bargains one can strike to ensure that such a fate never befalls them."

Aemond's eyes widened with realization as Lord Tyland's words sank in. Could it be possible? Could he truly sell his soul in exchange for eternal youth and beauty, allowing the portrait to age and fade in his stead?

Without a second thought, Aemond made his decision. "I will do it," he declared, his voice firm with resolve. "I will sell my soul to ensure that the picture, rather than I, will age and fade."

And as the words left his lips, a shiver ran down Aemond's spine, for he knew that he had made a bargain from which there could be no turning back. But in that moment, as he watched Criston continue to work on his portrait, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his beauty would endure for all eternity, even as he himself faded into obscurity.

As the days passed and the portrait of Aemond Targaryen neared completion, a subtle unease began to gnaw at his soul. Each time he entered Criston Cole's studio, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the painting, where he couldn't help but notice a subtle change, a shift in the delicate lines and hues that adorned the canvas.

At first, it was nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast in just the right way to give the illusion of movement. But as Aemond studied the portrait more closely, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The features that had once mirrored his own with uncanny accuracy now seemed to possess a life of their own, a vitality that pulsed beneath the surface like a living thing.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" Criston remarked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the studio. "The way a portrait can capture the essence of its subject, preserving it for all eternity."

Aemond forced a smile, though his heart was heavy with doubt. "Indeed," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Though I must confess, I find it... unsettling, to see myself so immortalized."

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "Is there something wrong, my dear boy?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to voice the fears that had been gnawing at his soul. "It's just... the portrait," he began, his voice trailing off. "It seems to have changed since its creation. Almost as though... it's alive."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Fear not, my dear Aemond," he said reassuringly. "It is only natural for a portrait to evolve over time, as the artist imbues it with the essence of its subject. It is a testament to your own vitality, your own spirit, that the painting should reflect such subtle nuances."

But Aemond could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him like a shroud. For in that moment, he realized that the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his soul.

In the glittering world of Victorian London's theatre scene, Aemond Targaryen found himself captivated by the enchanting performance of a stage actress named Alysanne Rivera. Her beauty was radiant, her talent undeniable, and with each graceful movement across the stage, she seemed to cast a spell upon all who beheld her.

After the performance, Aemond found himself lingering near the stage door, unable to tear his eyes away from the ethereal figure that emerged from within. As Alysanne's gaze met his own, a smile played across her lips, and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in response.

"Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasant surprise," Alysanne greeted with a warmth that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Aemond nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with admiration. "It was magnificent, Miss Rivera," he replied earnestly. "You are truly a vision of beauty and grace."

Alysanne's cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she thanked him for his kind words. And as they spoke, Aemond found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of her presence, his fascination growing with each passing moment.

But amidst the newfound connection between Aemond and Alysanne, there lingered a sense of unease – a tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. And as Aemond glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of Criston Cole watching them from across the room, his expression oddly inscrutable.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Cole?" Aemond inquired, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his friend's demeanour than met the eye.

Criston's smile was strained as he approached, though his voice remained composed. "Nothing of consequence, my dear Aemond," he replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone. "I was merely admiring Miss Rivera's performance, much like yourself."

But Aemond could sense that there was more to Criston's reaction than he was letting on. And as he glanced back at Alysanne, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the burgeoning connection between them.

Little did Aemond know, the threads of fate were already weaving a tangled web around him, entangling him in a web of desire and jealousy from which there may be no escape. And as he found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of Alysanne Rivera, he could only wonder what dark secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of their newfound romance.

As the nights in Victorian London grew longer and the shadows deeper, Aemond found himself drawn into a world of forbidden pleasures, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred in the intoxicating haze of opium smoke.

Guided by Criston Cole and Lord Tyland Lannister, Aemond ventured into the dark underbelly of the city, where opium dens beckoned with promises of oblivion and ecstasy. The air was thick with the scent of incense and whispered secrets as they descended into the depths of their own desires.

Within the dimly lit confines of the opium den, Aemond felt a sense of liberation wash over him like a tidal wave, casting aside the constraints of society and duty in favour of the euphoria that pulsed through his veins. With each inhale of the drug, he felt himself drifting further and further from reality, lost in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations.

And as he reclined upon the plush cushions, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the distant murmur of voices, Aemond surrendered himself to the intoxicating embrace of opium, losing himself in a world of pleasure and sensation beyond his wildest dreams.

But amidst the hedonistic revelry, there lingered a sense of emptiness – a gnawing void that could not be filled by the fleeting euphoria of the drug. And as Aemond gazed into the depths of his own reflection, he could not shake the feeling that he was chasing after something that could never truly be attained, a mirage shimmering on the horizon of his own desires.

Yet still, he returned to the opium dens night after night, unable to resist the pull of their siren song. For in the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that he was searching for something more – something that could only be found in the darkest recesses of his own desires. And until he found it, he would continue to chase after the elusive promise of oblivion, heedless of the consequences that awaited him in the shadows.

In the dimly lit corners of Victorian London's seedy underbelly, Aemond couldn’t stop himself from seeking solace in the arms of prostitutes, their whispered promises of pleasure offering a fleeting escape from the turmoil that churned within his soul.

Despite his growing connection with Alysanne, Aemond found himself drawn to the forbidden allure of the brothels, where desire and temptation lurked around every corner. With each encounter, he lost himself in a whirlwind of carnal ecstasy, the weight of his guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of passion.

But even as he revealed in the embrace of the women who offered themselves up to him, Aemond could not shake the nagging sense of remorse that gnawed at his conscience. For with each act of indulgence, he felt himself drifting further and further from the purity of his love for Alysanne, his heart torn between duty and desire.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around him, Aemond knew that he was playing a dangerous game – one that could cost him everything he held dear. Yet still, he could not resist the allure of the brothels, the promise of fleeting pleasure outweighing the consequences that loomed on the horizon.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Aemond wrestled with his demons, his soul torn asunder by the conflicting desires that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos of his own making, he wondered if he would ever find redemption for the sins he had committed, or if he was doomed to drown in the depths of his own depravity.

As Aemond stood before the portrait that Criston Cole had painstakingly crafted, he felt a chill run down his spine. The likeness that once captured his youthful beauty now seemed to twist and contort before his very eyes, mirroring the darkness that lurked within his soul.

Gone were the serene features that had adorned the canvas just days before, replaced by a grotesque visage that seemed to mock him with every brushstroke. The lines etched into his skin were deeper now, resembling the scars of his own sins, while his eyes bore a haunted look that sent shivers down Aemond's spine.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the twisted reflection of his own sins, a sense of horror washing over him like a tidal wave. How had the portrait come to reflect the darkness that lurked within him? And what did it mean for his own soul, tainted as it was by the weight of his guilt?

But amidst the fear and confusion, a voice whispered in the depths of Aemond's mind – a voice that spoke of a bargain struck in desperation, a bargain that had unleashed forces beyond his control. And as he gazed into the eyes of his own likeness, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth that lay before him.

For the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his own soul – a soul that had been tainted by the sins he had committed. And as he watched in horror, the painting seemed to shift and change before his very eyes, its twisted visage a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at his conscience, Aemond carefully wrapped the cursed portrait in a thick cloth, shielding its twisted visage from the prying eyes of the world. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him with the weight of his own sins, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

With trembling hands, Aemond made his way to the attic of his opulent townhouse, the portrait cradled against his chest like a forbidden secret. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of neglect, but it was here, amidst the shadows and cobwebs, that he would hide the painting away from the world.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Aemond set the portrait down gently upon a dusty table, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. With a deep breath, he lifted the cloth, revealing the twisted visage that lay beneath.

Pausing momentarily before he covered the portrait once more, shielding it from the light of day. And as he stepped back into the darkness of the attic, he knew that he had sealed away not only the painting, but the secrets that lay buried within his own soul.

But even as he turned to leave, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind – a voice that spoke of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Criston Cole's voice echoed through the halls of Aemond townhouse, his excitement palpable as he spoke of displaying the portrait to the world. "Aemond, my dear friend," he exclaimed, his words tinged with anticipation, "the time has come to unveil your portrait to the public. The world deserves to see your beauty immortalized in paint."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the thought, his mind racing with panic as he searched for an excuse to delay the inevitable. "I... I'm afraid that won't be possible, Criston," he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "You see, I've put the portrait into storage for safekeeping. I fear that it may not be ready to be displayed just yet."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "But why, my dear friend?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Surely the world is ready to behold your beauty in all its glory. Why hide it away when it deserves to be celebrated?"

Aemond's mind raced as he searched for a plausible explanation, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his own deception. "It's... it's complicated, Criston," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are forces at work that you cannot begin to understand. Trust me when I say that it's for the best."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Very well, my dear friend," he said gently. "If you believe it to be for the best, then I will respect your wishes. But know that your beauty deserves to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond felt a sense of relief wash over him like a tidal wave, though it was tinged with the knowledge that his deception could not last forever. For the portrait that lay hidden away in the darkness of the attic was a reflection not only of his own beauty, but of the darkness that lurked within his soul – a darkness that was consuming him with each day that passed.

TBC

[heartfluttered]

The Apprentice's Affections — Chapter V

read chapter 4 here!

You’re a novice wizard who’s finally arrived at Baldur’s Gate to attend your apprenticeship with the Master of Ramazith's Tower, Lorroakan. You’ve come all this way, and the chance of growing the bud of magic in your chest and fostering it into something truly special is at last within reach. Your master Lorroakan is dead. In spite of this, you haven’t given up your hopes of a brighter future just yet. Because a talented tiefling has recently taken Lorroakan’s place as both Arch-mage and Master of Ramazith’s Tower. He’s kind, and intelligent, and handsome, and so, so powerful. He might just be the one to help you become the wizard you’ve always dreamed of being.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere V+H: Tamaki Amajiki

Henchman material all the way 

“Th-that’s the perfect plan, (Y/n)! You always think of the best things.”

he tends to have issues with his self-esteem

Easily idolizing those he feels shine brighter than he

Or in this condition create a darker shadow

He sees you as the best villain 

Shakily smiling after you when you praise him for doing his part

He watches how you so effortlessly take down the superheroes with their powerful abilities

All while discovering your powers

But he’ll deny it when he’s teased by the villain’s guild

But he loves your words of encouragement 

“Tamaki, you should definitely go pro!”

“No no, I don’t think I would want to could…”

But you’re not the only one to notice his efforts 

And on a deeper level, Tamaki isn’t all that concerned with anyone outside of his comfortable bubble

The comfortable bubble that only includes you

So he doesn’t mind all that much when he feels compelled to destroy anything outside of it:

“Congratulations Amajiki you’ve been promoted to professional status! Your new lair will be provided to you after you receive your letter of performance from your former employer. If you want to–”

Tamaki hung up the landline, it didn’t mean all that much when his world was crumbling around him. Promotion? From you? What was better than fighting alongside you? Nothing, he knew that much. His frazzled mind began to swim with what actions might have led to the travesty of this ‘promotion’. Was it his defense during the tech heist? Or the role he played in the destruction of the elite team? Or was it–

*Knock Knock* “Hey, you done in there? We’re on a time crunch y’know? Hahaha, crunch. Get it? Cause your name’s Suneater?”

He slowly slugged out of the phone booth letting a wobbly smile curl on his face as you giggled at your own joke. He couldn’t ask for a better sight. Even in your civilian disguise, you glowed like no other and he wanted nothing more than to power that light. 

“I-I’m done.”

“Good, ‘cause my phones blowing up because our partners are calling us!”  

Hearing the emphasis on partners, immediately put him back in the working mind. Letting himself hide his blush in the hat as you pulled him along by your hand. The warmth of your fingers in his threatened to activate his tentacles he had sprouted after his takoyaki brunch. He refrained, instead taking stock of the dingy building the crowd gathered in. 

“Hey hey!” You released his hand to hug your friend who happened to be invisible jumping up and down which you immediately began to catch up. Leaving Tamaki to internally curse out the invisible fiend that took your attention from him.

“Suneater, congratulations on your promotion you’ll be topping the charts in no time once you get started!”

He shuddered with surprise looking worriedly at you, only to find you were beaming with pride. A far cry from the dejected expression you should have made since your henchman was making a departure from your jurisdiction. 

“Yup, that’s my boy! All the calls to the big ones on top really paid off!”

Your jovial confession answered the stabbing question for Tamaki. In the most beautiful, horrible way your encouraging actions sabotaged the future he’s hoped you two would share together. 

“Awww are ya sad, Tamaki? Well, you shouldn’t worry as long as (Y/n) stays in the top fifteen you can always be their partner!”

Like a light at the end of the tunnel, Tamaki had a new outlook on his circumstances. At this revelation, he’d never have to leave your side. Nothing had to be changed! It would be perfect he couldn’t help the smile that twitched on his face. You turned to him chuckling behind your hand.

“Was that what you’ve been worrying about today? Of course, I’d love to be partners with you if you don’t mind me.”

“I-I’d love to!”

Exclaiming louder than he meant to he tried to shrink into the collar of his coat as you and your friend laughed before continuing on into the crowd. 

The rest of the day was draining, speaking to many different villains both new and old faces. Attending seminars and putting petitions down for different inventors; the day was long and all Tamaki wanted to do was to return home with you. Which would have been the fate of you both if it weren’t for the professional rankings. When the announcer called out your name it wasn’t automatically with his…it was with another. 

“In 14th place is a new villain duo: noteworthy ReaderYourName and Hassai Eight Bullets!”

Again the eruption of cheers and hollers as your best headlines were put on the screen along with the other villain’s displayed on the screen. He could feel your worried gaze as an embarrassed huff left your mouth.

“T-Tamaki…I…I’ll be right back..I’m just going to sort this out.”

Leaving your seat he watched as you disappeared behind a wall followed by the villain previously on the screen. His eyes narrowed before following behind. 

“Hassai what’s the meaning of this!?”

“Oh please, I told you I’d send in the request. You’re little sidekick got promoted, didn’t he? It shouldn’t be an issue then.”

“That’s not the point!”

Tamaki watched as you went back and forth about the logistics of pulling this off without your consent before it came to a head. Face to face, closer than he would have liked, your face was contorted with anger while Hassai’s was spread with a devious smirk. Outstretching his hand a hum of electrical crystals sparked in your face making you flinch away backing yourself into a corner, letting yourself be caged by the villain.

“It’s not so bad, don’t you think babe? Where you’re weak,” crackling the crystals in your face he leaned closer into you. “I’m strong! We’ll complement each other perfectly!” 

Ending on the vowel his mouth stayed open letting his breath fan against your cheek. You worried it would have escalated and so did Tamaki. 

“Hey! You’re the lil’ sidekick we’ve been talking about, right? Aww don’t be sad we’ll save it for when they’re back at my lair! Hahaha!” 

He leaves joining the crowd as you slowly walked to your henchman with a sorrowful look on your face. 

“Tamaki…I’m so sorry.”

Your shame and sorrow came off of you in waves as you kept your eyes lowered but Tamaki took the step forward. Pulling you into a hug he bowed your head into his shoulder as he let himself curl around you, tentacles and all.

__________________________________________________

In the weeks following the official rankings, you and Tamaki had not separated. Not long after the convention Hassai failed to follow up on their duties as the villain in the 14th rank leaving the position open for the runner-up. 

“Suneater you take the left flank and I’ll take the right! Don’t let that one with the muscles anywhere near here!”

“Got it.”

You both easily fell into your old routine easily evading the heroes and accomplishing your mission. Having finally put the obstacles on your side out of commission you twirled the Transmitter in your hands before hopping back to Tamaki’s location. Coming from across multiple rooftops you landed on the chimney watching as he dominated his opponents sending some crashing to the ground and others suffocating to death. But one stood out to you–stabbed by a crystal that spasmed electrical shocks over the body the method reminded you of someone.

You stood alert as your partner landed next to you prepared to swing you and himself across the rooftops. He was crouched, already in position before looking back to you; more precisely where you were staring. 

“What?”

“Oh, it's nothing! By the way, got the transmitter in one piece!”

For Tamaki some change was good. But nothing too drastic…he wouldn’t be able to live otherwise.

[mikufigureoftheday]

heya!! this isnt really an ask and idk if im meant to put this here lol but i wanted to say thank you for running this blog :D. I love seeing the daily miku, it always makes me smile, plus thanks for taking time and effort to answer our questions. We appreciate you and your continued efforts towards collective miku brainrot!!! <3

Awwwwww, thank you v much!!! I'm glad I can make you and everyone else's days a little brighter with my silly little blog and hope I can continue to do so in the near future 。.:☆:･'(⌒―⌒*)))

[be-my-ally]

Empty Promises

(Crossposted from AO3) I think i’m finally getting the hang of tumblr formatting!!!

pairings: afab!reader/Elvis Presley (actual!Elvis in my head, but could be Austin!Elvis.)

summary: You’ve been in a relationship with Elvis for ~6 months & for some reason your sex life has tapered off. So you attempt Operation: Seduce Elvis but for some reason he’s not entirely impressed with your choice of outfit or method of execution. // LOTS of discussion of virginity - Elvis refusing to have p in v intercourse with reader & you attempting to convince him otherwise is a main tenant of the plot.

warnings: 18+, daddy kink, spanking, thigh riding, fingering, discussions of reader being ‘too tight’ and needing to be ‘trained up’, no idea what it’s called when he rubs his dick against your pussy but that happens, spoiler: there’s a proposal at the end

wc: 10.9k

You’ve been together almost six months at this point, and it was mostly going swimmingly. You had, when meeting him, been surprised at the speed at which he moved; he’d picked you up from the diner where you were working to save a little money before college - though you’d graduated well over a year ago now - met your parents, and moved you into his home all in the span of about five weeks. You’d spent two of those weeks shell-shocked that the man sending you pretty gifts, picking you up from work and taking you out to dinner was Elvis Presley. You’d wanted a poster of him in your room since you were in the sixth grade, but your mother had never allowed it. She couldn’t, however, stop you from using your allowance to buy as many of his soundtrack albums you could get your hands on, or demanding you went to see them in the pictures, regardless of their critical response or whether she claimed they were unsuitable watching.

It had been, sitting at the dinner table with your parents, difficult to reconcile the fact that he wasn’t a reflection from your new colour television set, he was actually there. Elvis Presley. In your little dining room, dressed as sharply as ever if not more demurely than you tended to see him - a single glinting ring on his pinky finger was the only concession to his usual image. Elvis Presley. Only in your house to get what he came for, fulfil his promise to you that he was gonna, “Take you home, show off my pretty lil’ thing, play house with you, baby, come on let me take you home.” 

You still had no idea how he’d managed to convince your father, other than with his irresistible charm and seeming utter confidence that all would remain proper. You’d warned him that your father could be protective and that he certainly wouldn’t be impressed with the over 10-year age gap between the two of you nor would he fall for empty promises and charm. Yet, you’d been proven wrong - Elvis’ deferential tone and good manners had gotten him further than you’d expected them to into your father’s good graces. He hadn’t had to work hard with your mother. Despite her opposition to his poster, she was predisposed to agree to anything a pretty man said to her regarding her only daughter especially if he was implying he would provide a safe future for her. And he certainly did imply such - even going so far as to suggest you put your plans for college on hold indefinitely; what good was a degree for a woman who didn’t need to work? He’d said it subtly, simply assuring them you wouldn’t need it. But still, your father had been horrified by this - all his work to try and make his only child see she could have a brighter future than a housewife seemingly for nought. Your mother, however, had been pleased as punch when you’d gone along with it. Other than as a matchmaking opportunity she had never seen the point in you going off to study literature. But with a promise that you agreed and that it was just for the moment, not necessarily forever, although Elvis had winked across the table at you as you’d said it, your father had relented. He had completely caved once Elvis had assured him that you would, of course, have your own bedroom in a tone that had implied he was appalled that it was even suggested that would not have been the case and the very next week you’d left for Memphis with him. 

More startling to you than even the speed of their agreement was the fact that most of these weren’t empty promises as you’d assumed. You hadn’t really had a strong opinion about college, although you hated to disappoint your father and you had enjoyed your advanced classes in high school, you had believed that he truly was just telling them what they had wanted to hear. Simply using it as a way to emphasise his ability to take care of you. But while he hadn’t actively stopped you, he also hasn’t been particularly encouraging either - making it very clear that under no circumstances would he consider it if it meant leaving him for any length of time. You’d decided that you honestly weren’t bothered enough to push the issue, at least not yet, since it wasn’t as if you could imagine yourself either bored or wanting for anything while you lived at Graceland.

You had been particularly shocked at his not-so-subtle assurances that your virtue was, in fact, completely safe. You obviously knew it was what your parents wanted and needed to hear but had just expected him not to broach the topic, considering not an hour before the conversation you had been necking in the back of his Cadillac - just two blocks away from your house and his hands had definitely not stayed strictly above your waist. You’d had more action in that hour than ever before - the most you’d experienced before that moment was in the tenth grade when Trevor had slipped you the tongue and squeezed a single boob behind the science block. That hadn’t been anything special, you hadn’t understood what the big deal was, but Elvis? He’d lit you on fire. 

Some of his promises hadn’t held though - you did have a bedroom but you had never slept in it. He’d kept the alcohol strictly away from you - you were, after all, he joked, not 21 yet; you’d tried to argue that you were in Tennessee now and you only had to be 18 but it hadn’t got you very far. He didn’t, however, seem to have the same qualms with slipping you a pill to help you stay awake every now and again when he was late back. He was still Elvis. He still threw lavish gatherings and after-dinner chats that turned into raucous parties most nights, and he still took you out to places that would cause your father to pass out if he’d known you were hanging out there. There were still people coming and going from the house at all hours of the day and night and his face was still plastered over all the tabloids and newspapers. But you had fun, it was exciting and different and he never made you feel like you were small-minded for being unaware that this kind of life could be a possibility. Instead, he seemed to relish opening your eyes to the new opportunities - closing down diners, taking you on expensive dates, gifting you outrageous presents; you had only been at Graceland a few weeks when he’d left a perfectly wrapped box on your vanity for you to find - a little pendant spelling out EP in perfect, tiny diamonds. You’d never imagined you’d be the kind of girl who could own diamonds, you’d hoped for maybe an engagement ring but never fathomed them in your everyday jewellery. 

Some of his promises he’d clearly felt exceedingly strongly about - he would not budge on you going out with being essentially chaperoned, he wouldn’t budge on college, or ensuring you didn’t want for anything. Most frustratingly, while you wouldn’t claim to be entirely virtuous you were, fundamentally, still a virgin. At first, you’d been pleased he wasn’t pushing for it, you had always been certain you would wait until marriage if only because the only girls you knew who didn’t were “trouble”. But he had rocked your core beliefs with how easy he had made it all seem. Before Elvis you had always understood that pain was inevitable; Suzy’s big sister had been vocal about the fact that it almost always hurt. But now you were convinced that everyone had either been exaggerating or simply been with peculiarly inexperienced and unaware partners. Elvis hadn’t done much more than slip you a finger alongside his tongue but he’d certainly made sure each time that you were ready for anything. Even if anything had not yet occurred. He’d fundamentally altered your understanding of sex, and it seemed totally incongruous with his appearance and personality that he would be willing to hold out for any reasonable length of time. But he’d told you not to worry about it and given you an education in everything but. You were no longer scared of the possibility of the awkwardness, or the pain of your first time, instead you were desperate.

Furthermore, despite all the fun you were having you couldn’t help starting to worry that he was surely going to get bored soon; you were itching to be more to him, do more with him. Sure he’d had you on your knees “trainin’ [his] baby up” but wouldn’t that only satisfy him for so long? He was Elvis and sure you had a pretty good opinion of yourself but you weren’t anywhere near his level in your opinion. You weren’t totally innocent, you’d heard from your mother’s gossip and girls in your friendship group discussing how you had to make sure you offered a little bit more, “keep ‘em interested, but not too much”, “don’t seem too eager”, “make sure you keep ahead of him though, you don’t want him to bore of you”. This worried you slightly - he didn’t seem bored, but it was also impossible for you to stay ahead of him. You’d had no idea that the things he’d done with his fingers or tongue were things people did. Or that the way he made you feel was even possible. 

You’d been at Graceland almost a full three months when you had started to push for it. Sure that if you didn’t you wouldn’t last past the six-month mark. Begging him to slip “just the tip” or mentioning that you felt like you were grown enough to make your own decision on that matter, after all, you had celebrated your 19th birthday with him now. That had just made him laugh - assuring you that regardless of how grown you may feel you were his, and he made the decisions around here - down to the colour of your nails - not you. It was always said so nonchalantly too; like the very concept of being owned in that way wasn’t strange at all. 

You’d tried going at it the other way, catching him while you were in the middle of other acts - promising you were his “good girl, daddy’s good girl, couldn’t you give him a present?” Only to get firmly rebuked and told as he laughed darkly at you “- now baby, how you gonna gift me what’s already mine?” Once, after a brief period where he’d been away, on the night of his return you’d almost managed to get him to give in and had been, after he’d calmed down, informed that even if you were positive you were ready he was certainly not about to risk your reputation with a baby. 

You had laughed at this - if this was his main opposition to your proposition there were plenty of ways around it. The first was of course reminding him that you were sure your reputation was already in tatters being pictured with him. And you honestly didn’t even care about your reputation anyway. It wasn’t the dark ages anymore, and while, sure, you hadn’t stood outside of congress with a placard, you still would have said you fundamentally agreed with the arguments of those who did. You weren’t the sort of girl who would proudly proclaim yourself a feminist but that didn’t mean you didn’t believe that what they were asking for was fair. So you’d spent a week researching - originally any mention of ‘The Pill’ had been met with scepticism from you; surely it was too good to be true? And in some ways it was - you weren’t 21, and you were unmarried so it was impossible to get ahold of for you anyway, well would have been if you weren’t sure that Elvis himself certainly could have gotten a hold of it. You had, one day, brought this up - perhaps stupidly - over breakfast. He’d considered you for a second, still chewing on a pancake, sat like he always did with his legs spread wide and lounging back. He was dressed casually, but still smartly - trousers and shirt perfectly pressed, but with his hair still barely combed. 

“Ain’t no way I’m letting you mess with yourself like that.” He was firm in his refusal and he sits upright to stare at you. 

“But El- everyone’s doin’ it - it’s not any different than your pills!”

You didn’t see the irony in the women’s liberation movement being reduced to you whining to your boyfriend to be allowed the opportunity to utilise it.

“No fucking chance little girl.” He tuts and shakes his head, “I’ve read about the shit that's in that, and there ain’t no way,” his voice raises “-no way at all, I’m letting you fuck around with god-knows-what.” He pauses for dramatic effect, pushing his plate away, “I’m gonna put a baby in you one day and they say it can affect it catching.” He’s getting caught up now starting to recite whatever article it is he’s read that makes it clear it's unsafe. You start to protest, even as part of you glows at the idea he might want to keep you forever.

‘Ok, ok,” You interrupt him as he starts to talk in wildly medical terminology that you understand very little of, “ok but what if, just for the moment, you wore a rubber?” You knew he wouldn’t go for it, the man barely wore underwear, but you were hoping it would make the pill seem like a more attractive prospect. He looked at you, and couldn’t have looked more appalled if you’d stood up and slapped him. 

‘No.’ And that was that. You tried again a few minutes later when the silence seemed to stretch on - you knew you were starting to toe the line of what he’d allow but you couldn’t help it. Even though he seemed reluctant to discuss it, this was still the most engagement you’d had on the topic. 

‘Ok but E - just wait a second and hear me out,’ He turns to look at you, his eyebrows raising as he waits with a look of patronising patience on his face, like how you wait for a child to tell you a new fact of common knowledge that they’ve learnt, “Really… how is it any different to what else we do, like… with your fingers?” He stands up and you wince inwardly. You’ve pushed it far too far.

“That’s different baby, that’s just … practicing. What you’re asking for - it ain’t right - not for God and not for you or the promises I made your daddy.” He looms over you, forcing you to peer up at him and he’s smirking like he’s already won the argument and you think well if you’re in for a penny; 

“Ok well then, what if I say I don’t believe in that shit anymore? What if I wanna go out and be Betty Friedan? It’s not 1945 anymore baby - we don’t have to be married.” His hand comes up to your cheek and you force yourself not to flinch - he would never hit you and you know that but his eyes are flashing and he can be unpredictable in this mood. He grips your chin and cheek in one hand - 

“You gonna tell me you’re unsatisfied now honey?” He laughs, “Don’t be so fucking ridiculous. Unsatisfied and a fucking slut? Doesn’t believe in god? No chance.” He forces your head to shake, “I know you Darlin’ and you’re gonna be my good little wife when the time is right and I won’t be goddamn fuckin’ rushed. Understand?” You nod. He’s right you didn’t believe what you were spouting either - he knows you still kneel before bed like a child each night, the habit of a lifetime difficult to break when doing so had given you him. His hand slips down to your neck and pulls out your necklace. You wear his initials around your neck always - that was part of your problem; the end did not seem in sight, you wore him around your neck not your finger. He joked about you being his ‘little wife’ but ultimately no real promises had been made. You sigh, looking up into his clear eyes and expression that had hardened beyond what you believed his soft cheeks could. You nod.

“Good girl.” He drops your chin and stretches starting to leave the room, he pauses in the doorway turning back to you his jaw clenching; “I don’t want this brought up again.” You nod again, for some reason the confrontation leaves you close to tears and unwilling to speak in case you can’t stop the floodgates. 

You hadn’t brought it up again, even though the fear you’d felt; that your status as a shiny new toy might soon wear off, remained. It had - for a while after - seemed unfounded, a couple of months had passed and it had not been brought up by either of you again; it seemed he really was satisfied with you as you were. You couldn’t claim to be otherwise - but that didn’t mean that the desire you’d felt had waned. 

————

He’d brushed you off again last night after dinner. Well, perhaps not brushed off, but he didn’t play like he usually does - or used to. It’s been almost two weeks and he has, in fact, not touched you at all like he normally does. Usually, you can count on being pulled onto his lap at some point in the evening, if not literally at the dinner table then certainly afterwards on a couch or armchair, and often this would lead to pretty public making out; often his hands would… explore … beyond the boundaries of propriety - you can’t imagine how many times other members of the household or ‘Memphis mafia’ must have caught a glimpse of your panties. Although that is certainly all that is ever offered - a glimpse. His level of possession over you knows no bounds and neither does his fairly traditional opinion of how women should both behave and be treated in non-private settings. You can still count on him either demanding you sleep with him or simply moving you to his bed but any bedroom activities have been strictly reserved for the tiniest bit of touching imaginable, a quick play of a nipple or squeeze of a cheek before simply kissing and falling asleep. He’s been looking tired lately, and he’s had a ton of meetings about a couple of his new films. You feel sympathy but at the same time, you’re getting tired of being ignored. 

More importantly, you’re worried that he’s growing tired of you - he could have any number of pretty young things, any number of pretty mature things too and you do worry that the number of actresses and starlets he mingles with on a regular basis must make your shine pale a bit in his eyes. After all, what good is a girl that won’t even have sex with him, or rather from his eyes can’t have sex with him? And really what does he even need you for if not that? It’s not like you run his house, or work, or contribute anything more than your company. He can argue all he likes that he likes you like this. That he loved that all your experience is with him alone, that he’s solely taught you how to give and receive pleasure but you still worry that this last boundary is now making you seem unattractive to him in his new glitzy environments. Prudish and backward in comparison to the knowledgable shiny California girls he’s rubbing shoulders with. But after the last conversation, you’re definitely not going to be the one to bring it up. Still, the fact remains that Elvis has been treating you differently lately. You’ve tried everything you usually would - going up to bed before him, being almost aggressively available, and the opposite, being completely covered up and tucked in or absent entirely until he comes looking. You honestly can’t think of any other way to break the cycle now other than one solution: Complete Seduction. 

A task you find difficult for a multitude of reasons - you’re not particularly body shy, especially around him, but you’ve been naked in front of him consistently the past fortnight and it still hasn’t enticed him. You’re certain nothing about you has changed; you’ve stayed the same size and shape - you’ve tried makeup on and makeup off, hair up and down. You’ve tried underwear and nightdresses as well as any manner of short day dresses, and exceedingly tight tops and trousers but still nothing. Ultimately, you think to yourself, it's hard to be seductive in sensible cotton underwear you’ve owned since you were 15 - just as it is impossible to feel so in gingham pyjamas emblazoned with butterflies and frills on the ankles and collar. Hard to feel seductive, and certainly hard to look it. 

You’re alone today, he’d left you early in the morning - strangely early for him - for yet another meeting with the promise he’d be back in the early evening; a chaste kiss as he left the bedroom and he was gone before you were even fully awake. 

When you awake properly, a few hours later, you roll over - staring at the dark ceiling of his room. You take the time to assess your options for Operation: Seduce Elvis. You could order something, but that could take days. You roll onto your stomach with a huff, the heat that you can already feel pulsing between your legs won’t wait for days. You consider touching yourself, he doesn’t like it…unless he’s watching. But would he even know? You rub yourself against the bed, no. You don’t need to. He’ll be taking care of you tonight. You could ask one of the other girls to pick you up something, which would solve the predicament of having to choose something, but the prospect of explaining the predicament you’re in overwhelmingly embarrasses you. The gossip runs rampant around here, and the boys are just as bad as the girls - you couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t get back around to Elvis nor could you stomach everyone knowing that you don’t know how to please him. Which only leaves one option: going shopping yourself. You push yourself out of bed determined to get this done. 

You drag yourself through your getting-ready routine, grab your purse and check there’s an ample amount of cash inside - you have no idea how much this kind of thing costs but you’re willing to bet a fair amount - and start to leave. You consider the keys, debating if taking your own Cadillac would be more or less obvious than taking one of Elvis’. Although you guess, technically they’re all Elvis’. Pausing by the door you consider for a second if you should be going out alone at all - rarely do you venture out without someone accompanying you either for safety or security or just general companionship. It had only happened twice out of sheer necessity since living at Graceland and both times Elvis had been unhappy about it, but on this occasion, you didn’t have a choice. You peer out the window down at the gates and for a rare occasion there’s nobody out there; there is usually at least one or two girls or paparazzi hoping to catch a glimpse, although it doesn’t normally tend to get busy unless someone lets slip a known engagement or leaving time and/or it’s clear there’s a party happening. Well, that makes up your mind; you’re certain that you can do this all yourself. By the time you’re on the road your adrenaline is strangely coursing through you, why do you feel like you’re on the run? You laugh at yourself as you sing along to the radio, Elvis inevitably playing when you’re two miles away and you would have thought it would have made you more nervous, but for some reason, it inspires you with budding confidence. This is going to work, and it’s all going to be ok. 

You’re recognised in the boutique, you can tell by the way the assistant’s eyes widen and glances down at your neck. It’s not unexpected, in the past six months you have been photographed together too often for it not to be assumed you were together in at least some capacity even if it hasn’t yet been confirmed by anyone. The ever-present necklace is clearly visible over the top of your pale dress; subtlety is not exactly Elvis’ strong suit, it may not be huge but it does still clearly spell out EP in twinkling diamonds and you are only ten miles from Graceland. You take a deep breath before attempting a confident smile.

“Hi there,” The girl smiles back at you but it's clear she’s nervous, looking you up at down as she stumbles out a greeting. “I need some new things… but I’m hoping we could be as discrete as possible?” You glance around the empty shop, the girl looks slightly offended in response, 

“Absolutely, Miss. Of Course.” Your smile softens, 

“Well in that case I could do with some help.” 

An hour and a half later you’re leaving, satisfied you have everything required to make an impression. You’re not 100% certain exactly how you made it through the ordeal, eventually agreeing to model for the assistant after she mentioned they didn’t have any further appointments booked for the day and she was, therefore, willing to close for you, on the understanding that you would be spending enough to make it worth their while. The experience was… different to say the least, you had never shopped for lingerie before; in fact, the only ‘lingerie’ you truly owned had been bought for you by Elvis. You’d happily modelled the sets he bought you for him but even they were somewhat similar to the underwear you already owned - pastels in cotton and the occasional velvet or satin. And honestly, he mostly bought you clothing, dresses and coordinating sets rather than underwear of any kind. You think it’s probably because he didn’t want to scare you off, knowing that you’re still rather timid in the bedroom despite certain… desires you may attempt to make plain to him. But never had you even tried on anything as revealing as your purchase today - you’d tried it on over your underwear, aware that not only were you not comfortable with the random sales girl seeing all you had to offer but that Elvis would, should he ever find out, go completely off the rails at the very idea.

By the time you get back, it’s mid-afternoon, and you sit and chat with Mary for a little while in the kitchen before pulling yourself together, deciding to go and have a long bath before you have to be ready for Elvis’ return. The hot water does the trick at revitalising you and it allows you to make sure every part of you is perfect for the night you have planned; making sure you’re buffed smooth everywhere that you require to be. You take your time moisturising every inch, the coconut vanilla scent you both favoured remaining long after you re-cap the tub.

Finally, you’re in your robe, looking down at the big white box in your hands, you hold it for a moment and sigh before placing it back down on the bed. You turn to look through a drawer instead, pulling out a couple of different options. What were you thinking this morning? There’s no way you can pull that outfit off! You rifle some more, sure that at the least there was the pink satin set Elvis bought you last month somewhere in there and that would probably do if you put in a little more effort. But alas, while you can find the bra the matching panties are not in there, you huff; how can there be half the set? 

The room you’re in is technically your bedroom, but it’s used as a dressing room since it houses all your clothes and you haven’t, despite how long you’ve been here now, slept a whole night in it. Despite the gorgeous bed adorned with all manner of frilly pillows and bedspreads, it was still a regular-sized queen frame and while it made you feel small in the centre of it - setting up the bed as if it were a twin with a singular set of pillows in the middle, Elvis claimed it was far too small and there was no need to stay there when he had such a large one next door. Disregarding the fact that wherever you slept he couldn’t help but crowd into you, or clutch onto you regardless of the width of the bed. 

You consider the options before you. Biting your lip in consternation for a second before remembering that if there was a mark Elvis didn’t put there himself he wouldn’t be too pleased. You dramatically sigh looking the box over again. Fuck it. The vulgarity of the phrase is unlike you even in your thoughts. ‘Fuck it’ you think again, ‘If I’ve got this far I might as well go the whole damn way.’ You pop the babydoll over your head so that you don’t have to mess with the perfectly tied ribbon in the centre and tug it so it lies correctly. The slits in the bodice falling directly where they should be and your breasts resting properly in the cups. It was…sheer. Very sheer. You knew it was, but seeing it fully without your underwear obscuring the visuals it seems even more daring than you expected. It’s so exceedingly different to your usual underwear, which were all, even the ones bought by Elvis, certainly opaque. Most of your underwear had still been bought by your mother and so your collection mostly consisted of sensible block colours and girlish utilitarian designs. The bottoms were also considerably smaller than most of your own, you assessed as you dragged the panties up your legs, which has been a deciding factor in why you bought the set - since they weren’t too outrageous but were still decidedly different. Instead of cutting across your legs at the top of your thighs, they curved upwards into a high-leg effect. This also meant that they were considerably slimmer in the coverage at the back than you would normally consider proper, and made from the same sheer material with a tiny strip of silk along the gusset. But then, you also wouldn’t have found buying lingerie, a negligee no less, with only ties to hold it closed in a sheer dark maroon red proper usually either. 

You stand and looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. The overall effect was striking. Your skin looked paler in contrast to the depth of the colour and the blush you felt crawling over your chest and cheeks appeared to blend in, rosying your complexion twice over. You attempt a pose for a moment and debate if you should try to make your nipples harden or leave them as they are, knowing that the lack of structure to the garment will mean they’re probably going to be visible through whatever you decide to put on top. Suddenly you feel ridiculous, you’re not about to be in a goddamn centrefold. What are you playing at? You look like you’re playing dress-up. But when you glance over at the clock again you realise your time to make any changes has gone and if you want to be dressed by the time the boys get home you need to get a move on. Fast. You’d laid out a couple of options earlier and you decide to go for the safest bet, he loves green on you. It’s a little silk set - a long sleeve top with a high neck collar with little covered buttons going down the back and a matching mini skirt with a little flare to it. But when you put it on you realise that should you lift your arms it bares enough of your midriff that it spoils the surprise of the babydoll. So, thinking fast, you decide to simply hitch the skirt up high and tuck the shirt in. It causes the skirt to rise to an almost indecent height but the flounce at the bottom affords at least the illusion of length. 

As you’re buckling your shoes you can hear a murmur of a car driving up from the gates getting louder. ‘Just in time.’ you think as you quickly fix your hair, you wish you’d left yourself more time to do something else with it but shopping and the preparation for the evening had taken longer than you had planned so you were stuck with the teased hair and white scarf you’d tied into a headband from earlier. Luckily the white still goes well with your white socks and shoes. You could hear the boys laughing and the car doors closing and you hurried so you could greet them as they came through the door. Ridiculous as it may seem you were always excited to see him when he came home - he just seemed to have a magic touch that made everyone happy to see him regardless of how little time had passed since you last had him. 

The men burst through the doors just as you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and you were pleased you’d made it that far because when Elvis comes in he immediately looks up and beams through his sunglasses at you when you’re the first thing he sees in the house. He comes forward to grab you around the waist and you stumble for a second before his grip steadies you, his hands hot on your sides, 

“Hey there, pretty mama.” You smile back at him, 

“Hey, handsome boy.” You lean up for a hello kiss, which he obliges, the rest of the group spill into the hallway, shouting their hellos and greetings at you on their way past. He looks down at you and smiles, 

“Whoo,” he lets out a whistle, “Baby, what are you all dressed up for? This all here for me?” He pushes you back and spins you around, your skirt flicking up slightly as it catches the slight breeze. You laugh, 

“Well, duh! Who else Daddy!” His smile grows even wider, and he pulls you up to him 

‘Well who indeed baby,’ he muttered against your lips, before kissing you again causing you to melt against him. 

——- 

Several hours later you’re all sitting around having after-dinner chats and drinks; both Elvis and yourself were nursing Pepsi’s but most of the rest of the group had felt free to avail themselves of his well-stocked bar. It was a pretty standard evening, nothing too rowdy and no strangers had been invited so it was just what Elvis would call family there tonight. He’d had you on his lap for most of the evening, placing you onto his thighs almost as soon as you’d finished eating, and then when you’d all moved into the den he’d made sure you knew he expected you perched between or on his legs. When you’d come back from the bathroom he’d not even paused in his conversation - simply holding out a hand and pointing to his thigh. Finally, you had thought, he’s showing an interest. He’s laughing and joking with the other boys while you sit there, jostling with every guffaw - his hand slips under your skirt, almost surreptitiously, although you’re sure everyone’s aware, and while you had been lazing against his chest you perk up slightly at the contact. 

You feel him brush the back of your bottom - his hand pauses for a second by the crease between your ass and thigh before he dances his fingers across, he eventually finds the leg band and snaps it lightly against your skin. You didn’t expect it so you jump a tiny bit, although it didn’t hurt, and his hand immediately soothes where he may have left a mark and while his conversation doesn’t falter you can almost hear the cogs whirring in his head. You bury your head in his shoulder to disguise your smile, and can’t help but squirm a little as he readjusts you - holding onto you with one hand as his other, the one closest to his body, slips up the front of your skirt. You let out a tiny breathy whine as his fingertips run across your panties - the barely there fabric allowing to you feel everything. He removes his fingers and taps your thigh causing you to sit up straighter. Clearly, he doesn’t intend on doing too much in public tonight. He lightly pushes you off as he makes a stand, starting to make his excuses. “Oh, It’s been a long day.” He grips you tight to him as he announces that unfortunately, he has to be going as he’s sure you’re "tired and need to be put to bed". You fight back a growl at that remark, you’re perfectly capable of putting yourself to bed thank you very much. But you don’t want to protest too much; it’s been hours since dinner was served and you were more than ready to leave. The longer you had to wait to show off your new purchases the more anxious you got. 

Elvis pushes you in front of him, slapping your ass playfully to get you to move, you quickly say goodnight to everyone left downstairs as you dutifully get moving towards the staircase. As soon as you’re out of the room Elvis grabs your wrist and pulls you back. He looks at you in the eyes for a moment, unblinking and you’re the first to break glancing down at his lips and back up. The second you looked away you’d lost and he immediately pounced, kissing you like he was dying without it. Your tongues fought for dominance for a moment, and his hand stayed clutching your arm while the other climbed up your chest to rest just below your neck. You acquiesce, submitting and letting him take complete control except for your hands finding their way into his hair. He pulls back and pushes you in front of him up the stairs, you hurry up them - near slipping once but thankfully his arm caught your elbow before you fell; 

“Eager darling?” He laughs at you, and looks you once over before throwing you over his shoulder and bounding up the last few stairs - he smooths your skirt down as you pass into his bedroom. He smacks your ass once, you yelp and he drops you gently on the bed, leaning over you to kiss your face and neck. One of his hands goes up to hold himself up, resting the other side of your head whilst the other strokes gently up your leg getting bolder and climbing up even further with every passing second. He presses his fingers against your panties and pauses again. Your breath catches in your throat. He sits up and pushes the skirt all the way up, he pulls back to look at you. He stares at your panties for a moment, you know by now the growing dampness has to be evident through the other side, they are after all very thin, before looking you up and down as a whole. 

“Is there…” His tone is gruff, both from momentary underuse and arousal, he coughs a tiny bit and his voice is even deeper when he continues, his words slightly slurring together, “more of this unner here?” He tugs at your shirt, and you nod, 

“Yes, baby, it’s a set.” He frowns for a second, before moving like a child unwrapping a present on Christmas morning, rushing to tug at the shirt again, moving his fingers to pop the top couple of buttons out when it doesn’t shift and grabbing hold when he deems you capable of getting your head out. You slither out of the shirt and allow yourself to be manhandled for him to access the zip on the side of the skirt, pulling it open and off your body in one pull. He takes a deep breath in and stands, taking a few paces back to appraise you better. His eyes darken as his pupils widen as he looks you over, and he crosses his arms, the veins in his forearms flexing. You thank god for his preference for short sleeve shirts for a second. You look up at him through your eyelashes, attempting to recreate the coquettish countenance that all the girls seem to have a knack for that you can never quite achieve. His eyes flash and his frown deepens. 

“God-almighty what’s this get-up all about?” You stare back at him stunned, he doesn’t seem pleased. In fact, he sounds downright pissed. 

“What…what do you mean?” He stares at you, not responding and like always you cave first. “What do you mean daddy? Don’t you like it?” You push yourself up onto your elbows looking at him with concern. He heaves a dry breathless laugh, and he leans back down, his hand rising up your stomach, through the break in the negligee and up to squeeze a breast, fingertips dancing over a nipple as he resumes kissing your neck, pulling you closer to get to your lips. He breaks apart briefly to speak, 

“You tryna kill your daddy sweetheart?” You laugh against his lips, laugh turning to a moan as he pinches a nipple particularly roughly and catches your bottom lip in his teeth. His fingers trail south again, and before you know it he’s tracing the line of your waistband, his fingers starting to dip beneath when you seem to lose all control of the situation. They’re not doing much more than simply resting there but even that is enough to set you alight. Your own hands start to travel down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt along the way, you buck up as his fingers graze past your naval circling around before going back to their ministrations below the panties. Your hips briefly touch his and you moan, 

“Daddy, please. Please. I’m all wrapped up just for you. For anything you like.” You take a shuddery breath in as he leans back to look at you again, his own lips looking bitten and swollen and his eyes burning brighter than you’d seen them in days. 

“Please Daddy, it aches.” His eyes roll back and he starts to stutter a response, his hips thrusting seemingly involuntarily forward. ‘Gotcha’ you think. You arch your back and through your hooded eyes you can see his expression perfectly he hungrily watches your own hand trail down to your soaked panties. You moan as your fingers touch your hot lips beneath your panties, spreading them apart and rubbing a finger between - and you look back at him, gazing into his eyes for a second before taking the chance. 

“Daddy, I feel so empty,” you squirm slightly for emphasis, and you glance down at his still fully clothed bulge, “You could….put it in me if you like?” His hips shutter forward and he breathes out heavily, his eyes closing briefly before he grimaces. Damnit - you were so close. You shouldn’t have pushed your luck - just taken the attention he’d not been recently bestowing on you happily and moved on. He stands up again, this time grabbing your forearm, yanking it out from between your legs and pulling you right up with him, like a rag doll you go where you’re put. He sits on the bed and pulls you around to sit facing him on his spread thighs. He hums for a second, one hand gripping tightly at your side, the other clutching your thigh. You drape your arms over his shoulders, simultaneously for balance and for lack of knowing what else to do with them. His hand on your side moves up to grip your neck as soon as you seem to start to relax. 

“My lil' girl a whore now?” You stare back at him. The tone was unkind and unnecessary - while he’s been stern with you in the past he’s never been so callously harsh before and you can’t imagine what he stands to mean by it. You look back at his face horrified for a moment, tears immediately starting to fill simply at his tone. 

“Daddy!” You respond in outrage, pulling your arms away, “What on earth do you mean! Do you not like the outfit?” He looks at you again, flicking the bottom of the babydoll with a finger; 

“Well honey, It’s not what daddy would have picked out for ya.” Your cheeks redden as you sputter back at him; 

“What’s wrong with it? I liked it! The girl at the store liked it!” At no point when you’d spent the day planning the evening had you expected he’d get you undressed and then not like the get-up. It was a scenario that had not even crossed your mind. His grip on your thigh tightens further.

“We-ell baby,” He starts to take on the educating tone he’s forced to put on so often in his movies, or rather the tone he ends up using in his movies because he does so often use it to talk to women, “I like it too but it’s not right for my innocent little girl. You’re not a whore waiting to be … fucked. at any given moment. You’re my sweet little baby doll and if you wanted new panties you should’ve come ‘ere and sat on daddy’s knee and asked for them.” You felt another rush of wetness at his words, even as your body burned with embarrassment, you attempt to push away from him but he holds you in place, 

“I’m not a child Elvis! I took myself to the boutique, I tried this on myself and I feel good in it! And who cares even if I was a whore!”

“Hell darlin’,” he laughs again briefly, “I oughta putcha over my knee for doin’ all this behind your daddy’s back. Let alone suggesting your daddy might be with a whore.” His tone changes again deepening further as his grip on your neck tightens for a second, holding your head in place. “Baby, I thought we’d been over this. You’re my dolly. My yittle bittle baby doll and that means I get to buy you new clothes, or underwear and dress you exactly how I want to.” He swats your ass, and his tone changes as he practically growls the next part, “1And that also means that you’re a whore if I say you’re a goddamn whore, and if I say you’re not then you’re goddamn not. Get it doll?” You squeak and nod as he grips your chin. “And my wittle girl is a good girl, so however much she wants it, she isn’t getting fucked by anyone but me. And that means she’ll have to wait until Daddy’s done the right thing. Understood.” His finger taps your cheek, your wetness has to be leaking through to his thigh by now, you can practically feel it seeping through the fabric. You hurriedly nod, 

“Yes! Yes, daddy.” He rewards you by hooking a finger into the crotch of your knickers and gently stroking from your clit down to your labia and back up again. He shifts you to balance on a single thigh rather than across the two, You rut against him, unable to stop yourself - catching his finger between your core and his own leg; his knuckle catches briefly on your clit and you feel sparks - almost like pins and needles shoot through your body. He pulls his hand away as soon as you rock back again, and stills your forward motion with his wet fingers against your middle - wrapping his arm around you to hold you in place against him, his hand once again sliding down to play with you although this time he kept you still - his lips are against your ear and he kisses just beneath your ear lobe and down to the crease of your shoulder before continuing to talk, 

“Honestly honey, I’ve got a good mind to put you over my knee anyway and give you a good dose of what happens to sneaky, naughty, dis’bedient little girls.” Your face burns and he laughs, jostling you on his lap before he pulls his finger out, wiping it on the mesh of your top on the way before considering for a moment and shoving it into your mouth with the firm instruction to 

“Taste how desperate you are for me.” He uses his other hand to pull at the ribbon holding the two sides closed, 

“I want this off, and my pretty little dolly back in her pretty little girl clothes, and maybe I’ll decide you don’t need that spanking after all.” He yanks it down and off of you, simultaneously gently but roughly pulling your arms out, akin to a tired mother forcing her baby’s arms out of their sleeper. Before screwing the fabric into a ball and flinging it against the wall. You don’t really understand - he can’t like your usual underwear, can he? And it took such a lot out of you to even go and get this set that to just have it thrown off upsets you.

“But, but wait a second Daddy, don’t you think it’s all a bit babyish? my mother bought most of my underwear.” You flinch slightly and put on your best pleasing eyes, “And… you’ve been ignoring me and this set really was a lot of money…”

He pauses again, before putting you upright between his legs to tug the panties off - you have no choice but to help by stepping out of them, still held by your arm and not wanting to stand there stupidly hobbled by the frankly, soaking panties, he talks as he strips you; 

“So that’s what this is all about? I’ve been ignoring you? I’ve been busy mama.” You start to protest again and he jumps in before you can say anything else, “I like your panties darling, but if you wanted something new you should’ve asked, I’d buy you the whole damn shop.” You scoff, 

“Yeah but only the ones that the pope himself would approve of.” He growls and grips your arm; chucking you over his legs. “No! Daddy! Elvis! I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that - you don’t have to do this!”

He smacks your ass hard, a handprint blooming in pink almost immediately - “Elvis!” you shriek. 

“Clearly, you need some remindin’ whether you got a ‘pinion on any of this,” his accent deepens - full words becoming lost and his sentences blending together as his breathing picks up, “and who your Daddy is.”

You’re not sure how he manages to stay so stern when he couldn’t keep a straight face delivering a similar line in Blue Hawaii - unless it’s simply that he truly does believe he has the right to do what he likes here; he’s not playing around with you. But that’s a thought you have later, in the moment all you can feel is the flood of heat between your legs from his word and all you can think is, ‘Lord above he’s smacking me hard.’

“You’re mine. Say it. Say you’re my dolly.” His hand smacks down again, he doesn’t hold back much. While he might treat you like china the rest of the time for some reason he truly seems to believe that it doesn’t count if he’s spanking your ass. Even his playful slaps are generally pretty hard - he doesn’t seem to feel the need to modulate his boisterous approach to activity if it applies to smacking you. He spanks you for probably only a minute, you squirming around the whole time, before he pauses and pulls you back closer to his body, you shriek when his hand comes down again, instead of leaving your body again he grips down - his fingertips turning where’s he’s clutching white amidst the pink-red of the rest of your ass. You take a shuddery breath, you feel like you’re on fire, and while you’re sure you should be trying to resist more you can’t help but melt at his rough actions. He lifts to go again and you panic, thinking that really you’ve had enough of this now and you start to plead,  

“I’m yours! I’m yours!” He smiles to himself, lowering his arm to pull you closer and leaning down to growl closer to your ears; 

“You’re my what?”

“I’m your doll! I’m your baby!” He chuckles, 

“That’s right baby, that’s right.” His hand slaps down a few more times before he stops to gently rub the marks he’d left, his thumb going in small circles. He hums for a second, 

“Now lil' baby, this isn’t the first time this has come up, so I’m starting to get that you might be serious about feeling …” his fingers tap on your cheek, “oh so empty”, he puts on a high-pitched voice in an attempt to mimic you, “So how’s bout this darlin’, my mind ain’t changing and I ain’t gonna be rushed but … why don’t we set a date?” Your heart jumps to your throat, he can’t seriously be asking you this, bright red bent naked over his lap. It’s too ridiculous for words, 

“Daddy, El-, Elvis, are you,” you push at his arms, twisting around, “are you serious baby?” 

“Serious as sin mama - but now don’t go getting it twisted - I’m not saying we’re gonna go out tomorrow - but …” he raps his fingertips on your sore ass consideringly, “how bouts next summer?” You paused briefly in your attempts to squirm around, 

“As long as you’re serious - you could promise five years from now and I’d be happy!” He laughs, 

“Well now that you mention it the new decade could be a plan.” he tugs you back up and you immediately fling your arms around him, 

“Thank you,” you kiss his neck, “Thank you,” his face, “Thank you,” his lips.

“Only you darlin’ could be put over my knee and come back up proposed to … you got me wrapped around your finger doll.” He squeezes your ass cheek and you squeal in response. 

“None of that now honey,” He shushes you, “Daddy don’t wanna hear you whinging and whining - you deserved every one of them handprints.” You look back up at him, making your eyes as big as you possibly can, 

“Aw, little mama that’s not fair - don’t look at me like that.” He’s now the one whinging, “Daddy’ll make it all better - he’ll kiss it better.” he lays you down and you bring your knees up, your legs spread looking at him between them; you can’t help but laugh at how eagerly he jumps onto the bed, settling between your thighs. He leans down again, your legs encasing him. He looks up at you, his face is slightly flushed and he looks overwhelmingly, ridiculously, happy - you can’t help but feel pride that out of all the girls in the entire world who want him you’ve managed to make him feel this way. He kisses your forehead, his open shirt tickling your sides as he leans over you, he’s suddenly your entire focus - all you can see, smell and feel is him.

“We’ll hafta make it official baby, why dontcha pick a ring out from Daddy’s box in the morning for now and Daddy’ll go shopping soon?” You nod frantically, narrowly missing bumping heads with him. You lean up to catch his lips again, he’s unable to simply kiss; his teeth catching on your lips. Your head rolls back and you can’t help the noises that are coming out of your mouth - you’re practically keening as he moves down to mouth at your jaw and neck. He slides down further, peppering your chest in kisses - he sucks just below your collarbone, leaving you gasping and a bruise sure to bloom. 

“For now though darlin’ let’s get this feeling better.” He swats your ass and you yelp - 

“That’s not…That’s not better El-“ You break off as he kisses down your naval, his hands gripping your hipbones and his thumbs rubbing circles. 

“Just relax baby, Daddy’ll take care of you.” He kisses just above your mound and you can’t help but thrust up slightly. 

“No, no. Stay right there sweetheart, stay right there and I’ll take care of you. Wanna make the most of my good little girl before you become my wife.” He pushes your hips down, and then spreads your thighs further - “Daddy’ll kiss it better, make you forget about your sore ass.”

It’s one of his talents, he almost might be as good at it as he is at singing. He licks a stripe down before focussing on your burning core, his tongue slipping in and out as he rubs his thumbs over your clit, his hands holding you open for him. He sucks and nibbles like he has toand you can feel the edge building as he moves his hands to hold your thighs and down and sucks on your clit. Your hips grind in circles, and despite his efforts to hold you down you can’t help but push down and he responds by pushing back - simply sucking harder than before. Your body shudders as you head for an orgasm and you tremble as he lets go with a kiss to the spot he was sucking before once again licking down to your entrance. 

“Lawdy baby you’re drippin’.” He stands up and looks down at you, before heaving you up, you stand on shaky legs for only a moment before he hoists you back, sitting himself on the bed and pulling you down - your back against his chest. His thigh slots between your leg, and you can feel his burning hot length against your side - he wraps an arm around you pulling you tight to him as your sweaty bodies slide against each other. Your head rocks back onto his shoulder and he leans down. It’s an awkward angle and you’re sure your neck will be sore after this but you wouldn’t ever be the one to end it. He’s practically clutching at you - his hand that wasn’t curled around your waist keeping your head in place and kissing you with a dizzying force. He pulls back and you pant, his hand trailing down your body, thumb brushing your nipple, each little movement causing you to shiver. 

It eventually reaches between your legs and with a single finger, he strokes down both sides of your labia before circling your clit. Your breathing is heavy now, erratic, and you can hear and feel his similar change of pattern against your neck, his head dipping down to kiss your shoulder. He pulls you tighter so that you’re leaning more heavily against him as he shuffles back - allowing him to lean on the heavily pillowed headboard. He spreads your labia with two fingers and you would, if you had any presence of mind left, be embarrassed at how his fingers just slipped with how wet you are. He dips a single finger into you, and you shudder around him, it’s obscene how close you are to orgasm that that almost sets you off, he chuckles against your shoulder before crooking his finger - your back arches as he strokes your walls. He kisses you again and then he pulls almost all the way out, before going back with two fingers. Your hips are circling of their own accord again now, grinding back down on him. You can feel his cock against your back still, and you wobble on his fingers and thigh as he releases your waist to pump it a couple of times. 

“Think you can do three, little?” You frantically nod and he goes to slip in a third, your eyes widen as he goes to push it in alongside the other two, thumb rubbing your clit. It feels much bigger than just simply an extra finger, although his are pretty large, and you feel the burn (despite your wetness) in a way you haven’t since the first few times he touched you like this. His arm has encircled your waist again, so he feels how you jump as he attempts to slide in past his first knuckle and wince as he wiggles his fingers. 

“See baby,” His voice is impossibly deep, and his hair brushes your neck as he speaks close to your ear, “Daddy knows best. Your tight little cunt can barely take my fingers, honey, it’s too small for much more still. Daddy’s gonna hafta open you up for next year, train your little wittle hole up.” Your mouth falls open, and he pulls the third finger out - crooking the other two in you - rubbing against your walls, and your hands clutch at his arms as you rock against him. “Can I- Baby, can I just rub against ya?” You nod frantically, grinding your hips down on his fingers and he slips them out to lift you up, placing you more squarely against him so he’s able to slip his cock under you. Rubbing it against your pussy, it knocks against your clit and you shudder - his hands lift you and pull you back and forth, you’re going to have bruises on your hips after this, and your sore ass is being knocked against him but it all just adds to the pleasure you’re feeling. 

His hips start thrusting, hard, but impossibly fast - his penis sliding between your lips, your slick and his precum mixing for lubrication. He knocks against your clit, and your head throws back onto his shoulder in pleasure. It only takes a minute or so before he slams you back, and the involuntary grinding of your hips continues even as thrusts start to falter, he’s groaning behind you like a dying man, and the next second he’s cumming. He rubs it through your folds, his cum mixing with the rest of your fluids down here, making it extra slippy across his fingers - he pushes it into your pussy, slicking his way for just the two of his fingers again although you’re sure with the extra lubrication you could take more, and he crooks his fingers just so. His thumb coming up to rub against your clit once again, and everything is so sticky and it feels so wrong in a delicious way. He plays your body like he does guitar, and you’re already so close to the edge that it only takes a few seconds of him stroking you before you’re shuddering against him, mouth open. He rubs you through it, only stopping once you whine at him and attempt to buck off his hands - the overstimulation too much. You roll over, off of him and he slumps next to you. You’re still seeing stars a moment later when he taps your tummy with his sticky hand, 

“Whoo,” He whistles lowly, his eyes closed, “mama, what a night.” You glance over at him, you’re having a struggle trying to process all that’s just happened. He glances over at the bundle of lingerie lying against the wall and back at you, huffing a little laugh “God you little minx, can’t believe you bought that. I really do like you in your regular stuff though honey. I really do. You’re my little yittle, I’ve just been busy baby.” You smile, it didn’t take much but you’re convinced, it never takes much where Elvis is concerned. He seems to have some sort of mystical power for it. 

“I know Daddy, sorry for trying to make ya…you know.” He pars your thigh, “I do love you…. were you…” You wonder if you shouldn’t just be grateful for what you’ve just had and leave your questions for later, but you’ve just got to know for sure, “you were being serious earlier weren’t you?” You panic in the afterglow that his earlier promise may have been empty - but you should know by now he doesn’t make empty promises. 

“Shit, baby, yes.” He tugs your arm, rolling you into his side, leaning down for a kiss, “We’ll sort it all out tomorrow.” You kiss him back, and then pull back, curling into his side. 

He waits for a moment or two before placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead as he heaves himself up and heads to the en-suite. You’re half asleep when he’s gently wiping you down with a damp washcloth, and barely cooperative as he pulls a pair of your, regular, panties up your legs. You look up at him with hooded, sleepy eyes as you see him considering your nightgown before clearly deciding against it. He disappears into the bathroom again and you slip out of sleep as he climbs into the bed, helping you under the covers his silk pyjamas brushing against your bare skin. He pulls you against him and you’re fast asleep in seconds. 

[yuseirra]

Hi there, lovely artist! Do you watch the oshi no ko anime? I ask because I wondered if you are excited to see their depiction of Hikaru, because you make such lovely art of him (it's a depiction I quite like :)). It made me wonder if you have some kind of expectations for the anime.

I'm personally very excited to see Hikaru animated and voice acted :D

Hello anon~ thanks for calling me lovely!♥ I love getting complimented!

Oh! I watched the first 2 eps of the second season, then I decided to put off watching it for a while (I can always buy it in our local OTT platform, they have it there!) because the manga... ;v; is already making my head spin so much already. I can only focus on one thing at a time... It was SO good though!!// I remember how the first episode started with stage-play, which was very impressive. The opening animation sequence is amazing too! I'd like to binge it all at once later.

Hmm...about expectations, I personally consider the current arc to be great in terms of depicting Aqua's psychology. It was peak in terms of helping us understand his character, so I appreciate that a lot. We get to see all his pains and trauma and the struggles he had, and it was so powerful. I'm sure the anime would be touching on those currently, if they do a great job with that (along with Akane's rivalry with Kana and how they shine on stage in different ways) I feel I'd be happy with it! Also that scene with Melt. I'm sure that one's been animated because I saw a thumbnail of it on youtube. I'm also looking forward to the aqukana date. That's one of the few peaceful, cute moments we have. I'm sure I'd watch that part the moment it comes out because I'm curious how that's going to be acted out.. and I need to see some happy moments in onk for once. Stuff's been depressing in the manga lately and I feel sorry for a lot of characters;;

OH... thank you!// I'm so happy to hear you like my depiction of him!!/// That gives me strength. Yeah, I'm excited too, because we never saw his color palettes yet, haven't we!! It's going to be all over the internet once it's out, won't it...I'm a little worried if I got it way off.. but I'm prepared to take what they give us! The anime team does the series justice. I trust they will come up with something good. I just mentioned I'd watch the aqukana dating scene as it comes out.. well, that scene with hikaru's also a scene I want to watch (and I NEED to in order to get his color schemes right in the future 'cause I draw! o<-<)

I really want him to get a bright color palette, because his name has to do with both "god" and "light"... or the god of light if combined.. I SERIOUSLY believe he HAS to do with amenouzume, the entertainment god's husband!! That god conveniently is said to have a "shining body" and is called the god of the bright lights!!!! There is no way that has nothing do do with him!! I don't really picture him with dark eyes, I feel golden eyes would really suit him because that gives off the "light" imagery and it'd make sense. It'd also be able to make his black star eyes really stand out as he has them.. and I feel he'd make a good contrast with Ai if he's colored a bit brighter than Aqua or Ruby. purple and yellow contrast each other very well! So I'm crossing my fingers for that to happen. Same here, I'm really curious how he'd sound like, and I'm happily awaiting to see his depiction in the anime. Since I drew a lot of things about him already, I'd be a bit embarrassed if happened to get his colors off... but?? It's the colors I really want. So I won't regret having colored him that way. We can all dream, right!

I drew them upon having received your ask!

it'd be really nice if he has these bright colors that contrasts Ai's dark purple. Saying this again because I really want that to happen ;v;)9999

I get chatty, I hope you can feel my excitement! :) This series makes me both so nervous and excited... I guess it will be like that for awhile.

Let's keep having fun together! I appreciate your ask and I hope you have a fun weekend!