#Sedu

[milkssshake]

Oop Maeve just said I Love You to Otis and he did not say it back I immediately noticed that lemme call Ruby real quick she needs to know this

[kuchtokaho]

[skitskatdacat63]

Prev reblog, imagine if they all fought for Fernando's love 🥹

Flavio who devoted and then killed his career in service to Fernando, Carlos Sr. who Fernando has looked up to and known for 20+ years, Lawrence who can provide for Fernando with his deep pockets, Adrian who has the potential to build Fernando a winning car

Who will he pick!!!! I vote Carlos Sr 🤭🤭

[hell-much]

[tettine]

Il mio psicologo mi ha detto fuori dal suo ruolo (sec me) che devo smettere di fare la madre o la psicologa delle altre persone. Nessuno deve essere salvato e io questo un po' lo so razionalmente ma continuo a comportarmi come se non lo sapessi

[zeichenlily]

Wqtched damsel and.. sigh, I'm such a bard

[crystalblue333-blog]

Secrets of Korean & Japanese Women's Beauty Unveiled

[irmodayo]

Paus, terima kasih untuk podcast terakhir kamu, we're okay, kid. Aku juga salah satu anak broken home. Ya, seperti yang kamu bilang kalo broken home tidak selalu mereka yang orang tuanya bercerai. Orang tuaku, mereka masih bersama-sama hingga detik aku menulis ini. Tapi jika melihat ke dalam, mereka seperti sedang tidak bersama. Mungkin sulit dimengerti dari luar, namun sebagai sesama anak yang menghadapi situasi menakutkan ini, kamu pasti akan paham. Setiap hari aku menyaksikan mereka bertengkar, berdebat, dan banyak perselisihan lain since I was 13 and now I'm 23. Aku nggak bisa bilang keadaan membaik, tapi setidaknya dengan bertambah dewasanya aku, aku jadi sedikit lebih kuat menghadapi itu semua. Aku juga tidak bisa mengklaim bahwa diriku sudah berdamai, karena pada kenyataannya mau seberusaha apapun aku mencoba memutar cerita sedih ini menjadi komedi, aku tetap saja akan menangis saat membicarakan perihal ini.

Ini tulisan pertamaku yang membicarakan tentang sesuatu yang selama ini aku tutupi dari semua orang. Aku merasa itu aib. Tapi sejak mendengarkan ceritamu, aku merasa aku harus memberi respon. Tanggapan yang kumaksudkan sebagai bentuk terima kasih karena sudah mau berbagi tentang hal menakutkan ini. Saat mendengarkannya aku merasa seperti dipeluk, seperti punya teman yang mengatakan bahwa aku bukan satu-satunya orang yang menderita. Kesannya sedikit jahat jika aku bersyukur karena mengetahui fakta bahwa ada orang lain yang merasakan kesakitan yang sama, tapi mengetahui kenyataan bahwa aku tidak sendirian, itu sangat melegakan. Jadi aku memutuskan untuk mengeluarkan isi perasaanku sebagaimana kamu melakukannya. Aku juga ingin membuat orang lain di situasi yang sama merasa tidak sendirian, just like the way you make me feel better. Aku pun ingin mengatakan kepada diriku sendiri bahwa hal ini sama sekali tidak memalukan, ini sudah menjadi bagian hidupku yang mengantarkanku pada titik dimana aku bisa menjadi diriku yang sekarang. Butuh banyak keberanian untuk jujur dalam tulisanku sendiri. Butuh banyak keberanian juga untuk menerima bahwa aku memang punya kekurangan. Butuh keberanian juga untuk menghadapi bahwa setelah orang lain membaca tulisan ini, mereka mungkin akan mengasihaniku, padahal aku tidak begitu suka dikasihani. Tapi aku tidak bisa selamanya berpura-pura bahwa kekuranganku itu tidak pernah ada. Suatu hari pun, aku pasti harus mengungkapkan semua ini. Maka aku memilih mengungkapkannya sekarang.

Paus, hampir setiap kata-kata yang kamu sebut, aku bisa merasakannya. That's why I cried, a lot. Aku percaya diri dengan semua yg aku punya. Aku tidak pernah merasa malu dengan warna kulitku atau gigi kelinciku. Tapi aku malu dengan latar belakang keluargaku. Aku berusaha menyembunyikannya dalam bentuk yang baik, namun pada ujungnya insecurity-ku kembali muncul. Aku pun baru saja merasakan puncaknya sekitar satu bulan lalu, ketika crush-ku menikah. Lucu sekali, Us. Aku sampai sakit satu minggu lamanya. Tidak bersemangat untuk bangkit dari kasur dan serasa asing dengan diriku sendiri. Mungkin yang teman-temanku lihat adalah aku yang patah hati karena putus cinta. Mereka berusaha membuatku merasa baik dengan mengatakan bahwa aku pasti akan menemukan penggantinya. Aku sangat menghargai itu. Sayangnya, yang membuatku patah hati bukanlah kepergian orang yang aku sukai. Namun perasaan tak aman yang menjadi hantu terbesar dalam hidupku. Tapi saat itu aku tidak bisa menceritakannya kepada mereka. Sama sepertimu, Us. Hantu ini membuatku serasa seperti aku tidak layak untuk siapapun. Ketika menerima kabar bahwa ia menikah melalui undangan yang diberikan langsung kepadaku, rasanya duniaku runtuh. Aku menghela nafas panjang, like you said, here we go again. Sedih sekali hingga aku harus mempertanyakan eksistensiku sebagai seorang perempuan, apakah laki-laki yang sempurna tidak ditakdirkan bersama seorang pasangan yang memiliki ketidaksempurnaan sepertiku? 

Selama ini aku berusaha meyakinkan diriku bahwa kekuranganku pasti bisa dimaklumi. Aku yang sebelumnya sangat takut untuk menyukai seseorang, saat itu telah memberanikan diri. Ketika aku sudah mulai yakin –bahkan aku berencena mengutarakn perasaanku, semuanya hancur. Melihat ia dengan calon istrinya beserta latar belakang keluarganya yang sempurna, membuatku malu. Aduh, siapa sih aku. Dalam proses menuju pernikahan, bibit selalu menjadi satu dari tiga pertimbangan filosofis sebagai kriteria pasangan yang berkualitas. Aku, tidak punya bibit yang bagus, Us. Kurasa nanti itu akan menjadi pertimbangan terberat dalam berpasangan. Sekarang, aku belum berani menyukai seseorang seperti aku menyukai dia. Hantu ini semakin menjadi-jadi ketika pada suatu waktu bergulir di beranda sosial mediaku. Lalu aku melihat sebuah unggahan yang mengajak open discussion soal perspektif masyarakat mengenai berpasangan dengan anak broken home. Aku kecewa, sebab mereka mengatakan bahwa anak seperti kita pasti berpotensi mengulang sejarah untuk kedua kalinya, jadi lebih baik dihindari saja dalam berpasangan. Paus, rasanya aku marah dan ingin memberontak. Semua pondasiku untuk berdiri tegap menerima keadaanku seolah tidak valid bagi mereka. Apakah serendah itu menjadi anak broken home? Padahal jika bisa memilih, aku tidak akan mau melalui jalan cerita seperti ini. Padahal kita juga punya mimpi untuk memperbaiki kesalahan kedua orang tua kita. Padahal kita juga punya angan untuk mengubah masa depan kita menjadi tidak abu-abu. Kakiku serasa terseok-seok, Us. Sebab semua keraguan menyerangku. Aku masih punya ketakutan jika insecurity-ku tidak bisa dimaklumi. Aku juga masih belum percaya diri untuk memulai hubungan. Mungkin nanti lelakiku bisa menerima, tapi apakah keluarganya bisa menerima keadaanku juga? Semoga bisa ya, Us. Akan melelahkan jika aku harus menjelaskan semua kepedihanku dari mula hingga akhir, tapi ya itu sudah menjadi konsekuensi dari takdirku. Untungnya aku masih optimis, bahwa Tuhan pasti memberikan hadiah yang lebih indah. Semoga lelakiku nanti bisa membantuku mewujudkan rumah baru yang lebih hangat. Aku ingin membuktikan ke diriku sendiri (bukan mereka) jika gadis kecil yang berasal dari puing-puing bangunan yang roboh juga bisa membangun rumah yang lebih indah. Aku ingin mengisi rumah yang lebih layak untuk suami dan anak-anakku nanti dengan cerita yang indah-indah saja. Aku ingin bisa diterima sebagai diriku, kekuranganku, dan masa laluku. Mimpiku dalam berkeluarga sesederhana ini, Us. 

Mari kita tetap jalan hingga menemukan rumah yang kita impikan. Meski rumahku yang sekarang berantahkan, aku berusaha membuat diriku sendiri tidak turut terkubur dalam puing-puing itu. Aku mencari prestasi dan membuat diriku dengan versi terbaiknya. Just like you said, my home is broken, but I’m not. Aku akan terus berusaha menjadi diriku sendiri yang tak kehilangan arah. Aku akan terus kuat untuk diriku sendiri. Kami sudah berjalan sejauh ini untuk bertahan, mereka mungkin belum memahami betapa berterima kasihnya aku kepada diriku dan semua anak dalam situasi sepertiku. Terima kasih karena telah mau susah payah bertahan dan tetap percaya akan janji keindahan dari Tuhan dan pengharapan kita sendiri. Tidak lupa juga untuk tetap menghargai diri sendiri dalam bentuk yang compang-camping dan hati yang berlubang, semoga kelak kita bisa menemukan seorang ksatria sehidup semati yang menjadi penyempurna dalam perjalanan mewujudkan cita. Aku akan selalu berdoa untukku, untukmu, dan untuk kita semua agar tak ada lagi mimpi buruk yang menakutkan. Semangat, ya. Semua yang sedih-sedih itu tidak abadi, kok. 

[tenjikyu]

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 - 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Fyodor x Demon!Servant!Male!Reader , HEAVILY inspired by Black Butler , reader is kinda sexual towards Fyodor but I wanted tension between the two bc it’s kinda romantic but also kinda not yk , really improvising on Fyodor’s backstory here bc there’s nothing for me to go off of so it’s probs inaccurate but lay off me please 🙏🏻 , Sky Casino exists before the book for plot purposes.

SPOILERS FOR FYODOR’S ABILITY + RECENT CHAPTERS!

Fyodor had first met you on the verge of death. A visit from the devil, one could say.

“ PLEASE, SOMEONE, ANYONE, SAVE ME !! ”

The man’s cries were a melody to your ears, and thus you decided to investigate, which led to your current predicament. You were no fool, you saw right through Fyodor’s façade, and you were somewhat intrigued. As a demon, the man’s false screams of agony with each stab wound thrusted into his lithe body couldn’t fool your ears. Whilst in pain, he was in no hurry to save himself. No, he was eagerly awaiting his demise.

And so, you watched from the shadows, invested in the show before you. Blood was shed and organs were spilt, all before Fyodor’s heart was put to rest.

And then, his murderer soon began to morph, his body bending and dislodging in intricate ways. His face swirled and curled itself in. Out came, what seemed to be, a carbon copy of the man you just witnessed get mutilated by, what was now, his former murderer.

As Fyodor took in his surroundings, adjusting to his new body, he sensed another presence he hadn’t noticed beforehand. It was rare for Fyodor to express any form of shock, but someone with the ability to conceal themselves from him for an extended period of time was certainly nobody to fuck with.

And so, he slowly turns around, preparing himself for whoever stands behind him. However nothing could’ve prepared him for what he would witness turning around.

An inhuman entity with large wings, a pointed tail and strong black horns revealed itself to Fyodor. The entity was easily over 9ft tall and had somewhat human characteristics embedded into its form. It stood tall, yet curiosity filled its eyes.

Curiosity filled your eyes.

As you stared at him, Fyodor’s shocked most slowly formed into a smirk.

“What pleasure do I owe such a magnificent being such as yourself? Surely you aren’t just here to observe, are you?” He questions.

“Your screaming intrigued me, and so I decided to take a look into the situation. Alas, you came out unscathed, which means I no longer have business with you.” You reply, and slowly turn around.

Just as you walk away though, a bony hand grasps your own.

“If it’s a deal you were going to offer me, I’m still interested.” Fyodor bargains, his smirk widening.

Oh?

And so, you slowly transfer your body into a more human like state, dawning a black coat, with a white undershirt and black shorts. Discarding your wings and tail, yet keeping your point black horns, you adjust your height to better accommodate communication with him.

“What did you have in mind?” You enquire, a smirk of your own now gracing your face. You wanted to know what it would take to earn this man’s soul, because god did it smell delicious.

“Play the role of my servant. You shall never betray me and will treat me as if I’m your God. You will do my bidding and will do whatever I ask of you. In my journey to achieving my goal, you shall never leave my side.”

“And how should I prove my loyalty to you, sir?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

And so, a deal with the Devil was signed.

As written in your contract, you obediently stood by his side for many centuries to come. The two of you had a rather intimate relationship, but it was nothing more than lustful advances. Other then carrying out his desires, you dispersed of anybody standing in his way of obtaining what he wanted. As the years went on, you had lost count of how many human lives you discarded and how many nails you removed from fingers. You seduced princesses, murdered guards, tortured bandits for information, and all the while, you watched Fyodor’s plan slowly set into motion.

As centuries past, allies and foes came and passed, yet none of that mattered to you. You could and have killed hundreds of humans and feasted on their mediocre souls, however none compared to that of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s. His soul was a diamond in the rough, a premium amongst brass and copper, if you would.

And so, you followed both him and your contract without complaint. It’s not like Fyodor was a boring or difficult master. There was almost never a dull moment with him, and your loyalty knew no ends when it came to getting what you ultimately wanted.

Somewhere along the way, you suspected you harboured feelings for the Russian. You wernt sure exactly what kind, but you knew that each time he was put at risk, even knowing his ability, you couldn’t help but interfere.

Which brings us to where the two of you are now.

“Fyodorrrr, wanna play a card game with me?” Nikolai’s bubbly voice boomed through the Decay Of Angel’s headquarters. You held a somewhat fond feeling for Nikolai, despite not interacting with him much.

“Cmonnnn, you’ve been staring at a computer screen for days! Your eyes are gonna go SQUARE! SQUAREEE!!” He exclaims, his arms flailing around like a mad man.

“If you’d like, I can handle the Jester whilst you continue what you’re doing.”

“As useful as ever, dear (Y/N)”

“If not a useful asset to you, Demon Fyodor, what am I worth?”

“You’re worth everything, my dear.”

“How you flatter me.”

His pretty words do little to your synthetic heart, however you adhere to the puppet strings he’s attached to you and play your part well, knowing Fyodor may be in a mood tonight.

“Hey Nikolai, how about we go up to the Sky Casino and visit Sigma? We haven’t seen him in awhile and it’s not going to be long before we set out to go get that silly little book the boss wants.” You reason with the jester, smiling at him.

“A wonderful idea, lovley (Y/N)! I know what you’re doing, distracting me from disrupting the grumpy Fyodor’s tech work, however I’ll humor you for now.” He concludes, grabbing your arm harshly and spinning away into his cloak.

“How’d you end up as a butler for that constant-stick-up-his-ass Fydor? If anything (Y/N), you should be ordering him around.” Sigma states bluntly, just the two of you alone. Nikolai was off bothering the Casino guests and Sigma had learned to just let him do as he pleases.

There’s no restraining something that doesn’t have the ability to be restrained.

“I simply admire Fyodor and his goals. He piqued my interest, and so I broke down his walls and forced my way into his life, eventually leading him to take me on as his underlying.” You lie through your teeth. You knew Fyodor had some sense of worship towards you, which was almost funny. The man who preached God had a sense of devotion to a demon from the pits of hell.

How ironic.

Sigma only hums in your response, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You inch closer to him on the couch you were both resting on in his private quarters, and toyed around with his artificial hair.

You knew Sigma wasn’t human, and part of you knew that he knew you were no less human then he was, yet he never addressed it.

The man in question only glared at you, but decided against telling you off. You were always quite touchy, especially when it came to Nikolai or himself. Often toying with his hair or pinching Nikolai’s cheeks, however it was rare of you to even touch Fyodor without his explicit consent.

“If you want Sigma, I wouldn’t be opposed to showing you why Fyodor keeps me around after the suns sets”

You tease at him as sigmas face instantly turns into that of shock. You smirk and shuffle away, giggling as he whacks your head with force.

“As if I’d even consider getting into a bed with a freak like you, go mess around with Nikolai or something, because I have work I need to catch up on.”

You watch as he struts away, his heels clicking against the tiles of the Sky Casino. You were only half joking about getting into bed with Sigma, he was defiantly a sight for sore eyes.

You can imagine just how livid Fyodor would be if he found out though, after all you were his property by contract.”

“Oh well, I guess I better go collect Nikolai, we’ve got a long few weeks ahead of us.”

I feel like I didn’t do this idea justice at all wtf I’m so mad abt this. The original idea I had for this was a LOT more spicy though so ig I can’t really help it 😒

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (23)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, manipulation, blackmailing and threats ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Alys had always known that, like any bastard child, she could only rely on herself. Her existence was merely an unfortunate accident to her father and brothers, with which they nevertheless came to terms, and she, in their minds, should be grateful for being allowed to stay and serve in Harrenhal.

Indeed, she never considered herself to have been significantly harmed by fate.

Compared to women who had to sell their bodies for money in order to survive, her function as herbalist and wet nurse completely satisfied her.

Milk filled her breasts along with the baby that one of the guards had put inside her. When he pressed her against the wall and lifted her gown, panting that he had desired her for a long time she did not stand up to him, even helping him by bending over and spreading the folds of her womanhood before him so that he could more easily hit the right spot with the thick tip of his length.

This particular man never aroused her desire, however, he supervised her chambers, and since she allowed him to enjoy the pleasures of her body, he closed his eyes to when and where she went out, giving her more freedom.

His wife, however, was not comforted by the fact that her husband had a mistress.

She could not conclude that her husband was a good lover; his hands only clenched greedily on her firm breasts, his thrusts violent, fast and deep. She knew that as he chased his fulfilment hissing that he would fill her with his seed, it did not even cross his mind to touch her between her thighs or ask what would give her pleasure.

She did not, however, resent him.

She recognised that this was how men were.

Although she tried not to think about it, the sight of his wife, one of her father's servants, filled her with remorse, for although she knew that this woman did not love him, she humiliated her every time she took away what belonged to her.

She had nothing to justify it, but she knew that if she told him to stop she would arouse his anger and his behaviour towards her would change.

He might want to take revenge on her for rejecting him.

She couldn't allow this to happen.

What he didn't know was that he wasn't the only man she allowed to sink between her thighs for the benefit; it was easier and sometimes even more enjoyable than trying to bribe them with money, which she didn't have much of anyway. What she was able to do perfectly was to observe people from the sidelines − their reactions and desires, coming to her own conclusions about what they needed and wanted.

Usually these men wanted not only sensation and elation, but also reassurance, a warm word and understanding; they lay with their faces cuddled between her breasts, muttering for her to stroke their heads, and she did so, allowing them to turn from men into innocent children for a moment.

The women in the fortress began to whisper among themselves that the ease with which she seduced men and with which she maintained her beauty despite her age was due to the fact that she was a witch.

She smiled piteously as she strolled through the corridors of the fortress, overhearing their conversations from afar, hearing about the potions she gave to poor, unaware men so they could not forget her, that she bathed in milk and blood to keep her face young and bright.

She did not deny the accusations, because she derived satisfaction from the fact that they feared and avoided her.

Fear, however, also tended to provoke interest and curiosity, and the young, newly arrived servants who were just learning their trade could not tell what they thought of her.

When she needed a break from the men's sweat and their aggressive, deep thrusts she sought peace and solace in the arms of young girls, much more gentle and understanding when it came to the nature of female fulfilment, their sweet moans and surprised expressions as she caressed them made her feel a pleasant pulsation between her thighs.

Although the prospect of becoming a mother did not fill her with particular joy, when she woke up one morning, feeling a pool of wetness under her thighs and saw blood, the squeeze in her throat and the tears she felt under her eyelids were proof that some part of her hoped she could love this innocent creature that was growing inside her womb.

This did not happen, however, and she, not wanting to waste her milk, from which her breasts had already swollen, decided to feed the children whose mothers had too little nourishment.

She considered her life quite prosperous and peaceful until her father and half-brother died in a fire.

Until Larys became the Lord of Harrenhal.

Everyone, including her, feared him.

He was like a writhing viper, tightening slowly around the necks of those who aroused his suspicions, his gaze black and completely blank, as if he experienced nothing, felt nothing inside himself.

He could not be seduced, appeased, pleaded with, persuaded.

He was like a stone, merciless, cruel, taking satisfaction in domination and power.

She never got in his way.

One evening, however, he summoned her to his chamber, and she feared what he desired.

When she stepped inside he was sitting at the table, having just eaten his evening meal. He smiled slightly at her in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back; his eyes remained indifferent, glowing mischievously in the firelight.

"Sit down, sister. I wish to discuss something with you." He said softly, and she swallowed hard, keeping an indifferent, satisfied face, looking at him from under half-closed eyelids. She sat down opposite him in one of the chairs, spreading out comfortably in her seat, sighing quietly and nodded for him to speak.

"We will have guests of honour. Prince Aemond and his wife will be arriving here within two days to spend the night here and then head off the next morning to meet Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon." He said calmly, putting a few pieces of cake from the tray onto his plate, with a hand gesture he encouraged her to eat as well, but she shook her head, analysing his words quickly.

She had heard of them.

Prince Aemond had married and taken his niece's maidenhood on the same night he chose Maris Baratheon as his wife.

His brother the King, to save the situation, married them in the eyes of the Seven before an enraged Borros Baratheon could arrive in King's Landing demanding justice.

There would not have been all the commotion if Prince Aemond had taken her as his second wife, but he clearly only wished to have one, therefore, Maris was sent away with only a dowry and humiliation.

Her half-brother continued, seeing the lack of response on her part.

"I want you to host them well. Both of them, if you understand what I have in mind. Myself and his grandfather do not believe in the success of their mission. Like most of the kingdom we know how it will end: with a war. A war we wish to win. However, our Prince, if I may say so, does not think with his mind now, but rather with what he has between his thighs. He gives in to his wife and her persuasions to bring about a reconciliation. I know you are well acquainted with human nature and will surely win both her trust and his heart."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at her fingers, trying to hide the horror and squeeze in her stomach she felt.

He wanted to expose her, to put her head under the Prince's sword if it turned out that her attempts would only enrage him, and he could wash his hands of everything.

"In any case, in a few days' time the matter of the succession will resolve itself with the help of my birds in the Eyrie. They know what to do. Of course, I'll let our Prince believe that his decision matters, however, everything is already arranged. I hope this should settle the matter. With the help of the gods, the girl might try to take her own life for the second time. Let us raise our cups for that." He said lightly, as if indeed such a course of events would please him the most; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking that she had not even noticed when he had become such a disgusting creature.

A monster that, like a black, empty hole, was consuming everything around him, destroying it and crushing it.

She wasn't in a position to refuse, and he knew it.

That was why she walked out with him to greet their guests, thinking she would simply do what he ordered her to do.

She blinked as the figure of a petite, pretty girl jumped down from the shimmering blue and silver dragon, her long, dark hair of a shade similar to hers tied into a braid, its unruly strands dishevelled by the long journey through the skies.

She stepped out in front of them, breathing heavily, her eyes big, full of curiosity and uncertainty, her gaze warm, kind, her cheeks all flushed from exertion. She stopped in front of them and forced herself into an innocent, almost childlike smile, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

Gods, have mercy.

"Your Grace. What a joy." Said her brother. The girl blinked, not knowing for a moment what to answer, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She muttered at last, clearly tense − her was voice pleasant, melodious, soft, the kind that gives comfort with ease, brings peace of mind.

They all turned their faces towards the approaching figure as they heard his footsteps; Prince Aemond in his long black leather coat and black eye patch indeed looked like someone menacing, commanding, as powerful as the great dragon he was riding.

What immediately caught her attention was that as his gaze traveled over their faces he stopped at his wife, assessing her figure from afar as if quickly examining whether she had suffered any damage after such a long journey and whether she was well.

He must have evidently concluded that she was, for his gaze turned after a moment towards her brother.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

The Prince and her brother moved first, followed by his wife, looking around the interior of their fortress with genuine curiosity, not even listening to what her brother was saying.

She didn't even notice that her uncle was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, checking that she was near and in no danger.

She thought he would sooner stab her in the heart than take her to his bed.

Her brother opened the door of the chamber that had been prepared for him, the largest in the entire fortress, not coincidentally located close to hers. The Prince, however, did not look impressed; his lips pressed into a thin line in disapproval when he heard that Lord Strong had assigned his wife other quarters.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said coolly, as if the very suggestion was offensive and insulting to him.

He had kept her with him the whole time, she thought in disbelief, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the girl standing next to her.

She stood, gazing at her uncle as if she were looking at a statue of one of the gods; her bright, shining eyes large and filled with affection, devotion, longing, even though, after all, he was standing in front of her, at her fingertips.

She realised, swallowing quietly, that he had not taken her by force the night he married her or any night after.

How long had they looked at each other like this?

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." Her brother replied.

Prince Aemond then looked at his niece with a gaze as if he was about to explode − his wife pressed her lips into a thin line, immediately understanding what the expression on his face was meant to convey to her, her look of understanding and sigh was meant to add to his patience.

His gaze softened and after a moment he nodded, letting her go.

The girl looked at her, so she smiled quickly and pointed with her hand the way they should go to her quarters. Before moving behind her she looked at her husband, the Prince leading her away with a cold, sharp gaze.

Overwhelmed by this revelation, no longer knowing herself what she thought of it or what she should do in such a situation, she simply followed her into the room, closing the door behind her. She watched quietly as the prince's wife walked to the window, placing her hand on the glass, and smiled slightly, noticing something outside.

Had she been like this all the time?

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, Your Grace?" She asked finally, recognising that she needed to start any light conversation, to try and understand who was standing in front of her.

The girl shuddered and blinked, as if forgetting her presence for a moment, turning to face her. She nodded, forcing herself to smile, unsure and embarrassed, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked lightly and kindly, willingly shortening the distance between them, which surprised her.

Usually women of her ilk took satisfaction in calling her Lady Rivers, reminding her every time that she was a bastard.

But she, even if she was married to the Prince, was also one.

She was her relative, her brother's daughter.

She swallowed hard at that thought, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

"Alys, Your Grace."

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering something for a moment, and then her bright eyes looked at her again.

She thought with pain that she was like a small flower, a daisy or a forget-me-not, which one picked to weave into one's hair, to feel as innocent as a little child again.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She muttered with some sort of embarrassment, from which she involuntarily burst out laughing.

Good gods.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She said softly, amused; her gaze shifted, her brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

She knew what she was going to ask her, she could feel it in her bones.

"Did you know my father?"

She named him as her father even though she was officially Laenor Velaryon's daughter.

She admitted to her that she too was a bastard without a grimace of embarrassment.

"Yes, Princess."

Her whole body tensed, her hands clenched into fists.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, and her lips involuntarily lifted in a dangerous smirk at the thought that her directness was surprising her.

Was this how she spoke to her husband?

Was this how she forced her way into his heart?

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, Your Grace."

A silence fell between them filled with the weight of their words and what they meant; she licked her lips involuntarily, feeling that she was incapable of denying herself the pleasure of having to see her reaction to her words.

To see if she was right.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She said with amusement, feeling a tingle in her fingertips and in her lower abdomen at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you mean?" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed; however, it was not shame feigned and exalted, but more an expression of genuine surprise and excitement at her words.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said calmly, turning her head away, immersed in her own thoughts.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She looked at her, wanting to see her reaction, and sighed almost imperceptibly, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the sight of her parted, plump lips, her dreamy, hot gaze.

She knew that she had felt something at her words, that it had taken deep root in her heart and made her return with her thoughts to her husband.

Was this how she had looked at him when he made love to her?

She could not imagine that he could take her maidenhood brutally and cruelly, that he would allow her to cry beneath him in pain.

No, she thought − he surely took her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips, letting her get used to his shape deep inside her, assuring her in a whisper that just a little more.

She felt a strong throbbing and tickling between her thighs at that thought and licked her lips, looking up at her again − her gaze lowered meekly to the stone floor, a soft, thoughtful smile on her face.

She decided on second thought, helping her change into one of her gowns, touching her soft skin, smelling the wonderful scent of vanilla in her nostrils, that she would braid the most elaborate hairstyle she could think of on her head, just so she wouldn't have to leave her chamber before supper.

She knew that her half-brother expected her to then take the opportunity to venture into the Prince's chambers to make sure he was not missing anything.

Therefore, she began to braid her soft, long, dark hair, creating a beautiful, complicated hairstyle surrounding her head.

She escorted her to the proper quarters and bowed, Larys gave her one impatient look.

She felt a cold sweat on her back, leaving immediately.

He was not pleased.

She thanked the gods that the Prince's wife had summoned her herself, wishing her help with her bath, giving her another reason not to head to her husband's chambers.

She thought that if she went on like this perhaps the situation would work out in such a way that she simply wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything, though even if she did she wasn't sure Larys would believe her.

As she walked into her chamber she saw that she herself was trying to untie her bodice, so she approached her, undoing the tangles with ease, looking at her face with curiosity.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, Your Grace?" She asked softly, noticing from the corner of her eye that the girl had lowered her gaze, ashamed and saddened.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said with resignation, and she couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face.

Of course, she thought.

The sight of her loose hair reminded him fondly of how it had been spread in disarray around her head, shining in the darkness of his chamber as he fucked her greedily.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, for some reason wanting to lift her spirits and comfort her; she heard her move in place, the sweet blush appearing on her cheeks again.

She was embarrassed, she thought with disbelief and tenderness, as if she were looking at a small child.

She was so innocent.

Was that what attracted him to her?

The idea that he was surrounding her with himself like a dark cloak, devouring her again and again?

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She heard her uncertain, curious voice; she looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, noticing that she immediately lowered her gaze, as if she could not bear the intensity with which she was looking at her.

"Yes, Princess."

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked intrigued, and she smiled again involuntarily.

"Yes."

When her gown finally fell to the floor she saw her girlish, pleasing curves peeking through from under her nightgown. She watched as, with a light, confident step, she walked over to the bath and bore herself into the hot water, tilting her head back, sighing in relief, her head still adorned with the braids she had woven herself.

Such a pretty little thing.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled out at last, looking at her with those big, warm eyes of hers, seeing in her apparently her guide, someone who could help her with these complicated and intimate matters.

She felt a pleasant squeeze in her lower abdomen at the idea that popped into her head.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied amused, drawing out of her exactly the reaction she wanted − her cheeks turned scarlet, her gaze fled downwards, her tiny long fingers clenched into small fists.

She was wonderfully embarrassed, so sweet that he would have gladly shown her everything, step by step.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, and she involuntarily licked her lower lip with her tongue, feeling the throbbing between her thighs at her words, her nipples hardening under the material of her gown.

Gods.

"I see." She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad as she moved slowly towards her, her surprised gaze lifting to her as she knelt right next to her tub, cupping her wrist in her hand.

Her skin was as soft as silk.

Her gaze escaped involuntarily to her breasts, now perfectly visible through the wet material of her shirt clinging to her bare flesh; she felt a tickle in her swollen lips at the thought that she longed to lick and caress them.

She was sure that as he teased and sucked her nipples she moaned sweetly beneath him, begging for more, and he always, always gave in to her.

Because how could he refuse her?

"I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, Your Grace."

She saw her pupils dilate in disbelief, her lips parted as she swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in accelerated breaths.

"…How?"

She couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on her lips, nor what she did next.

She heard her sigh quietly, surprised and thrilled when her lips ran over her pointing finger, enveloping her skin with her hot breath.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman shows them with gentle, tender caresses." She whispered, running her swollen lips up and down her finger leaving a sticky, warm trail of her saliva on it, surprised at how wet it made her between her thighs, how wonderfully arousing it was, how obscene it was.

She heard her draw in a deep breath without moving away, but as she guided the tip of her finger between her lips, teasing and licking it lightly with her tongue, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her thighs clenched in some helpless, subconscious reflex.

What other reactions could she draw from her?

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She sighed quietly as she suddenly slipped her whole finger deep into her mouth, feeling her swollen folds pulsate hard again and again as she began to suck it in slow, steady movements with the quiet click of her saliva.

She heard her gasp on the verge of a moan as her tongue began to trail over her skin with her low murmur of satisfaction, her free hand involuntarily sliding down to the material of her gown, wanting to slip under it and bring herself to fulfilment with her own touch.

She slipped her finger out of her mouth with a loud plop and looked up at her − her face all flushed, her gaze dreamy, hesitant and warm, as if she herself didn't know what she felt or why.

Something in her gaze made a pleasurable heat spill over her lower abdomen as she dug her own fingers into her fleshy folds, all sticky with her moisture, pulsing aggressively with her every stroke in pleasure.

"− you pretty little thing − it’s usually him taking care of you, isn’t it? − he can’t deny himself − I can’t blame him −" She whispered, trying not to move her hips so that she wouldn't notice anything; she lost the battle with herself as she felt herself getting closer and closer to fulfilment, pushing against her own slit with the tips of her fingers.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her husband was more vigilant than she thought.

When he burst into his wife's chamber she barely had time to remove her hand from under her own skirt and let go of her, standing quickly and bowing before him.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled, and she walked out obediently, grateful in spirit to the gods that he hadn't stopped her to question her, that he hadn't noticed the glistening wetness on her fingers.

Or he saw it and it infuriated him, she thought with amusement, feeling her heart pounding like a mad in her chest.

She finished what she had started in her chamber, bringing herself to fulfilment with sure, swift strokes of her fingers, driving their tips into her sensitive, fleshy womanhood, able now to afford to moan and rock her hips, imagining her body peeking through from under her wet nightgown.

She imagined that she knelt before him to lunge and soothe him, that she barely fit his fat cock in her small mouth, all swollen from the desire she had always aroused in him, that this proud, dark, cold man whimpered before her like a small, innocent boy when he finally gave in, thrusting again and again deep into her warm throat.

She came with a low moan of relief, panting heavily, hugging her face into the pillow, rocking her hips for a while longer, slowly coming down from her peak.

She was sure that as she lay half asleep, feeling a blissful, pleasant peace, she heard their moans in the distance and grinned involuntarily.

Of course he forgave her.

He always did.

She often had dreams whose meaning she did not understand; she saw people she had never met before, observing events that might as well have happened in the future or in the past. That night, however, her dream particularly troubled and worried her, as she had no idea what it actually meant.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one, flowing like a river, which then, however, became a lake that reminded her of a dragon's head in a crown, only to spill over after a while, and she saw nothing but red.

Was this what was about to happen?

Would Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon be murdered and another dragon's reign begin upon their blood?

She swallowed hard, thinking of that young, cheerful girl, of how obvious it was that she was not aware of anything, that whatever her uncle-husband knew, he had not shared it with her.

She thought that if he betrayed her, she would wilt like a flower, fade like the sun in a setting sky.

She stood up and headed for his chamber.

His gaze expressed nothing less than disgust and rage at the sight of her. He reached for his tunic, dressing it hurriedly, tense and pale, knowing full well what was to happen if the negotiations did not bring the results he hoped for.

She wondered if he realised that even if he didn't give the order, they would be murdered anyway.

"You will betray her." She said indifferently, and he threw her a quick, horrified look, his nostrils quivering in disbelief.

He knew perfectly well what she was referring to.

She thought that sometimes all it took was a gentle push, putting a mirror in front of someone's face to make them think carefully again about whether they were ready for the consequences of their choices.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

She said and grinned, seeing that he shuddered all over, that his mask had cracked, his lips parted as if he wanted to groan in despair.

She knew he saw it in his mind, felt it in his heart, and she left his chamber without a word.

She let out a loud breath as she walked down the empty corridor, thinking with some kind of hope that her words, the vision she had invented to break him would terrify him enough to make him fall to his knees before his wife and confess everything he knew.

And if he doesn't, if in fact he betrays her, it will prove that he was never worthy of her.

She had come to her summons when she wished to clothe herself; she saw, crossing the threshold of her quarters, that she too was frightened and anxious, only for completely different reasons.

She wished for them to come to an understanding.

She believed it was possible.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought, at the realisation that she was alone in a world where everyone but her craved war, craved power, craved the throne.

She did not look at her face, at the clear command of her husband not allowing herself any closer proximity to her, which she accepted with understanding.

After she had fastened the buckles of her leather coat, however, she allowed herself to take her soft hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb.

She hesitated and furrowed her brow, but before she could move away, she began to speak, forcing herself to whisper, fearing that her brother's servants might have heard her.

"Do not return here. Fly from the Eyrie straight to King's Landing. I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown. I saw red flooding everything around me." She said quickly, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She thought in disbelief that she pitied this girl.

"This warning, these words, are my gift to you. Look after yourself. Trust no one."

[terusberanjak]

Marilah menjadi rumah ternyaman bagi diri sendiri. Setidaknya bila kau tak menemukan siapapun yang bisa menjadi tempatmu berantakan apa adanya, menangis tersedu-sedu, kadang bertingkah seperti anak kecil, marilah jadi tempat itu. Marilah jadi rumah nyaman yang selalu menyambut diri dengan baik dan penuh hangat.

@terusberanjak

[langitawaan]

179.

Seorang teman bertanya, Na apa nasihat untukku yang belum menikah? Aku tersenyum. Tidak ada yang bisa ku ucap selain hanya sebuah kalimat "maksimalkan peran."

Jika kini Allah masih membuatmu menjadi seorang anak, nikmati masa itu. Berbaktilah kepada orangtua, bahagiakan mereka. Ajak jalan-jalan ke manapun mereka mau. Dapatkan ridho mereka.

Setiap hari aku rindu Ayah padahal jarak tempat tinggalku dan Ayah bisa ditempuh dalam waktu 10 menit :") dan hampir setiap hari ku sambangi rumah beliau. Setelah menikah aku menyadari ternyata waktuku bersama Ayah masih sangatlah kurang dan baktiku sebagai anak selama ini belum ada apa-apanya.

Setelah menikah kerinduan kepada kedua orangtua akan membuncah. Suasana hangat dalam rumah kadangkala membuatmu menangis tersedu-sedu. Kau akan rindu rumah, Ayah-Ibu juga pertengkaran kecil bersama Kakak atau Adik.

Maksimalkan peran, syukuri fase demi fase yang harus dijalani. Kalau sekarang Allah masih memintamu sendiri dalam taat sementara undangan pernikahan sudah tidak terhitung jumlahnya, bisa jadi Allah ingin waktumu bersama orangtua dan keluarga lebih lama sebelum nantinya Allah takdirkan kau mengambil peran menjadi Istri dan Ibu. InsyaAllah.

Selamat terus membaik. Selamat terus berprasangka baik pada-Nya 🌻.

Terik, 13.01 | 18 Oktober 2023.

[yttrillion]

day 15: psychic type - gallade/bronzong (delphinus/apollo)

a prince and his jester who is also his guardian angel. delphinus requested the help of an angel from the god he was devoted to in order to challenge his father, whom he hates deeply. the end goal he wishes to achieve is to use the heart of the angel to defeat him...so for the most part, he tries to sedu-convince the angel to give up his heart for him.

apollo is an android who is powered by an angel's heart, but it is currently slowly dying. he wormed his way to delphinus' side in hopes that the prince could put in a good word to his god to make him into a real angel. he is not actually the angel that was sent to delphinus, but delphinus is unaware of that.

my psychic monotype theme is a circus troupe that is funded by the royal family...each member has a fave group within the troupe and for delphinus its the clowns...and because of that he became the guy who is obsessed with them lmfao

[ceritadear]

Kita masih bisa perbaiki semua ini sekali lagi.

Dosa-dosa di masa lalu masih bisa kita mohon ampunkan kepada Allah, sekali lagi.

Kesalahan berulang yang telah kita usahakan untuk tidak dilakukan, masih bisa kita perbaiki sekali lagi.

Usaha-usaha yang kurang maksimal, masih bisa kita tingkatkan lagi.

Doa-doa yang kita gaungkan setiap hari, masih harus terus kita lantunkan lagi.

Masih banyak hal-hal yang harus kita lakukan di dunia ini untuk mencapai tujuan menjadi sebaik-baiknya hamba. Maka semua itu masih bisa kita usahakan, sekali lagi. Meski tidak ada yang melihat seberapa keras kita berjuang, meski tidak ada yang memahami seberapa sering kita menangis karena merasa bersalah pada diri sendiri. Meski tidak ada yang tau, di malam-malam sunyi kita tersedu-sedu mengadu pada Rabb yang Maha Besar itu.

Selama kaki masih berpijak di bumi, kita masih bisa mengusahakan semua itu, sekali lagi, sekali lagi, berkali-kali lagi. Sebab yang bisa kita lakukan adalah berdoa dan berusaha, keduanya harus jalan beriringan. Karena bila hanya salah satu, tidak ada gunanya.

Kita masih bisa mengusahakan itu sekali lagi, agar ketika waktu datang menjemput kita untuk kembali, setidaknya kita berada dalam kondisi masih berjuang meskipun tertatih-tatih.

Sungguh, tidak ada satu hal yang luput dari pengawasanNya. Maka sekecil apapun usaha itu, teruslah kita usahakan demi mendapat RidhoNya.

Semangat, Kesayangan Allah❣

[nemirutami]

*seductively erases your childhood trauma*  *seductively erases your childhood trauma*  *seductively erases your childhood trauma*  *seductively erases your childhood trauma*  *sedu

[azukiel]

Nightfall Heir

Chapter 5

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Pregnancy and Childbirth

Notes on this chapter: Sorry guuuuuys! I couldn't help but post this one now! Just be WARNED that this chapter involves period sex, period cunnilingus and ravenous lust. If such things creep you out or make you feel uncomfortable, then please do not read this chapter. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

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“Ah, my darling,” Astarion’s silky smooth voice hummed, “right on time.”

“I did say I wouldn’t be late,” you countered with a smirk, leaning against the doorway.

He was standing beside his desk, dressed impeccably in his magistrate’s garb, a delectable smile upon his face.

“The others in the office have all gone off to the taverns, so both you and I can have lunch to ourselves.”

And by lunch, you knew he did not mean food.

“Come in, my sweet, and lock the door behind you.”

As you did so, he took in a deep waft of air and purred. “You smell positively divine, my love,” his hungry gaze locked onto you.

“Though it is a little early, I know exactly why.” He rounded the table and drifted towards you.

“You’re keeping tabs on my cycles?” You questioned, somewhat surprised.

He chuckled deeply. “I’m a vampire, sweetheart, remember?” He teased. “I can smell it on you. And you know what that scent does to me.”

He took you by the waist and pulled you in harshly, pressing his hips flush to yours. You could feel the hardness of his arousal through your skirts.

“And I am positively starving.”

You understood exactly what he was referring to, and chuckled nervously, but before you could respond, he hitched you up onto his hips and took you over to the massive throne-like chair of his office. It was of carved mahogany and deep maroon leather - perfectly fitting for his station.

Placing you upon it, he knelt down before you, gently prying your legs apart with his hand, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Astarion...” You whimpered, already feeling yourself shiver with lust.

He placed a lithe finger upon his lips and hushed you. “I told you I would bring us some excitement,” he grinned as he languidly drew up your skirts.

“My love,” you breathed, placing your hands upon his to stop him. “I don’t want to sully your chair...”

He chuckled deeply at your embarrassed worry. “It’s leather,” he soothed. “And I can lap it right up, anyway.”

His claim caught you by surprise as your eyes shot open, your face flushing as hot as a furnace. You tried to squirm in protest, but he held you fast by your thighs. He looked up at you, his eyes starved and pleading. “Please, my sweet, allow me this honour.”

“But Astarion... it’s my period!”

He did not seem phased in the slightest. Perhaps when Gale had asked about such a situation earlier, it had indeed been on Astarion’s mind in the past.

“So?” Astarion shrugged. “It would be like a buffet!”

“By the gods...” you groaned as he began to lift one of your legs over an armrest. He was watching your reactions intently, gauging how you would react. Though you were utterly embarrassed by the ordeal, you weren’t exactly rejecting the idea.

“If you’re indeed feeling uncomfortable, of course I would never do anything that you did not allow me to do... but it has been this wicked little fantasy of mine for quite some time,” he admitted, gazing up at you as he stroked the inside of your thighs. If you flushed any hotter, you would have burned up like the sun.

“Why have you never said anything before?” You asked gently.

“Well, I know that human men have a certain... disdain... for menstruating women when it comes to things of a carnal nature. But I am a vampire, my love,” he reminded you with a seductive smile. “And I am very fond of blood, obviously.”

“It’s not all blood though...”

“I know that. I’m not exactly uneducated!” He chuckled. “So...” By now he had your skirts up around your waist, your new, fresh underwear you had commandeered from the Sundries revealed to him. He traced a finger up along your slit through the cotton fabric. “What say you, my love?”

Your mouth was dry, and your breath was catching in your throat. Your heart was racing, and you could feel a heat rising between your legs, which Astarion was teasing so deliciously. If it wasn’t for your tampon, you were sure your panties would be wet with the juices of your lust by now. Perhaps you shouldn’t have changed them...

“If you’re comfortable with the idea, then I am too,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip.

The way his eyes lit up at your words and the devious grin that spread across his face was so incredibly arousing, you could not contain a soft moan.

“You’re going to drive me to insanity, woman,” he hummed, and before you could retort, he had ripped the delicate undergarments from your body and tossed them to the floor. You were utterly exposed to him, and you could see the hunger in his eyes, the thirst for your body and your blood. He kissed the inside of your thighs, his fangs grazing the tender skin, making you quiver. His fingers continued to stroke your folds, tracing the outline of your lips. Parting them slightly, he saw the small string of your tampon dangling from your hole.

“Mmm, ripe for plucking,” he mused. Bringing his face down to you, you flushing wildly as he did, he lapped up the string with his tongue. Holding it between his teeth, he slowly, almost torturously, pulled. You sighed as your muscles naturally contracted around it, almost refusing to let it leave your body. Grinning through his teeth, Astarion gave it one last, sharp tug, pulling it free of its trappings. Remnants of blood and your juices of arousal trickled out of your crevice. He brought the soiled cotton to his face and inhaled deeply. The way he groaned was positively feral, and he placed the tampon between his lips to lavishly suck upon its absorbed substances. You gasped at the display. You did not know how to react or how to feel. But you knew one thing: the dull cramping in your lower abdomen was becoming stronger and spreading to your womanhood in a most delicious and electrifying way. Astarion was in the heavens as he traced his tongue along the grooves of the cotton. When he was done, he tossed the tampon into the trashcan nearby. “Gods, Astarion, have mercy on me,” you whimpered.

He laughed, dark and deep, as he licked the blood from his lips. “Oh, no, my darling. Mercy is not in my vocabulary.”

Before you could say more, he inserted two fingers deep into your sanctum, curving them to expertly target your inner sweet spot. You jolted and almost shrieked when he hit his mark. Satisfied, he brought his head down between your shivering thighs. His tongue flicked out over your aching bud, the tip swirling around it in circular motions, lapping at up your coppery nectar. You were already bucking beneath him; the sensations sending your head into the clouds.

“Delicious,” he murmured against your folds, and delved his tongue deep inside.

Your cry was stifled by your hand as you desperately attempted to keep yourself from crying out loud. But Astarion’s tongue was working wonders on your clit and the walls of your cavern, and the feeling was so intense. The wet, sloppy sounds he was making were absolutely filthy, and the sensation of his tongue probing and lapping at you, savouring your blood was so sinful that it was bringing tears to your eyes.

You needed to feel him inside you. Thrusting your hands in his hair, you pushed his head back. His expression was utterly bemused, his lips and chin smeared in the ruby and scarlet trickles of your sex. He scrutinized you, his breathing heavy, as you examined him with your dewy eyes. He wanted more, and he did not want to wait for it. You didn’t need to put much pressure on his head to guide him back to your sanctum, for he caught your womanhood again with his mouth and dove his tongue between your folds. You gasped as he dragged the tip of his fangs along your labia.

“Astarion?” You whimpered. Though he did not answer, he understood your boundary and moved to lavish his tongue along your innermost thigh, smearing the blood from his mouth along your skin as he did. Pulling his fingers from you, he grasped your hips tight, sinking his fangs deep into your tender flesh as he did so. You jolted and fisted his silver hair, a drawled out moan escaping your gasping lips. He drank greedily, each deep gulp making him sink deeper into a pleasured trance. Drinking your blood during a menstruation was like an aphrodisiac opiate and his undoing all at once. He had one more trick up his sleeve, however. He retracted his fangs and, licking the raw puncture marks until the bleeding slowed, began to let his warm breath ghost along your inner leg until it reached the base of your opening. You already felt so close to being in the heavens, but you knew what was coming.

He flattened his tongue, and with one long, slow lick, he swiped up all the blood that was beginning to trail back down your opening. At the end of his languid lick, he inserted his tongue into you and lapped it around teasingly.

“Fuck!” you cried out, not being able to contain the single profanity.

Astarion took a moment to send you a cheeky, lecherous look before he continued his merciless ministrations of your mound and opening. Your orgasm was quickly approaching, and it was an absolute barrage of pleasure. But he was not ready to let you come, not yet.

In a flash of speed, he whisked you over to his desk, swiping all the papers that had been on it off with a swift motion of his arm. He was ravenous now, and made quick work of the threads of your corset, and pulled down your tunic to reveal the plumpness of your breasts. You stripped yourself of it and cast it aside, just as you had seen him do to the papers.

He licked his lips again, humming deeply. You leaned back onto the desk, exposing your blood streaked slit and thighs to him. His glazed eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to bury myself in you so deep,” he swore, licking his lips, which were still stained by your blood. “And then I’m going to be relentless.”

His hand was at his laces, his trousers pooled to his feet. His member bobbed as it was released from its confines and a river of pre-cum pooled at the tip, completely ready to dive into your sanctum. You leant forward to trace your fingers through the pre-cum, eying him lustfully as you brought your fingers to your lips to suck the salty fluid.

A deep, hungry growl escaped his lips as he watched you intently. He could not resist you. He was quick to dive himself into your being, his gaze never breaking from yours. He almost snarled when you clenched your walls against him, eliciting his pleasure with more pleasure of your own.

He planted both hands on either side of you, his weight barely coming down on you as he began a deep and hard pace that left you clawing at his back, whimpering for more. So intense were your collective pleasures that you hadn’t realised you had ripped through his silk tunic. He only continued faster and more precisely, targeting that inner sweet spot that made you whimper and quiver and beg.

A cacophony of moans and grunts filled the room. The sound of skin slapping skin. The wanton, debaucherous scents of fucking. You could not stop yourself from arching your back and biting his lower lip, almost eliciting a pained yelp from him. You broke the skin, bringing a mere droplet of blood forth. He snarled and began to savagely pound you as your punishment. It was rough and fast and almost painfully so but he dared not go further than you allowed. Playfully, you yanked at his hair, pulling his head back so he could look you in the face. The blood around his mouth and chin had almost dried, and he looked at you as a stunned, hot mess.

With a wanton chuckle, you grinned at him, taking him by the scruff of his collar to drag his face up to yours. Lacing your tongue with his, you tasted the iron tinge of your blood in his mouth. As a kin of the Drow, you were most certainly used to the sight and smell and touch of blood. The taste, too, was not all that foreign. It did not disgust you as you thought it might, but to share this erotic moment with your lover made you feel utterly primal.

He read the message in your expression and flipped you over, bending you down over the desk like a child about to be spanked. And being a naughty drow girl, this was definitely the outcome you were hoping for.

There was little time to think or process what was happening for as soon as you landed the air was knocked from your lungs, the feeling of him plunging inside you forcing a cry from your lips. You bit down into your knuckles as he continued to ravish you against the mahogany of the desk. Now he was grasping your rump for his pleasure, his other hand tugging harshly at your hair so your back arched like a feline. The office was beginning to spin, and you didn’t care that there were tears streaming down your face. The overwhelming feeling of him inside you, his hand gripping your hair so tightly, you could feel every thrust, like your back was bursting into flames.

Beneath you, you felt a hand smooth over your abdomen. Gently, his finger traced small circles over your lower navel before trailing down to where the two of you were locked. You didn’t quite know what he was doing until you felt his slippery finger slide across your nub.

You jumped from the sheer electricity of the jolt and felt yourself cum almost instantaneously. But still Astarion continued pounding into you, ignoring your gasping and whining his name. You thought you were going to pass out from how he was throttling you. And, truthfully, you loved it.

As you continued to mewl and moan into the emptiness of the office he was beginning to tense, signalling his orgasm was quickly approaching. He fisted your hair harder, making you turn your head just enough to see his face. He looked furious, desperate. He took his other hand away from your nub and grabbed your shoulder, using it for leverage to thrust deeper. Within several erratic, powerful thrusts, he finally let go, gritting his teeth as he rode out his orgasm. With a satisfied groan, he buried his face into the hollow of your back, shuddering from the last of his climax, and then stilled.

Both of you were exhausted and shivering, the atmosphere fogged by your collective pleasure. Slowly, he brought his head up, kissing the sweat from your shoulders, neck, and the back of your ear. Both of you were completely satiated. A triumphant smile adorned each of your faces.

Sated, Astarion pulled himself from you, but not before teasingly thumbing over your opening again to make you twitch. Your breath hitching in your throat, you glared at him, to which he grinned wolfishly.

Turning you around, he brought you in close, kissing you gently upon the forehead, and stroking your hair and shoulder.

“What a fucking afternoon this has been,” he hummed. “Pun intended, of course.”

You could not help but snigger. “Definitely unexpected.”

“You loved it though,” he teased, kissing your cheeks and smearing your juices on them at the same time.

“Astarion,” you then began nervously as you scanned your surroundings. “I really think we need to tidy up your office.”

The sight of your smeared blood on the desk and chair was slightly startling, to say the least. How were the two of you going to keep this a secret if you didn’t clean it up post haste?

But Astarion grinned knowingly. “Let the others wonder where the coppery scent is coming from.”

“By the gods!” You groaned, slapping his chest. “You are sin personified, do you know that?”

“I’ve been told that before, yes,” he laughed.

“You truly are a hedonist.”

“I certainly can’t deny that, my sweet.”

Leaning in to your ear he whispered, “and don’t forget, we’ve still got the rest of the evening ahead of us... The house is all ours, and I fully intend to take advantage of that.”

You shuddered in anticipation and eyed him bashfully.

Astarion was pleased with himself, but even he knew the office needed cleaning... and the both of you needed new shirts. Thankfully, he kept spares in his private bathroom. So, with your lingering and wanting stares at each other, the two of you tidied up. And with the mess you had made, you had wished you had an incantation or spell scroll that could clean objects.