#( a princess cut from marble

[arcielee]

Ābrazȳrys

Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead. Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint. Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆 Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.

An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended. 

Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face. 

You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.

The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.

You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown. 

This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body. 

There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath. 

Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead. 

The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms. 

“He is even smaller in death.” 

You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.

It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”

“I am not.” 

It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.” 

His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions. 

You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”

This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond. 

You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king. 

And it felt so wrong.

His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.” 

And yet–

“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own. 

The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings. 

You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core. 

“Aemond, we should leave…” 

His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed. 

You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more. 

You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–” 

His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.” 

Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you. 

He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins. 

Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.

His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core. 

You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.

You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.

It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet. 

You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared. 

Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips. 

“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.” 

And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes

arcie's masterlist

[fluffyprettykitty]

The Parisian Agenda

Pairing: Tony Stark x female reader (no other specifications!)

Word Count: 2030 words

Outline: Tony flies you out to Europe for a big weekend surprise.

Author's Note: requested here. I wanted to write a paris fic for a while now so I combined my desire with this request and voila. Pure romance!

Warnings: swearing, pet names, p in v sex, dry humping, heavy kissing, scratching.

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics //​ banners by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist ・❥・Tony Stark Masterlist

NSFW UNDERNEATH THE CUT. MINORS DNI.

“We didn’t have to take the jet.” You mumble shifting around in your seat and looking at your boyfriend, the multi-billionaire Tony Stark.

“Don’t worry, it has high-quality reusable energy and is non-harmful to the planet.” He winks at you as he is handing you a glass of orange juice. “Now drink. I need you to have all of your strength for tonight.”

“Tony Stark. You better not have pulled out this jet just to fuck me overlooking some old ass monument.”

“I promise I haven’t.”

“Boy, do I not believe you.” Oh, he had pulled that shit before. Multiple times.

You raise an eyebrow as he clinks his glass with yours, a very mischievous smirk behind his little goatee. He drinks his orange juice like is the most natural thing and then he brings out a silver plate filled with different kinds of cut fruits. He begins to feed you piece after piece while talking about a near grand opening that will take place in the Parisian office. 

Yet Tony remains coy about the place you are landing as he muses between the European offices and tells you about how he should open one in Marocco. 

~Several hours later.

When you land you are fast asleep and Tony quietly tries to escort you in his arms careful not to wake you. Of course, that doesn’t happen. When you open your eyes you are in his arms overlooking the city night lights. 

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere where you will take a shower and dress very pretty so we can go to dinner.”

“Oh, Tony.” You roll your eyes and adjust yourself on the ground recognizing you must be on the rooftop of a hotel. 

The hotel room is beautiful, wide open, with marble pillars and many statues inside.

“Are we in Rome?” You ask him, touching gently the statues.

“Nope.”

“Athens?”

“No.” He shakes his head as he begins to undress.

“You better not be lying.”

“Plenty of cities in Europe. Think the architect was just obsessed with statues.”

He reaches out for your arm burying his beard and nose on your shoulder as he begins to bite and drags you towards the bathroom mumbling that he won’t shower alone. 

After an eventful and steamy shower, he lets you dress on his own claiming he needs to overlook some key details and someone will be outside the door to escort you. 

He has left three different dresses on the bed, in different lengths and cuts, and colors. Different pairs of shoes are also on the chair waiting for you. Everything looked very elegant, but of course, they were all completely backless. You pick the one you prefer the most, feeling like a princess in it, and then sit down in the vanity parlor to do your hair and make-up. Once you are satisfied with yourself, you walk towards the rest of the suite reaching the dining room. There you find a big blue velvet box with a note on it telling you to open it. 

It was a beautiful opaque necklace. Extravagant and expensive. Tony loved his jewelry that much was true. You carefully put it on and headed towards the door. You feel a little weird walking out with no purse so you hold on to your phone carefully breathing in and out. 

Behind the door a young busboy greets you and you can immediately tell where you are from his distinct accent.

France. 

Or maybe any other french speaking country. 

You walk behind him as he points you to a candlelight passage overlooking the… 

“Paris.” You breathe out, looking at the Eiffel tower from a close distance. 

“Son of a bitch. I should have known.” You huff and walk a little bit more detrimentally on the footpath till you see him. Dressed in his black tuxedo with a wide grin on his face. 

“My lady.” He extends his right arm, placing his left behind his back and slightly bowing to you.

“I feel like I should have known.”

“My mom’s favorite city.” Tony smiles and there’s a glisten in his eyes. 

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” You smile back and squeeze his hand.

“Yes, when my father proposed to her, he also gifted her the Paris office. Quite beautiful overlooks half of Paris.” You follow his movements, listening to him talking. It was rare when he spoke of his parents like that especially his mother so you no longer feel the need to tease him. He pulls the chair for you, sitting on a small table close to the banisters.

“Is absolutely beautiful, Tony. Thank you.”

“Oh, wow, and I haven’t even fed you yet.”

“Tony.” You scoff as he is opening a champagne bottle and pouring the insides on two flute glasses. 

“You look absolutely ravishing, has anybody ever told you that?” He proclaims, holding the glass in his hand, taking in your figure.

“Only you, every single hour of my life.” 

“Smart man.”

“Only the best.”

“A toast then.” He smirks bringing his glass forward. You repeat his action hovering yours close to his.

“To health. And world peace.”

“I love world peace.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I also love you.”

“I also know. I love you too.”

“Good.” 

He clinks his glass and proceeds to take a sip staring at you as you are drinking yours. Truth is Tony was always in a flirty mood, especially in semi-public settings like this but something felt vulnerable and raw about tonight as if something hang in the air. You try to push it in the back of your head, Tony wasn’t the most open man in the world, he required a lot of patience and care.

Then dinner is served. 

Opting to skip appetizers, you start with thins strip of smoked salmon with sour cream, lemon, and dill with a side of ravioli and mushrooms with herbs and parmesan. A salad in the middle for the pair of you, a mix of lettuces with pomengrate seeds. Then for the main dish, there is cod, simply cooked with spicy herbs sided with white rice and black truffles. 

Conversation flew as Tony seemed to feel like retelling you his parent’s engagement journey. Apparently, his dad had first wanted to propose in Marocco, overlooking the dessert and some old palaces but unfortunately, there was a warning for very bad weather and then the trip had to be cut short cause of other business problems. In the end, he simply took her to the Jules Verne restaurant in Paris, overlooking the seine river, and proposed to her over dinner. 

“Does that restaurant still operate?” You ask him taking a sip of your wine. 

“Yes, it does.” He grins, almost wondering how clueless could you be. 

Then the waiter is coming around with the dessert of the night. Placed it in the middle of the table having already cleared it before. A chestnut puff pastry with vanilla cream, citrus zest, and opaline. He takes the knife and the fork in his hands and begins to cut a piece, and that’s when you first notice it. 

A diamond shining right against your face. 

“Oh, they left something in there.”

“Funny how that happens, huh?”

“No, you can’t see, is on my side.” You protest reaching out to take the knife from his hand and fumble with a pastry a little. 

“Maybe they dropped their spoon inside the mix.” Tony deadpans, a smirk trying so very hard to hide in the curls of his lips.

“It looks…” You pull it out and examine it. “Looks like a ring.”

“That it does.” He looks at you waiting for the clue to drop in.

“Why would they put a ring inside the pastry?”

“Funny how the mind of the average man works.”

“Tony. Is it?” 

“I mean it definitely is, isn’t it?”

“Oh my god.” 

“Bout time.”

You take the ring in your hands examining it around and pushing away a couple of crumbs. The design is simple and very elegant with a heart-shaped pink diamond in the middle, and several smaller diamonds adorning the silver band.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” Tony asks looking at you. 

“Yes, yes!” You exclaim and fall forward to reach for him. 

Then it all feels like a blur, a multitude of emotions overwhelming you. You don’t remember when you put on the ring or if you ever ate that pastry, all you know now is Tony breathing above you as he is railing you against the mattress. 

Slowly and sensually as if he is sealing a promise and eternity altogether. 

Your hands move on his back, your nails digging deep into his back, feeling his muscles move under your touch. The feeling of your engagement ring on his back has him acting up, looking at you with love and devotion and absolute possession. 

“I love you.” He breathes out, his hands cupping your face. “I love you so goddamn much.” 

“I love you, baby.” You pant out, his hands reaching out to your thighs to push your dress further up for final access.

“I will never let you go. Never, ever, ever.” The palm of his hand brush on your wet panties and you hiss at the sensation. Everything feels so electrifying right now. He pushes them to the side and quickly replaces the empty feeling of his touch with the tip of his cock. 

“Forever.” He muses pushing it inside as your mouth hangs open with the feeling of him. It feels desperate and raw and absolutely right. You need him, you need to show him how much. Your nails dig in on his back as he moves his hips rhythmically against your frame, his face one inch away from your face.

“I wanna see you. You’re so beautiful. A goddamn dream of a woman. My one and everything. My life and my heart and everything precious and holy in this world.”

Thrust followed by another thrust until his cock reaches for your cervix and you try your hardest to hold on to him as he is working your body better than ever.

He wants to show you how much he loves you, how much he cares for you, and how sure he is of his decision to make you his wife. His hand keeps your chin secure, as you try to hit your head back in pleasure and he is drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, never stopping looking at you. 

“You are the best. Better than anyone else.”

“I need to, I need to.”

“I know, I know. I got you. Come on, give it to me. Show me. Show me how you love me. ”

You moan out his name loud and clear for anyone to hear and your orgasm vibrates through your whole body. Doesn’t take long for him to cum as well, filling you up and thanking you over and over again for choosing him. 

Ten minutes later, and several kisses later he is railing you again, never stopping looking at your eyes, kissing your lips and your neck when you are cumming again. He doesn’t stop though. 

You don’t know how many rounds it has been or if you had slept for more than a few hours but you know that is night again as the lights from the outside are shining brightly while you are sitting on the balcony chair dressed in your bathrobe and admiring the way your ring glistens in the dark. 

“Happy?” His voice comes from behind you, followed by a kiss on your shoulder and then one on top of your ring before he settles a tray of food on the small table.

“Very.” You grin looking at him with love and utter devotion.

“You make me very happy.” He nods his head taking in your serene figure. 

“I could make you very sad, too.” You tease him, winking at him.

“You could never.”

“Hm. Don’t be so sure.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

“When are we returning home?”

“Never if I can help it.”

“I like that.” You smirk and pick up a piece of chocolate truffle to throw inside your mouth. 

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[ronni-right]

[ TENSION ]  one muse is patching up the other’s injuries which leads to intense eye contact,  lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other’s. (Daemyra prompt)

Rated E. Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen.

JEALOUS, FIERCLY PROTECTIVE & TERRITORIAL PROMPTS

Can be read as stand alone or as part of the fic Black Venom.

It was too late when she understood it was a trap. 

It wasn’t her conclusion as a text arrived after Daemon notified her he entered the building. 

2022/09/09 08:16 p.m. 

Did you say goodbye to your dog? Because today was the last time you saw him alive.

J. Lannister

It was a trap. 

Lannister wasn’t supposed to know Daemon was coming for him. 

Daemon was one of the best assassins. 

But he wasn’t untouchable. 

He was a human. 

And if Lannister knew, he made sure to prepare. 

So she sent him there, into the trap. 

She believed in Daemon, but deep down she knew right away that she would never see him again. 

She stared at the window, with a city in full view, illuminated by night light, feeling numb and stupid. She never felt stupid her whole life. She was always two steps ahead. But this time Lannister played her. And at what cost? 

She sent him to be slaughtered. 

The man she loved. 

The man she wanted to be her forever. 

And she killed him. 

Her ambitions killed him. 

Lannister was just an executioner.

She was staring blankly at the city, feeling darkness creeping at her from every corner. 

And then Rhaenyra screamed.

*

It turned out she was wrong.

*

Daemon was untouchable. 

*

He appeared like a ghost, with no sound, with no warning of his arrival. She blinked, confused, as he sat in the chair opposite her, the coffee table between them. He was very much alive, but his clothes were covered in blood and had holes from knives, his face spotted deep scratches and bruises. 

“There were thirty of them.” He told Rhaenyra as a matter of fact. And Rhaenyra was stunned to speak. 

She mourned him! She believed he wouldn't make it!

“Do you want me to feel pity for you?” Rhaenyra asked, taking a sip of a whiskey from the glass she was holding. Her tears have long dried up. “It’s your job after all. And if you aren’t the best, you are dead.” 

He must not know.

He must not know what feelings she had for him. 

Her heart was beating so fast.

He was alive! 

“Me being here shows who is the best.” Daemon smirked. “Why are you so sulky? I cut off the snake's head.”

“They never stop growing heads, Daemon.” Rhaenyra couldn't even smile. It was like someone was choking her these hours when she thought he was dead. Now it was a little bit easy to breathe. “Come with me,” she ordered him. 

He followed her inside the bathroom and took off all his clothes while she was taking first-aid supplies from a cabinet. 

The clothes were left discarded on the marble floor, and he stood there, inside the shower, all confident and smirking until he stopped smirking, catching the expression on her face: lost and with barely there focus. She came to him, placed supplies on the shelf, and then inspected his wounds.

“What happened when I was gone?” Daemon asked, lifting her chin lightly to look into her eyes. 

And when she looked back at his eyes, it crushed into her again: he was alive, breathing and sitting there, and she wanted to hug him, but he was injured more than ever before.

“Lannister knew he was coming.” Rhaenyra told him, swallowing hard. “We have a rat. And I need to deal with it first thing in the morning.” Because she was so fucking tired. 

It wasn’t that hard when she was just a Princess, an Heir to the Empire. 

But she is the Queen now. 

Mafia-Queen. 

She wanted it after all. 

But when she nearly lost him … Did she really want it if it meant he could have been killed? 

“I will kill this rat for you.” Daemon whispered and she nodded, once again unable to speak. 

Her inability to speak was something that didn’t characterize her at all. 

Daemon was silent too. 

His wounds weren’t deep, but there were a lot of cuts, and she took care of every one, washing them thoroughly with clean water and mild soap. She was gentle with him, caressing his wounded skin lightly with her fingertips, taking care of him, while he just stood there, allowing her to do what she wanted to do. 

He was a grown man. 

He cared for his wounds himself. 

But when they started their relationships, it was something she started to do for him. 

It was partly her fault he was injured in the first place. 

And there was something sensual about it. 

It was eye contact, when she cleaned his wounds, as she stared at him, and he stared at her. At first she was the one to touch him, without sexual subcontext, but as far as she touched him, it was hard for him not to be affected by it.

Today wasn’t an  exception, as his lips crushed hers when she cleaned his face from the blood that partly was his. The kiss was messy, she tasted blood on his tongue, and she was afraid to touch him, even though he wasn’t gonna break if she touched him wrong.

“I thought they killed you,” Rhaenyra whispered into his lips when they parted. 

He laughed at that:

“I can’t even say they tried really hard. It was a pure comedy.” But then his expression turned to be serious as he told her: “It will take much more effort to take me from you, my Queen.” 

Rhaenyra didn’t want to blush, but she blushed. However her answer was just business when she told him:

“Because I pay you well.” 

She didn’t want to address her feelings. 

Or his feelings. 

Because she knew she loved him more. 

Daemon opened his mouth to answer something, but Rhaenyra covered his lips with hers, kissing him again. He was a stern man, but he melted into Rhaenyra instantly. She slinged her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The shower wasn’t the best option now, so she proceeded them to move into the bedroom, all while kissing, and touching, and she lost her dress and panties somewhere between bathroom and the bedroom but she didn’t care. 

They ended up on the bed, Daemon pushed her down, and she made a room for him, spreading her legs. Her cunt was already soaked. 

“Pretty.” His fingers early slipped inside her cunt, stretching her walls around their thickness. She didn’t need stretching but it was kind of him.  Not that he was a kind man. “Your cunt beckons me back, doll,” Daemon purred, fucking his fingers inside her, while his other hand massaged her tits. She wanted to laugh at that. It wasn’t that fine, but it was fine while he was there, while he was returning to her every time. “And now I’m gonna fuck you,” he didn’t waste time, pushing her legs apart a little bit more, grabbing his cock and pushing the fat head inside her eager hole. Rhaenyra wrapped his legs around his waist, but she didn’t pull him on top of her like she always did. He had wounds after all. Daemon was slow at first, rocking his hips into her. But she knew well enough he wouldn’t be slow soon. They fucked like animals each time he returned from his missions. She never once complained, eager to be fucked and used. 

They were desperate for each other. 

Some of his cuts started to bleed, she noticed that but told him nothing, knowing well it won’t stop him from fucking her. She would bandage him later. Daemon shifted, his hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of her head. She expected him to say anything, but he didn’t, fucking his cock inside her. He hit her sweet spots inside her that made her see stars and cry his name aloud. Daemon fucked her franticly, grunting loud every time she moaned. 

It was way to sudden when Rhaenyra came, and Daemon came almost the next second, emptying inside her, stuffing her with his seed. 

And his cum that leaked from her cunt, made her think.

[how--the-story-ends]

A Council of Regents

Cora entered her dressing room, bidding farewell to the ladies-in-waiting who typically accompanied her.  She had just set her state crown on the marble table in the center of her dressing room when she heard a rustle of curtain.  Quicker than a flash, she withdrew two ruby-studded daggers from beneath her gown, throwing one at the curtain and holding the other forward protectively in front of her.  While she had a panic button in her room capable of summoning guards, she was concerned that the crucial seconds it would take for her to turn around, exit into her connecting bedroom, and do so, would be enough for an interloper to turn into an assassin. And she had not gone through hell to get her throne only to be cut down in her dressing room. Her chances were best if she kept the attacker confined in this space.  For now that she knew they were there, she had no doubt she could win one-on-one. Before Cora could demand they announce themselves, a familiar voice drawled, “Ow, princess.  Is that how you greet an old friend?”   Cora’s heart stopped as she retrieved a second dagger, breathing slowly to calm herself as Raphael stepped out from behind the curtain.  “We’re not friends, Raph,” she asserted as she scanned the dressing room, “How did you get in here?” From Cora’s perspective, she couldn’t see a trail of broken glass, nor any dents in the wall.  So he hadn’t broken in.  Similarly, it was her own guard who had let her in.  She had recognized their faces, and they were alive and well.  Dressed in his standard black leather cloak, Raphael tilted his head as he mused, “No, I suppose we aren’t.  As for how I got in...Wonderland doesn’t examine its wine, does it?  Especially on unbirthdays?”  Cora sucked in a breath.  Of course.  A son of the Church would tamper with wine.  Every guard in the palace was entitled to a celebratory glass on an (acknowledged) unbirthday of one of the Royal Family.  Today, Cora had formally acknowledged one of her mother’s unbirthdays (partly to give Ardenzana something to do and stop trying to sneak into the throne room). Even the ones outside her rooms.  Though how had he timed it?  And, uncomfortably, Cora realized she’d have to start employing tasters.  She hadn’t wanted to reinstate the barbaric custom, but if Raphael could get into her personal quarters, she had a serious security problem. Echoing her thoughts, Raph stepped towards her, lifting a hand towards a curl that had strayed from her updo when she’d removed her crown, “It was too easy.  You clearly need someone to protect you.  You’ve got to be more careful, princess.”  His eyes glinted in the candelight of her chandelier, and it was only then that Cora saw the blood from the cut dripping down the side of his face.  The sight shook her out of her daze, and she raised the dagger to ward him away:   “Don’t touch me.  And you forget yourself- I’m a crowned queen.  I go by ‘Your Royal Majesty.’” Raphael laughed, but dropped his hand to his side.  Cora, still suspicious, kept her daggers raised, even as he simultaneously managed to respect and mock her all at once: “That’s true.  You are a crowned queen, Your Royal Majesty.  And everyone knows it.  That makes them interested in you.”

Cora digested his words as Raphael began to walk around the dressing room.  He honored her request to stay out of her space, but her blood began to simmer as he started to examine her gowns and jewels.  As if he had a right to be there.  As if he owned them.  As the simmering threatened to turn to boiling, she reminded herself that this was a game.  And as Wonderland’s queen, she had to win.  Raphael would not go through the trouble of breaking into her palace, drugging her guards, or hiding in her palace for a social call (not that he would be welcomed, either).  He would, however, deliberately pour salt on wounds and try to get a rise out of her while doing so.  She wouldn’t allow that.  Still, he couldn’t be here representing himself.  “Who are you here for?” Cora asked, making a mental note to get her ladies to call the jeweler and seamstress to melt down and deconstruct everything he touched. “I can’t just be here for me?” Raph inquired, laying a hand over his heart.  He leaned against her dresser and smirked.  Cora didn’t reply, instead staring him down.  Seeing she wasn’t going to engage, his smirk faded and he finally admitted: “I come on behalf of the Council of Regents.  They want to meet with you.” Cora ran through a mental list of every monarch and kingdom she knew, whether recognized under the Auradonian empire or not (for while Mal and Ben ruled as de facto emperor and empress over them, at least for now, they recognized the royal families of the kingdoms they absorbed).  None had regencies in place.  She had no idea what he was talking about.  “I’m afraid I don’t recognize them.”  At that, Raphael laughed, and this time his amusement seemed genuine, “Oh, but Your Royal Majesty,” he somehow managed to make her title sound like an insult, “that’s where you’re wrong.  You do know them, and quite well, too.”

“If I know them,” Cora riposted, “they can send an invitation, like everyone else, and we can schedule a time to meet, in their court or mine.” “They’re not like everyone else.  No heralds, no invitations, no etiquette like this.”   “If they don’t use heralds, what are you?” Cora raised the dagger again as Raph tried to step closer.  She could she, from his expression, that she’d touched a nerve.  While he tried to keep the smirk planted on his face, his eyes were bright with anger. She hadn’t meant to upset him- as much as she wanted him out of her palace -but she needed information.  And Raphael clearly was annoyed that not only did she not fall for his game, but that she was trying to end it early.  And worse...she’d done something else.  She’d insulted him, somehow- but she couldn’t figure it out. Though that was par for the course with him, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. A long moment passed, and finally, he said, “I’m a reminder.  About who you should trust.  And who you need to look out for.” Cora’s veins turned to ice.  Aloud, she asked, “And if I decide I want to meet with them?” Raphael shrugged, “Then you’re probably the only intelligent person with a crown right now.  See you around, princess.”   Then he lunged towards her and blew incense in her face.  Instinctively, she gasped and moved back- only to breathe it in.  Her world swirled around her as she fainted; the last sound she heard was him laughing as he escaped.

[knightfeared]

*Send me   “ Playlist! “    and I’ll give you a list of three songs I associate with our muses’ relationship! ➤  @shark-anarchist / NIMONA. [ ; ] "Playlist" bc I love learning new songs to listen to✨

I added an extra one cause these two give me so many ow feels hhhh

𝐈.              𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋  [ ; ]   𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎. ( … ) This is definitely angsty ahaha & leans more towards Ballister but it fits the situation at the beginning of the movie where he was feeling very much like he was at the top of the world, dreams on the brink of coming true, before everything hit the fan. Eventually, once he meets Nimona, things instantly take a more chaotic, but oddly needed turn. Unexpected, but overall it helps to know that despite the outpouring of hatred towards him, he has someone in his corner as he starts towards trying to get to the bottom of who framed him.

*I'm on my way / Feel like a king / Then my cell rings, ruins everything yeah / The mayhem spreads / Progress is dead / Shoes filled with lead / Going out of my head .

It takes a toll - Toll . . .

Tired of being on damage, damage, damage, damage control / Just trying to manage, manage, manage / All my problems, let it go .

Should have been easy / But you failed completely / You're just so needy / It's leaving me dizzy / *Chaotic life / The sun is burning bright / Cut out the bad / Got the mayhem in hand .

𝐈𝐈.              𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 [ ; ]   𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄. ( … ) This song in particular just made me think heavily of Nimona. But I can definitely tie it into their kindred sort of dynamic following along their initial goal of proving Bal’s innocence, to when things shifted towards revealing the Director’s manipulative plot. That one line about moving through time as quiet as a fire reminded me how they’ve both had to hide or be careful at one point moving through a space they’d called home at one point. But it also reminds me how Nimona, like a flame, holds the ability to be just as destructive. Sorry for how unorganized this screeching ramble is, but all I can really say is it gives VIBES ahaha.

I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm / & the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold / My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones / It keeps my veins hot, *the fires find a home in me / I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire / & my necklace is of opal, I tie it and untie it .

& our people talk to me, but nothing ever hits / So people talk to me, & all the voices just burn holes / I'm going in .

*This is the start of how it all ever ends / They used to shout my name, now they whisper it / I'm speeding up & this is the / Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart / We rip the start, the colors disappear / I never watch the stars there's so much down here / So I just try to keep up with them / Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart .

I dream all year, but they're not the same kinds / & the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time .

& now people talk to me I'm slipping out of reach now / *People talk to me, & all their faces blur / But I got my fingers laced together & I made a little prison / & I'm locking up everyone that ever laid a finger on me .

𝐈𝐈𝐈.              𝟗𝟔  [ ; ]   𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐢𝐓∆𝐓𝐄. ( … ) Ballister leaning song, but it just stood out to me especially with the line [ “I won’t let you down if you have faith in me, I’ve seen your face behind my eyes.” ] which just made me think of how he has ‘changed’ from meeting her, his views shifted, opened up, & ultimately he’s never forgotten the impact she’s made through her presence in his life from his lowest point to his highest where they were working as a team & eventually connecting in a familial way.

*Take a hold of my hand / & walk with me / I'll carry you home / Just be patient, now .

So, take a hold of my hand / Because I believe / *I won't let you down, now / If you have faith in me / Watch as I wait / To pass you by / I've seen your face / Behind my eyes .

*So far, so gone / I'll see you soon / Although I've changed / I've changed for you .

Don't question me / I need to be / Beneath my feet / Just let me be / I need to breathe / Just give me peace / Although this changed me / Just wait & see .

𝐈𝐈𝐈𝐈.              𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏  [ ; ]   𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐀. ( … ) A BONUS ONE ONLY BECAUSE IT CAME ON & I HAVE FEELINGS. This song just fits more from Ballister’s perspective, especially post movie. He’s so protective of her, moreso with her return because of how sudden everything had happened after their fight. Though the more dangerous threats have passed & she now has that freedom to just exist as herself without being called a monster or treated like a threat, he’s still going to worry heavily about her, & with all that time to think things through - guilt still remains.

It’s so far away / This tiny thing called entropy / The end of all you’ve ever been / *But you can’t sleep / & I can’t lie to you / Like all the grown up people do / The clock stops, people go / People go .

If I could lock up light in your little heart / Keep your innocence of the deep down dark / I would .

*In the dead of night, I’ll be here by your side / Ghosts don’t sing so you know that I’m alive / I still get the dreams & the feeling of doom / I don't wanna frighten you;  the pills, they lie to you / You can’t stop the time when it's time that you go / There's no god but it’s better you know / *I still get the dreams & the feeling of doom / I don't wanna frighten you, I don't wanna frighten you .

*Oh, if I could save you from the fear of yesterday / From what will go & what will stay / It wouldn’t change a thing / It's been haunting me / I’m just as small as yesteryear / Drink until it disappears / It won't disappear .

[alvinuniverse-rp]

Follows from -> @alvinuniverse

Hello! I’m Alvin, welcome to my RP blog! I decided to just make one blog for all my characters/muses since making one per each individual character is becoming hard to manage.

I’ll most likely do any type of RP, besides NSFW (meaning smut, blood and gore is okay though!)

I’m currently working on bios for everyone listed here but I have a lot so it’s going to take a bit lol, consider this blog a WIP at the moment

Full muse list (and other RP blogs) under the cut!

(Art by @fruitypieq)

My Little Pony

Canon

@appleyjackk (Applejack) •

Princess Celestia •

Discord •

Tirek •

Zephyr Breeze •

OCs

@flutter-dream-rp (Flutter Dream) •

@solar-arrow (Solar Arrow) •

Midnight Skies •

Marble Mystery •

Love Letter •

Berry Rose •

Rosie Apple •

Redhate Orange •

Apple Bloom 001 •

Wesson •

Small Mil •

Shining Light •

Thunder Spark •

Roller Strike •

The Walking Dead

Canon

Rick Grimes •

Hershel Greene •

Negan Smith •

Steven Universe

Canon

Steven Universe •

Spinel •

OCs

Pink Lemonade Lapis Lazuli •

Cuprite •

Emerald •

Blue Spinel •

Gaspeite •

Jade •

Warrior Cats

OCs

Deerstripe •

Redfeather •

Anthro/Furry (Fandomless)

OCs

@demonvampire-chloe (Chloe) •

@valentinechlo (Valentine) •

Skye •

Lettuce Slim •

Pinkie •

Snowy Mercy •

Alvin Derry •

Mike Pines •

Fandomless

OCs

Peggy •

Breezie •

Alya •

Kenny •

Lucky •

Others

Canon

Alvin Seville (Alvin and the Chipmunks) •

OCs

David (Minecraft) •

[vixletserenity]

Celeste is 'Yellow Flicker Beat' by Lorde.

Send me a song that reminds you of my muse -accepting

I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire And my necklace is of opal, I tie it and untie it

Yeah this definitely is more of a rebellion song that fits her. Can see Giacomo using those color body paint on her scars to show that they're just as precious as the rest of her body.

[themyscir]

LIST 5 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

ANCIENT DREAMS IN A MODERN LAND by marina. our ancestors had to fight to survive just so we could have a chance of a life we're not here so we can blow it all we could bear witness to the rise and the fall

BRUTUS by the buttress. or am i just wishing i could be like you? that the people would see me too as a poet and not just the muse oh it's not true, i don't wish harm upon you from birth we've been like brothers of different mothers within the spirit of the same womb may the gods strike me down if i forsake you

YELLOW FLICKER BEAT by lorde. i'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm and the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold my blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones it keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me i move through town, i'm quiet like a fire and my necklace is of opal, i tie it and untie it

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO by bonnie tyler. i need a hero i'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night he's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh from the fight i need a hero i'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light he's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon and he's gotta be larger than life

PASSERINE by the oh hellos. like carillon bells, the house of augustus rings with the echoing hymn of my fellow passerine, they took to it like a fox to a burrow, like an eagle to an aerie and my god, it's getting hard to even hum a single thing

& LIST 5 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

“  it was inevitable that she should accept any inconsistency and cruelty from her deity as all good worshippers do from theirs. all gods who receive homage are cruel. all gods dispense suffering without reason. otherwise they would not be worshipped. through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear is the most divine emotion. it is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom. half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  “  —  their eyes were watching god by zora neale hurston

“  i sing of golden-throned hera whom rhea bare. queen of the immortals is she, surpassing all in beauty: she is the sister and the wife of loud-thundering zeus, —the glorious one whom all the blessed throughout high olympus reverence and honor even as zeus who delights in thunder.  “   —  hymn 12 to hera by homer.

“  i exist in a world of careful structure taken out of chaos and made habitable by strict planning and strict ruling— structure is imperative order keeps us going deviations are not allowed  “   —  hera by kassiani.

“ ��never regret thy fall, o icarus of the fearless flight for the greatest tragedy of them all is never to feel the burning light.  ”   —  unknown.

“  “aphrodite,” i plead to the moon drenched night sky “tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” from somewhere beyond the clouds, i heard the goddess laugh. and i knew.  “   —  night songs to aphrodite by nikita gill.

tagged by:  nobody! i’m a thief! like four of u did this and stole it from someone else. i get it i really do​​ tagging: everyone <3 especially @urushiol​ 

[cressidaxweasley]

tag drop. 

[vcnitysx]

so, they asked: when is a monster not a monster?

           -- oh. when you love it.

[sunscess-archived]

tag dump 

[romanwalsh]

edith lyssa pratt - headcanons

1) Something a lot of people don’t know about her that she’s actually pretty artistic. Her notebooks for college are usually filled with little doodles, lots of them of caricatures of teachers and classmates. She can also sing, but doesn’t do it often, it’s not a talent that she’s even very aware of. 2) She doesn’t really get that attached to people, she’s always been independent. But she’s pretty damn attached to Clover and can get severely protective at times. If you cross Clover, you indirectly cross Edith too. 3) When she grew up her dad wasn’t really in the picture. Her mother moved from Boston to Mount Wells when Edith was 4 years old, she doesn’t really remember much from before that. Her dad was apparently a bit of a douchebag, yet she can’t help but be curious as to who he really is. 4) The relationship with her mother isn’t easy. They’re pretty similar, which means that at times they are very close, but they also fight a lot. Especially because of Edith’s reputation and the actions that created it. Either way, her mother is probably the only other person other than Clover she’s really attached to. 5) She’s currently attending MWU School of Arts, where she wants to major in philosophy. She just thought that’d be interesting. She is quite indecisive when it comes to her education, she gets bored easily and isn’t sure what she wants to actually do with her life. She just kind if wants to do everything. 6) Her mom knows this though and it can cause bad arguments between them. Her mom wishes Edith would choose something a little more ‘practical’, fearing that her daughter won’t be able to find a job in this field. This causes a conflict for Edith: disappoint her mother - probably one of the few people who’s opinion actually matters to her - or follow her own heart, something that’s also very important to her. 7) She’s never been to Cerberus and she’s honestly quite upset about it, it kind of hurt her pride that she hasn't been given a password yet. After all, she is one of the more well known trouble makers in town, yet no invitation or password had been delivered to her. She’s become low key determined to find out who’s behind the mysterious night club as a result and give them a piece of her mind. 8) Edith has a knack for finding people’s weak spots and uncovering their secrets. Because of this, she’s become quite private and guarded herself. She can’t have anyone going around blabbing all over town about her private matters. Over the years she has gathered some kind of mysterious aura around her and she’d like to maintain that. 9) People are often surprised at how tiny she actually is. People who don’t know her very well, only from reputation, usually expect her to be taller. In reality she’s 5.5, but she likes joke about it by saying her personality makes up for her lack of height. However, one of her biggest pet peeves is when people take her less serious because of it. 10) As a kid she used to have anger issues. Something she even went to counselling for. She has always been a pretty confrontational and out-there girl but she’s become a lot better at controlling that anger. She just channels it in a different way now. 11) Though she’s always had a short temper, it used to be one of her biggest insecurities. She hated how she always stood out because of it, and she hated that people were actually scared of her. Until she realised the kind of power she held because because of all that. Since then her confidence has grown immensely. 12)Some would even go as far to say she has a bit of a god complex. That might be true on the surface, but she’s far from perfect and she knows it. Her struggle with trying to find her purpose in life is only the tip of the iceberg. 13) The transition to college has brought up a bunch of these insecurities and struggles. For a while she feared she’d lose her power and reputation, something she’s actually quite proud of nowadays. it has caused her to be determined to pull some stunts to assure she keeps everyone on her toes. 14) She doesn’t make friends easily. It doesn’t bother her too much, after all she’s independent and confident enough to just say ‘fuck it, their loss’. Besides, she has enough people around her that she can tolerate and that tolerate her. But it’s still something that’s scary sometimes. Not that she'd admit that, of course. 15) She’s a surprisingly good friend. She has a bit of a soft side and it shows only around the people she actually likes, but they all know she’s a loyal and fiercely supportive friend. The problem is just that there aren’t many people she does actually like.

[sunsummons-a]

NEW TAGS ! 

[lokadottra]

tag drop

( vis. ) i’m a princess cut from marble smoother than a storm

( abt. ) how fast the evening passes; cleaning up champagne glasses

( muse. ) in all chaos there is calculation

( m. ) chance is the only game i play with

( aes. ) gods know we like archaic kinds of fun

( father. ) glory and gore go hand in hand

( mother. ) delicate in every way but one

( bros. ) we let our battles choose us

[dersedreamt]

TAGS :: ROSE

[langdxn]

OMGGG PLEASE WRITE FOR STAN ✨✨🖤🖤

well if you insist...

off the record | stan bowes x reporter!reader

WARNINGS: pretty graphic smut, fingering, vaginal sex, pet names errywhere, trump mentions, dom!stan

WORDS: 2.9k (excessive but necessary)

A/N: 110% not proofread yet so apologies for any errors which i’ll fix tomorrow.

The hustle and bustle of 5th Avenue spared Stan the embarrassment of leaving a torturous meeting at work. Tumbling out into the chaos of the New York streets offered him the anonymity he craved after a confrontation with Matt, the ability to blend in amongst the faces that couldn’t recognise him from the next suited, briefcase-toting businessman.

Bursting out of the doors to Trump Towers, Stan dropped his briefcase and rinsed his face with both hands, pressing his fingers to his eyes in a vain attempt to wipe away the day he’d just had. In that moment, no eyes were trained on him, no pressure on his shoulders, no demands of his time.

That is, until a sugary voice broke the crowd’s monotonous buzz.

“Trouble in economic paradise, honey?”

Stan’s hands dropped to his side as he searched for the source of his interruption, eyes intently scanning the street until they fell upon you, leaning against the building’s opulent marble pillars at the entrance.

“Sorta,” he mumbled under his breath, a grimace gently tapering his lips as he gazed down at his shoes. In an attempt to avoid your attentions, he trained his sights on a particularly worn paving slab. His distraction worked right up until your heels clacked toward him and planted right on his slab, the smoke from your cigarette swirling in his peripheral vision — there was no avoiding you, no matter how hard he tried. Stan’s head raised to meet your gaze, his deep brown eyes betraying a sadness and insecurity he may never put into words.

“I hear Mr Trump can be a harsh master,” you goaded your victim into spilling his guts, taking a deep puff of your cigarette before blowing it back to hover over his brown curls like a makeshift halo.

“I... I wouldn’t know, I barely see him,” Stan confessed, grabbing his suitcase and nodded toward the street. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss.”

Time for drastic action. The brunette stepped toward the street, ready to dismiss this exchange and continue his day.

“I smoke out here to drive your boss up the wall, you know,” you called after him, booming over the hubbub on 5th Avenue. “Admittedly he doesn’t come out much, but that jerk-off on the 41st floor certainly reads me for dirt every Friday night. What’s his name, Matt Bromley?”

Stan stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, so you know him too?” You pressed, pacing toward him with a staccato clack of your heels.

“He’s my superior, or at least he pretends to be,” Stan turned to face you, that same pained smirk dancing across his cheeks as his voice cracked between sentences. “Be careful around him, yeah? He’s not exactly one of the nice guys.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoffed, taking another swift drag while tipping your head to the side. “Luckily if he laid a finger on me, I’d put it front page of the Post and he’d never work in this overpriced dump again.”

“You’re a reporter?” Stan’s eyebrows quirked, intrigued but nonetheless concerned. Should he even be talking to a reporter like this? Will every word that passes his lips end up on tomorrow’s front page? He shook his head to dismiss any suspicious thoughts, he certainly didn’t have the headspace for that yet.

“For now,” you admitted with a pout and an eye-roll. “Your asshole ‘superior’ tries to rectify that on a regular basis. Keeps telling my boss I’m soliciting outside Trump Tower instead of reporting. Always digging through my personal life and not coming up with so much as an overdue rental VHS. Someday my editor will believe him, but I’m on my last warning as it is.”

“Seriously?” Stan’s smirk grew more sympathetic with the realisation one more life was being wrecked by the man he had the misfortune of sharing a floor with. “That’s pretty crazy.”

“That’s Manhattan, honey,” you smiled warmly at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not doorstepping you, I just happened to be here on a tip-off.”

“A tip-off? What sort of—.”

Stan cut himself off on hearing the approach of a familiar obnoxious voice on a cell phone booming in the golden foyer behind your exchange.

“Shit, that’s Bromley,” Stan panicked, suddenly grasping your arm and leading you away from the door, casting your half-smoked cigarette to the kerb. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“My nameless knight in shining armour,” you chuckled to yourself, somehow instincively following his lead on the street until you merged with the throngs of passers-by. “Where are we going, sweetie?”

“My name’s Stan Bowes, and I have absolutely no idea where we’re going.”

———

“You don’t look like a Stan,” you mused at the businessman seated across the table from you, tapping your chin with a finger as you contemplated alternative monikers. “More like a... Colin? Peter? Yeah, you’re a Peter—.”

“Can we just... rewind here?” Stan interrupted, eyes darting frantically at your surroundings, scanning the faces at the other tables. “D’ya mind explaining to me why we’re in a Five Guys right now?”

“You’ll thank me later, toots,” you quickly dismissed his objection as you swirled your soda cup in your other hand. “You think your psycho friend from the 41st floor’s gonna look for you in a diner? He’ll go straight to the Plaza... or even Indochine. Never a Five Guys. Plus, I needed somewhere I can afford to pay the bill so the Trump Organisation expense account doesn’t feel the burn.”

A wordless nod and raised eyebrow from your company suggested his silent approval, but his hands idly toying with the burger before him betrayed his confidence in your genius escape plan. Folding the lettuce edging out from beneath the bun, tugging at the rings of onion and nervously picking the sesame seeds from the top.

“You never told me what your tip-off was. What were you doing outside my work?” Stan raised his manhandled burger to his mouth, daring to undo all the strategic dismantling he’d just put into action.

“Somebody told the office that the blonde egomaniac at the top of your food chain is planning to run for president.”

Stan nearly choked on his first bite, resisting the temptation to spit it out in shock. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“‘Fraid not.”

“That... that can’t be true, he’s too busy with the plans to buy the Plaza two blocks away.”

“The Plaza?!” Your inquisitive voice changed pitch.

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Stan screwed up his face. “Wait— you’re not gonna print this, are you?”

“I’m not here to rat you out,” You raised both surrendering hands in the space between you. “See? No notebook, no tape recorder, no agenda. It’s just me and you, baby.”

The brown haired man smiled warmly, visibly releasing the tension in his shoulders, comforted that he wasn’t being examined.

“So if you’re not here for business, why is a beautiful girl like you talking to me? I’m nothing special, I’m just a guy in an overpriced suit.”

Caving into the temptation to look him up and down, your gaze wandered to Stan’s hands, gently trembling as he held his burger.

“Because I like you, Peter,” you grinned at the sound of your company’s new moniker. “You and that suit. But you’re so much more than that suit, you know.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that. Matt doesn’t seem to think so either.”

“Screw what Bromley the office bully thinks,” you slammed the table with your palm. “This is about you. The guy who stopped to talk to a girl who looked like she was hustling outside your building, the guy who’s not afraid to sit in a diner with a total stranger to save her from his coworker. Face it, Peter, you’re one of the good guys.”

His lips tapered into a warm smile. “Thank you, miss, for not jumping to conclusions about me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the pinstripes suit you. They’d look better on my floor, but...”

Stan immediately looked up from his food to your eyes, scanning for any sign of humour or any chance you were just trying to make him feel better.

“Did you just—?”

“I think I did!” You giggled, a hint of disbelief in your own words. “Is that a problem?”

Frozen in the moment, Stan just stared at you for a minute. His next move was exhilaratingly unpredictable, leaving your heart rate thundering in your ears, but something about the shimmer in his eyes suggested you wouldn’t have to worry.

“Peter, what’s wrong, did I—?”

You were cut off by Stan’s lips crashing into yours, lunging over the table and hooking a hand around your neck to draw you in. His kiss deepened with every second, dipping his nose into your cheek and moaning softly into your mouth. As you parted, his ear-to-ear grin beamed back to mirror yours.

“Yuppies don’t kiss like that,” you joked.

“You should see me in the bedroom,” he retorted with a laugh.

“Deal.”

———

Hollywood movies were right about one thing: sex in the throes of passion often starts in the same way — bundling through your lover’s uptown hotel room with your legs wrapped around his waist while he juggles his keycard, both peppering sloppy open-mouthed kisses and showering each other with distracted affection until he drops you onto the satin sheets.

Stan, courteous as ever, gently placed you on the sprawling bed without his lips leaving yours, crawling between your thighs before thinking how to undress himself. With both his hands preoccupied passionately lacing into your hair, you grasped at the hem of your dress to take it off yourself.

“Hold on, princess,” he muttered into your mouth, immediately untangling a hand to trace down your figure and met your attempts to hitch your skirt. “Let me strip you.”

Stan thumbed at the edge of the fabric, savouring the moment before you became so much more than a beautiful stranger to him, before slowly rolling your dress up, passing your neck and whipping it over your head to limit the time before he could kiss you again.

“Peter, are you sure about this?” You queried out of respect while casting aside his evidently expensive belt, tearing his braces from his shoulders and laying waste to his shirt buttons.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he hummed against your lips between hot and ragged breaths. “And my name’s not fucking Peter.”

Stan made light work of yanking your panties down to your knees around him, unhooking them from one leg for quicker access and throwing the bundle of lace across the room, soon followed by your bra. In the blur of clothes flying, you tackled his suit pants down to his knees and slipped his silk boxers to join them. The less you thought about those silk boxers, the better.

With no clothes left between you, Stan pressed his bare chest against yours, his heart racing so fast it could burst out of his rib cage.

A needy groan erupted in his throat as he tore his lips away from yours, journeying to pepper heated kisses down your throat, sucking gently as his lips reached your collarbone and followed south to your breasts. While his tongue expertly swirled around one nipple, his hand travelled to the other and kneaded hungrily, gently rolling the hardening bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Your soft moan as he sucked harder gave him the signal to trail his fingers down your frame, his palm traversing the plane of your hips before he reached your exposed clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves. Your back arched wildly into his touch, reaching a hand to wind into his brown curls when your helpless, urgent moans grew in volume.

“Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t leave you hanging much longer,” Stan whispered through a satisfied smile against your breast. “I just need to taste you first.”

His circling finger journeyed south to track around your folds, swollen and pulsing in anticipation of his next move. Slowly dipping the tip of his finger through your soaking entrance, your hips bucked upwards and instinctively widened your legs beneath him.

“That’s my good girl, spread yourself wide for me.” Stan’s eyelids fluttered excitedly, adding another finger inside your aching cunt and hooking both to graze your soft walls. His lips left your nipple so he could gaze at your form writhing beneath him, completely at his mercy.

His curled fingers pressed urgently into your walls, building an uncontrollable pressure within you and forcing your eyes to roll to the ceiling. Stan noticed you nearing ecstasy and immediately withdrew his dripping fingers, raising them to his lips and pressing them to his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste like heaven,” he cooed gently, lifting up to dip his head into your neck placing searing hot kisses beneath your ear. “Cat got your tongue, Miss New York Post?”

“I... I...,” you stuttered weakly, your whole body alight with waves of heat and anticipation you’d never felt before. “I...”

“You’re not usually this quiet,” Stan whispered. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I... need... you...”

He hummed contentedly, trailing his hand south to line the head of his cock with your throbbing entrance.

“What’s that, princess? You want me to fuck you?” Stan questioned with false innocence, a devious smirk plumping his cheeks. “You’ve been such a good girl waiting for me, I think you’ve earned it.”

In one smooth rock of his hips, Stan’s length slipped through your folds and bottomed out inside you. Your eyes journeyed to the ceiling as he filled you, spine arching recklessly craving more friction. He drew his hips back slowly, but his next thrust slammed his cock inside you so hard, you let out a hollow gasp.

“I know baby, I know,” Stan comforted you, curling his hips to ensure every thrust brushed the tip of his length against your deepest points and revelling in your squirms under him. “You’re taking me so well.”

Lost for words in the stars emerging in the corners of your eyes, you remained speechless as Stan broke down every single one of your weaknesses and turned you into putty in his hands. Jerking uncontrollably and sinking your head back into the pillow with every devastating thrust, Stan kissed your exposed neck and moaned deeply. Seizing his opportunity, both hands flew to lightly grasp your throat, his thumbs calmly resting on your windpipe — his aim wasn’t to choke you, just to hold onto you enough to assert his ownership of you, claiming you as you writhed beneath him. He leaned back to admire his work of unravelling you, possessing you.

“Look at you,” he hummed through a grin, not missing a single beat of his determined thrusts. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

Chasing you to your height of ecstasy once more, Stan’s staccato rhythm jackhammered into you at the same rate as the tremors consuming your body beneath his. Your vision of his bouncing brown curls above you started to fade behind the glittering haze taking over your mind. Fighting for consciousness, you stuttered a hollow cry for release as you approached your climax.

“Stan, I— I need to... I’m gonna cu—.”

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you,” Stan reassured, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his chest as his hips grew frantic and sloppy. “Let go for me.”

With a deep growl and a final erratic thrust, Stan spilled against your walls, flooding warmth inside you that sent your head dipping into the pillows. His lips gently pecked your throat again as he poured his length back to the depths of your pussy, pushing his load as far inside you as possible.

Emerging from the depths of the pillow as you regained control of your legs wrapped around his waist, Stan slowly drew his hips back and slipped his length out from your swollen folds, his gaze dropping to your entrance as if making sure his cum wouldn’t drip out. Content that he hadn’t left any suspicious stains on the hotel sheets, Stan returned to gaze into your eyes and beamed from ear to ear.

“You... you called me Stan?” He quizzed while tumbling down to the pillow beside you, a puzzled eyebrow quirking beneath beads of sweat.

“You called me princess,” you retaliated with a joking tap of his chest. “I think we’re equal here, don’t you?”

Stan chuckled to himself and turned to face you, propping his head up with an exhausted, trembling hand. A palpable silence fell as he composed his next sentence.

“Was this, er... would you... can you...,” He stumbled nervously over his words; his assertive alter ego must have left as soon as he came.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr Trump Organi—“

“Stay.”

Your gaze dropped to your chest as you laughed it off. “As much as I’d love to, I got the feeling this was just a one-off for you?”

“That’s what I thought you wanted, too,” Stan confirmed with a quirked eyebrow.

Chuckling to yourself, you shook your head to dismiss all the worries that the dapper businessman would make you do the walk of shame once he’d finished.

“Then I’ll stay, sugar,” you beamed, settling into Stan’s chest as he scooped his arm beneath your head.

“We’ll get room service to dry clean your dress and I’ll drive you to work in the morning, if that’s okay?” Stan’s courteous streak had definitely returned.

You smiled broadly, nodding against Stan’s chest and swooping an arm around his waist.

“Besides, now you can tell me all about that presidential tip-off you had,” he quizzed. “Trump may be an extremely powerful guy, but he’s never gonna be president…”