#as you can see most of the children's books i read are books i remember from my own childhood that i find in my parents' house

[mossflower]

yeah you need hobbies outside of media consumption or you’ll go insane. however if i spent an entire day reading books i would not go insane i would feel happy and fulfilled <3

[bibliophileiz]

2023 in Books, Part 1

I honored my New Year's Eve tradition of ranking the books I read throughout the year. This time I decided to split up the children's and YA books from the books for adults, because I don't think it's quite fair to compare them when they have two different audiences and often two different goals (and also when I so strongly prefer books for adults). It's like comparing apples and oranges. So here is Part 1: The Books for Young 'Uns.

As usual, this list is ranked strictly by personal preference, not by quality of writing or story, and they're based entirely on how I'm feeling right now. I reserve the right to change my mind at any time, so the list might be different next week. Cover images taken from GoodReads.

6. How Rory Thorne Destroyed the Multiverse by K. Eason Dates Read: Jan. 26-29 GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: I think it’s Sleeping Beauty in space? Maybe? One-sentence review: I remember next to nothing about this book but here was what I said on GR: It was kind of like if Princess Leia was an amalgamation for western fairy tale princesses and her life was being narrated by lemony snicket as a historian.

5. Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan Dates Read: I didn’t record it but it was early this year. GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: A woman named Sarah arrives in the prairie in the 1800s to decide if she wants to marry a widower with two children. Told from the oldest daughter’s point of view. One-sentence review: This isn’t fair for a children’s book, but I really wanted the adult version of this story, from Sarah’s point of view.

4. Eleanor by Kristiana Gregory. Part of the Royal Diaries series Dates Read: April 2 GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: A fictionalized account of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s life as a teenager, covering the death of her father and ending with her marriage to Louis, future king of France. One-sentence review: Eleanor and her sister, Petra, are great fun, and Gregory does a fantastic job of foreshadowing the things that are going to be important to Eleanor, like chivalric ideals and patronage of the arts, but like many of these Royal Diaries books, it focuses on the least interesting part of this extraordinary figure’s life.

3. The Great Railroad Race: The Diary of Libby West by Kristiana Gregory Dates Read: Dec. 31 GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: The diary of a teenage girl who’s family moves west so her journalist father (and unofficial editor mother) can cover the great railroad race between the Union Pacific and Central Pacific companies. One-sentence review: I loved this because there were so many 19th Century journalists.

2. Voyage on the Great Titanic: The Diary of Margaret Ann Brady by Ellen Emerson Dates Read: Nov. 11 GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: English orphan Margaret Ann keeps a diary of her trip on the Titanic after she is chosen to be a first-class passenger’s companion on board the ship. One-sentence review: Like all good Titanic stories, this book delves right into the class divisions that resulted in so many third-class passenger deaths – Emerson does not talk down to or whitewash history for her readers just because they’re children.

1. The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth Dates Read: July 28-Aug. 8 GoodReads Rating: Three stars Summary: Jaded Irish teenager Saoirse falls for romantic English girl Ruby, who tries to win Saoirse over with romantic comedy tropes. Review: This book has what all YA comedies have: a spunky narrator, a likeable love interest, fun side characters, and witty banter. That’s really all this one needed, but Smyth went one step beyond by writing a subplot involving Saoirse’s mother’s dementia and her father’s remarriage. Smyth handles the plot realistically, walking a tricky tightrope between handling the dementia sensitively while also writing Saoirse’s teenage angst—which can be pretty self-indulgent in a typical adolescent way. Saoirse worries about her mother, resents her father, and fears that one day she too will get early-onset dementia, which is why she is reluctant to fall in love or go to university. With help from old friends and new, her future stepmother, and of course Ruby, Saoirse comes to learn that planning a future around not having one is no way to live.

I had to pause this book several times (I was listening to the audiobook—and I’ll take this opportunity to give narrator Alana Kerr Collins a shout out because she was great). For personal reasons, I have a hard time reading about dementia and Alzheimer's in fiction, so it was this book was pretty emotional for me. But overall, the message was one of hope, and it was by far the best book I’ve read for children and teens in a while.

I'll post the rest of my books later today, as Part 2 is going to be longer and I want to go to bed.

[decolonize-the-left]

Project 25. The Heritage Foundation.

It's behind every single anti-lgbt law pushed the last year. They are why Roe v Wade was overturned. They are successful, well funded, and a massive threat.

What you can do is educate yourself and others about it. Get to know your enemy. Protest. Wear pride pins. Put out your flags. Show solidarity. We are ALL under attack by this white supremacist christo-fascist group.

Remember when 2020 had kpop stans organizing on twitter and gen z using tik tok to make Trump meets flop while white vets made themselves frontline walls at BLM protests that were organized to handle shit like kettling thanks to their amazing black organizers? Remember how people actually Showed up to those protests for awhile?

We need that cross-generational Fuck The System energy again. Not just for a summer this time. This needs to go passed the election.

They're playing a long game and so do we.

Get inspired.

Their goals include saving the children and traditional family, and "to lay the groundwork for a White House more friendly to the right."

This translates to destroying the EPA, disability rights, and criminalizing being LGBT. Also to overthrow the US government, as stated in their manifesto.

They want to replace our democracy with a theocracy. No Republican in office was elected without their approval.

They're the kind of right that makes being LGBT punishable by death. That makes it a crime just to exist where others can see you. They want librarians who work in libraries that make LGBT books accessible to be registered sex offenders. They want you prosecuted and even specify that no mercy should be shown to people the "left" likes (ex: immigrants, black people, etc)

That's the extreme right who's been manipulating our laws.

And they plan to make things a lot worse within the first 180 days a Republican is elected president.

Source

If you don't have plans coming up.... Start organizing them. We will be okay if we work together.

We will be okay if we work together.

If we have each other, we'll be okay. We have to rely on each other. You have to be reliable. You, person reading this, have to show up. That's how this works.

I have your back if you have mine. Do not leave me to the wolves and I won't leave you.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[targaryen-dynasty]

SHADOWS PLAY ON IDLE HANDS.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x (ex-)wife!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; oral (fem receiving), p in v, missionary position, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, tiddy sucking, making up sex, angst (?)

WORDS: 4.3 K

NOTES: Based on this request. Thank you so much, @multyfangirl! 🥰 This is not beta read!

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Was it silly of you to think that they’d assign a cabin to all the female supervisors to share back when you signed up to supervise your daughter’s summer camp? Most definitely, because otherwise you wouldn’t be sharing it with your ex-husband right now.

Technically, he’s your soon-to-be ex-husband, considering the divorce hasn’t yet been finalized, but still, he’s the last person you want to share a cabin with. 

It’s night four, and you two haven’t done much talking up until now. With it being a summer camp for children in the kindergarten age, your days are quite busy which allows you to stay away from him as much as possible. 

Unless it’s time for you to go to sleep. 

Walking through the cabin, you go to fetch your pajamas, ready to retire for the night. Aemond lies in his bed, a book in his hand. So far, he’s pretending to not hear you to not acknowledge you, and you’re kind of grateful for it, because it means you don’t have to watch your every move around him. 

Although you’ve been together and married for quite a few years, it does feel like you’re living around a stranger ever since you both came to the conclusion to separate five months ago, him moving out of the house quite early probably playing a big part in it. 

The divorce certainly would settle sooner, if it wasn’t for your daughter, and you both don’t want to make it more traumatizing for her like it already is. 

His voice is somewhat soft when it cuts through the silence, speaking your name and making you flinch and stop on your way to a little nook to get changed in private. 

You can’t deny the warmth that spreads through your body at the sound of it. “Mh?” you raise your brow, looking at him from over your shoulder. 

Despite his lingering eye secretly watching you, he turns his gaze back to the book in his hand. “I need to ask you a question,” he says almost nonchalantly, trying to keep his voice quieter so as to not disturb the silence that surrounds you. 

The mixed signals make you frown, and you shrug your shoulders before disappearing in the little nook. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?” you state rather matter-of-factly than asking. There comes no reply from him, obviously waiting until you're back in view. 

As you emerge from the cranny, you’re dressed in one of his older band shirts that reach your mid-thighs, covering the short, pink shorts you wear. You still sleep in his clothes, despite you separating quite a few months ago, a habit you had picked up pretty early into your relationship. The memories you connect with his old t-shirts always manage to lift up your spirits, remembering the good old days. 

It’s obvious he tries to keep himself occupied with the book, the slight struggle always drawing his eye back towards you. There’s some nostalgia seeing you dressed in his old stuff as well as the shorts only you can get away with wearing. 

Heat spreads on your cheeks as you walk towards your bed, slipping under the covers so his eye would finally stop devouring you. You’re not one to start arguments, especially with the summer camp having barely started, but you know there are some unresolved issues between you two that he’s dying to talk about.  “Your question, Aemond?” 

And then he finally closes his book, placing it on the nightstand table next to his bed to focus all of his attention on you. A shiver runs down your spine at that, and you subconsciously straighten your back. 

“Do you miss me?”

The question surprises you as you don’t expect your ex-husband to ask you such an open question. You’re used to him being a bit more closed off and dismissive when it comes to your relationship, but on the other hand he was never one to beat about the bush. 

You’re left speechless for a moment, until you find the courage to answer in all honesty. “Yes, I do.” There’s no denying it. Not when you’re still wearing his clothes to bed. 

What you don’t expect is the simple “hm” that rumbles in his throat, clearly pleased at your hesitance, before he moves to turn away from you. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line at his reaction, you rub your hands against each other. Taking in a deep breath, you sit up straighter. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? If anything, our marriage failed because of us, not because of one person alone.”

With the light of the moon shining through the windows of your cabin, highlighting the outline of Aemond, you can spot his body tense slightly at your words, but he does not turn around to face you again. 

He doesn’t speak as he takes in a breath, lying there motionless. The silence seems to stretch on for some time until it’s broken by him. “So, you don’t blame me?”

The urge to scoff at his words is hard to resist, but you manage, wanting to keep the air surrounding you as vulnerable and soft as it is right now. You shake your head, despite him not seeing it at all. “Of course not, Aemond,” you say. “Your father’s death hit us both quite hard, and with the winter fever depression on both sides we just couldn’t support each other through that period of time, I think. Maybe if we would have figured something needed to change, we wouldn’t have called it quits.”

Aemond is quickly reminded of how comfortable he’s always felt around you when you were younger and still together. He has expected that you would simply grow to despise one another completely, and not that you would take the matter into an empathic approach. 

“I should have been more attentive to you,” he says as he remains facing away from you. 

You’re pleasantly surprised about his answer, despite how short it is. The conversation you two are having heads down a more personal route, and it’s something you’re rather enjoying. You’re impressed by the new sense of maturity that he seems to have acquired ever since you parted ways. 

“Bullshit. We should have been more attentive to each other,” you retort, your tone as empathetic as you can make it without seeming over-soft.

“That’s true,” he says. He finally turns around, his eye finding yours. “We weren’t good for each other, were we?”

“And that’s not true,” you counter. “We had our flaws, yes, but if we hadn't been good for each other, our little girl wouldn’t have turned out the way she did. She’s amazing, and that’s to our credit.”

It’s a wonder to the both of you how your daughter turned out so well in spite of all the chaos that goes on between you and your divorce, and truly shows that you two must have done something right in your relationship. 

You sigh, thinking back to fond memories that make you chuckle. “Oh God, I was so cross with you during the birth. The audacity of you holding my hand and asking if I'm okay while I screamed and moaned for my life.”

The story makes him laugh. “Fuck, that was an experience. I’ll never forget you screaming ‘Do you THINK I’m okay?’ as you really squeezed the life out of me. I don’t know who was in more pain at that moment.”

Only with his narrative of the moment do you notice how amusing the memory truly is, painting the perfect picture of a couple in love in the midst of chaos. 

“You scared the wits out of me,” he adds, chuckling. 

Bending your legs at the knees, you make yourself more comfortable, not yet ready to fall asleep. Aemond watches you as you lick your lips. "To be fair, I really thought I’d go through it all alone, because you looked like you were going to faint when they gave me the epidural.”

You recall the sheer terror that was written all over his face as he watched you give birth to your daughter. Something you hadn’t seen before. 

“To this day, I don’t think that I have ever known so many feelings at once as I did when I saw you give birth,” he says, letting his gaze wander off to the side for a moment. “But I’ve pulled myself together, because you know I would have never lived that moment down. You would have made a whole show of it.”

“Oh, most definitely. It would have been my go-to story for so many family gatherings, because no one would believe me you’d faint. Aegon? Maybe, but you? Never,” you scoff. 

Aemond lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I was a real wuss during that moment. Perhaps you should have taken out your phone after the birth to record my reaction.”

You raise your brow, shooting him a glare. “That would have been an idea, because then we’d at least have some first photos of her during the check-up that don’t have me in the background naked, sweating and delivering the placenta.”

He smirks at the glare, not minding as it’s actually quite amusing to see you angry at him again for something not too serious. “That would have been a memory to remember. You, all sweaty after giving birth, and then there’s me, unconscious from seeing you give birth.”

The image makes you chuckle. “To be fair, we were quite young when that happened.”

“Too young, but we’ve worked out well enough in dealing with it, haven't we?”

You find yourself nodding in response to his words of confirmation. “Yes, in spite of all the hardships that surrounded us, we have managed quite well with her. We’ve been the best parents that we both have been able to be… together or not.” There’s a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “How’s Vhagar faring with it? Meraxes does miss her sometimes.”

Aemond smiles fondly as he hears your words, more so that you inquire of his precious girl. “She misses him dearly,” he says, but he can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to your words than just the wellbeing of your dogs. He smiles softly, and turns his head to look at you. “Just like I miss you.”

Your body feels as if it’s on fire with his confession, and you can’t keep your gazes locked. It’s all too much and not enough at once. And when Aemond lifts his blanket, gesturing for you to crawl over to him, you know he feels the same. 

“This bed is big enough for two,” he whispers. 

You’ve been rather stunned at the invitation, yet, you accept it without hesitation. Climbing out of your bed and into his feels all too natural for you, and his body next to yours is a feeling you’ve come to know quite well in your past but has been missing for some time. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but there’s no discomfort or tension between you.

Keeping a fair distance from him isn’t something you master, failing the moment his scent fills your nostrils and urges you to bury your head in the crook of his neck. Snuggling up against him, you’re sure to never leave the bed the moment his arms wrap around you. 

He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent he’s clearly missed just as much as you missed his. The way you feel with your head resting against his jaw makes it hard for him to suppress the urge to pull you even closer to him for fear of pushing you away. 

It’s just both of your breathing filling the otherwise silent room, broken as he speaks. “I missed this.”

It certainly was dangerous to get so close to him, apparent in your half-lidded eyes as you pulled back to look at him. Your gaze flickers between his and his lips, your faces but mere inches apart. “I missed this, too.”

Encouraged by your words, Aemond brings his hand to your cheek, allowing his thumb to brush over your cheekbone, his own breathing becoming heavy as he watches you. 

The way you look back at him nearly causes him to lose the last bit of control he clings to as he desires you with a fire he hasn’t felt in a very long time. When his other hand comes to the back of your head and he leans in, you lick your lips which is more than enough to send him over the edge. 

His hand begins to slide down your back as his thumb traces your bottom lip, heat following in its wake. And then he dips his head forward enough to capture your lips, melting against each other.

Coaxed by his hand slipping beneath the oversized t-shirt you wear, you grip the collar of his t-shirt and pull him closer to you, not daring to break the kiss. His hands are impatient to tug on the flimsy shorts you wear, and you shimmy your way out of them as he pulls them down your legs. 

Your heavy breath fans over his kiss-swollen lips as you pull back from him to speak. Aemond doesn’t wait to hear your words, diving in to press his lips to your jaw and neck. “We… We should not… the divorce…” you trail off, panting heavily and suddenly well aware of how tightly you’re pressed against him. 

Bringing his hands to your belly, the hem of your shirt is riled up and pooling around your waist. “It doesn’t matter,” he rasps against your skin. “Just this one night…”

You nod, letting out a soft moan as he cups your breast. “One little night of bliss…” you mewl. 

It’s clear that the proximity to him gets you just as hot as he is, no longer trying to resist and giving into the feeling you’ve been fighting back for so long. There’s no resistance left in you, clearly forgetting all the bad things that have happened before. You don’t know what will happen between you two tomorrow morning or the day after that, but you can’t bring yourself to care about it at this moment. 

With your hands still fisting his shirt, you pull his body between your legs, the weight of his tall frame heavy on top of you now. He ruts against you as your lips meet again, moving roughly against yours as his hard cock strains against the boxer briefs he wears. You instinctively grind against him, desperate for any kind of friction against your needy pussy. 

The kiss is hardly broken as you pull the shirt over his head, exposing his alabaster skin and well toned torso, only for you to not admire it as he starts to nibble on your bottom lip. 

You trace your fingers across his torso, trailing lower until they hook beneath the waistband of his briefs. “I need you,” you whine, tugging at the elastic to encourage him to slip out of it. But Aemond merely tsks at that. 

“Easy there,” he drawls, mimicking your gesture with his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He shifts to the side and pulls them down your legs, prompting you to shimmy your way out of them to help him. 

The blankets have long found their way down the bed, laying in a pile right next to it, and therefore you gasp when the cold air hits your soaked core. 

Aemond gets back between your legs again, scooting back and crouching down to kiss his way up your inner thighs, draping them over his shoulders. The moan you release brings heat to your cheeks, more so when his tongue makes contact with your cunt and coaxes another one to slip past your lips.

“You’re drenched,” he remarks smugly, dark blown eye gazing up at you from between your legs. 

Rolling your eyes at that, you entangle a hand into his hair and push his face down between your legs. “Don’t be such a tease now.”

Clearly not minding this bossy side at all, Aemond gets straight to the point. His lips wrap around your little bundle of nerves, and one suck of him already has you arching your back and rolling your hips like a bitch in heat. He alternates between gentle sucking and tracing it with his tongue, driving you insane  

Less than half a year apart and you’ve already forgotten just how good he is at putting his mouth to work. 

Two of his fingers slowly ease inside of you, expertly brushing your sweet spot in a come hither motion that has you tightly locking your legs around his head, not caring if it would crush or suffocate him. With one hand still in his hair, you tug on it not-so-gently which has Aemond groaning against your folds. 

The knot in your belly tightens all too quickly with the pace he sets up, lapping and sucking at your clit in tandem with his fingers scissoring in and out of you. But it doesn’t seem like that’s what Aemond wants. Being able to read all the telltale signs of your impending orgasm, he stops his ministrations without missing a beat. 

You’re baffled, the pleasure disappearing at once. When you look down at him, you spot his chin, lips and cheeks coated in your arousal, glistening in the dim light the moon casts through the windows. “W-What?” you whimper with a pout, trying to force his head back down again. But Aemond is stronger, making it clear he’s just played with you before. 

Watching him lick the remnants of your arousal from his swollen lips, you can’t help but moan, liquid fire coursing through your veins and making your longing for him even more apparent. 

“You don’t think I’m going to savor your first orgasm with my tongue, do you?” he asks matter-of-factly, peeling your legs off of him and sitting back on his haunches.

The breath hitches in your throat not only at his words, but also at the tip of his cock peeking from beneath the waistband of his briefs. He’s rock hard and aching, wanting to be buried inside of you. 

“Five months I had to live without this sweet pussy of yours, and I won’t spend any longer not being buried inside of it.”

Staring at his throbbing cock, you bite your bottom lip and nod almost in a sheepish manner. You pulling the shirt over your head and spreading your legs is all it takes for Aemond to rid himself of his briefs, one hand curling around his shaft as the other grabs you by your hip, pulling you towards him. 

He drags the bulbous tip of his cock through your drenched folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, your arousal making it easy for his thick cock to breach your tightness with little resistance.

The feeling of your pussy desperately sucking him inside until he’s buried to the hilt is a feeling of indescribable bliss that has you releasing a shaky breath in unison. Your hands fly to his shoulders for leverage, holding onto him as he towers over you, tall frame completely shielding your significantly smaller one. 

“Gods, I… forgot how big you are,” you breathe, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. 

He brings a hand to your waist, and places the other next to your head, keeping himself supported as he begins to grind his hips against yours. “Hm, fuck, we’ll get you used to it again tonight, princess,” he rasps, heavy panting audible in between the words. The pet name makes you clench around him. Oh, how your body has longed for him. 

You unravel beneath Aemond, arching your back and tipping your head back into the cheap pillows, the sight not making it easier for him to stay composed enough to not come on spot. 

And that’s when he moves to press his chest flush against yours, holding your cheek with one hand, whilst the other grabs the side of the headboard. His lips find the side of your face, kissing along your jaw, earlobe and down the side of your neck. You have your head tilted to the side, granting him even more access as the weight of his body stops you from squirming beneath him and rolling your hips. 

“Fuck, missed you so, so much,” he murmurs against your skin, drunk on your pussy. “All mine… won’t let you leave again.” 

You cross your arms behind his neck, one hand entangling into his silken, silver strands. Every time you try to arch against him, your hard nipples press against his chest. 

“Don’t want to,” you reply. 

Whimpering and whining beneath him, Aemond’s heavy grunts and groans fan over your flushed skin, spurring you on even more. There’s no rush to his movements, the both of you clearly savoring the moment of peace and making up for all the time you’ve lost, and yet it’s enough to build the pressure within your belly again.

The sparse, coarse hairs splayed around the base of his cock and over his pubic bone drag over your sensitive clit with the ruts of his hips, sending a shiver up your spine each time. His thrusts are gentle but determined, reaching deep and expertly brushing your sweet spot, and he fucks sweet, little mewls and moans out of your throat, filling the cabin.  

His thumb presses into your cheek to turn your face towards him, and you’re eagerly welcomed by his lips, capturing yours in a fervent and heated kiss. His lips move sensually against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth and alternating with his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. 

As he withdraws his lips from yours, a dark blown eye watching your blissed out expression, you try to chase them for yet another kiss, but he keeps your head in place. His lips are puckered slightly, and the thought of what’s to come makes your insides churn in a good way, becoming limp in your reverie. 

“Show me your tongue,” he commands, and you do as he says.  

Parting your lips and sticking out your tongue, you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes. As the warm puddle of his saliva hits it, you’re all too eager to swallow it down, moaning softly as the taste of him spreads on your tongue. 

“You’re gonna come for me now?” he drawls, pressing his chest against yours and dipping his head forwards to capture your earlobe between his teeth. It’s a grazing touch, but still has goosebumps prickling on your skin.

The coil inside of you tightens quickly with all sensations hitting you at once and the deep desire to please him, and you’re once again surprised by how well Aemond knows your body, strumming it like a fiddle and always getting what he wants. 

You convulse all over him with a whine, your hips grinding against his as the white, hot pleasure courses through your veins. But his thrusts don’t stutter, keeping the sensual intensity to the point you’re losing your mind. 

“That’s it,” he coos through gritted teeth. “Fuck, missed the pretty face you make when you’re coming all over my cock, hm.” You’re not sure whether it’s his pubic bone still dragging over your clit, his cock still sliding in and out of you, or if his praise alone is enough to prolong your orgasm, but you feel yourself keening at his words. 

It takes him a couple more thrusts that slowly bring you to the point of overstimulation, until his own orgasm washes over him. His cock is twitching and throbbing as your walls squeeze him for every drop of his seed, spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. 

Aemond fucks you both through the aftershocks, a white ring of your mixed juices forming around the base of his thick shaft. But as his jaw slackens and he moves to pull out of you, you’re quick to lock your legs around his hips and flip him onto his back, giving neither of you time to get to grips with the events that transpire between you. 

The quizzical look he flashes you as you sit astride him encourages you to roll your hips against his, riding him through the overstimulation. “Maybe… maybe it would be a good idea to see someone about this,” you breathe, grabbing his hands and planting them at your waist. “A couple therapist perhaps, so we can talk through some of the issues that have come up between us, to resolve the root of all our issues…”

He sits up straight, snaking one arm around your waist to keep your body against his as his mouth finds your hard nipple, suckling and nibbling on it. The other hand fondles and gropes at your breast, squeezing it rather roughly. “Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea,” he groans against your skin, licking a flat stripe along the curve of your breast. “We…” his voice catches in this throat with you starting to ride him more fervently. “We should do that, yes.”

Neither of you is certain if the other’s words are genuine or just spoken in the heat of the moment, but it feels as though you’re seeing eye to eye in this moment. Something your relationship has been missing for a very long time. For the remainder of the night, you both seek to get what you still crave from each other, sharing countless orgasms and an unusually passionate embrace. 

However, as the night comes to an end with the light of the next day breaking through the windows of the cabin, and you wake up in Aemond’s arms, you figure that there was truth to your words and that you both strive to save and improve your marriage again. 

[universalitgirlsblog2]

🧁🍥STOP BEING LAZY AND PATHETIC🧁🍥

This post is my notes of Thewizardliz video on how to stop being lazy and pathetic. This account will be my digital notebook where I will write notes from Liz and Tam Kaur's videos ( LOL ) .

🧁WHO ARE LAZY PEOPLE ?

Lazy people are the forgotten ones. People that don't want to do anything with their lives, they will always end up on a sideline.

🍥REALIZE THAT NO ONE CARES IF YOU ARE LAZY

Everybody has problems. No one cares about your victim mindset and about how life was hard/ unfair for you. Life is unfair to everyone . Life goes on. Everyone is busy with their own lives. We got to get moving !

🧁YOU AREN'T LAZY , YOU ARE PRIVILEGED

People that need to survive have no option to be lazy . People that are walking up the stairs and they can barely breathe , they have no option anymore than to lose that weight. People that are so vulnerable and their bodies cannot handle of them being so underweight have no option but to lose weight. People that have to go to work otherwise there is no food on the table. They have no option to be lazy. If you have the option to be lazy, you are privileged.

🍥THE HALO EFFECT

The halo effect is when we see a beautiful person , we will think that they are less likely to do something bad because we associate someone beautiful with being a good person. Its the same way with successful person. If we see a successful person in any field , we will assume that they are successful in all their aspects of life. Suppose if a person have a successful business , we will automatically think that they are successful in their relationships and everywhere. If you are lazy , you can't benefit from the halo effect . It takes effort to be beautiful and to maintain beauty. We only see these successes , we don't see the progress. Most people are privileged and have it all but most people come from 0 and create it for themselves. It takes discipline.

🧁FOCUS ON YOUR LIFE FORCE : HEALTH , DIET AND RELATIONSHIPS

When you feel that you are lazy , focus on your life force . What is your life force ? Health and diet. Focus on moving your body and eat foods that don't spike your insulin and eat food that nourish your body. When you feel lazy or don't feel good , don't isolate yourself. Connect with your family and friends. Also focus on your relationship with yourself. What are you engaging your mind in ? Be connected to your own energy. Journal. Sometimes God or your guides are speaking to you but because your mind is constantly racing , you can't listen to them.

🍥CREATE ROUTINES AND STICK TO THEM

Humans need routines. You need a structurised routine. Sometimes we can't stick to routines but we need a base so we have something to go back to. I would like to add something here , I am reading a book by Brianna Wiest , it's called 101 essays that will change the way you think. There was line in the book . " As children, routine gives us a feeling of safety. As adults , it gives us a feeling of purpose ."

🧁CLEAN SPACE IS SELF RESPECT

Clean space is a clean mind. Not even cleaning after yourself is a sign of huge disrespect to yourself. Stop reading this and clean your room right now !!!!!

🍥THERE IS REASON WHY YOU MADE THAT COMMITMENT TO YOURSELF

Remember the reason . Remind yourself, " Why did I even start ? " " Why did I even want this goal ?" . If you don't want the goal anymore then do something else.

🧁THINK ABOUT WHAT STORY ARE YOU TELLING YOURSELF

If you are telling yourself that you are a lazy person , you will act like one. Your mom didn't carry you for 9 months just for you to say that you are lazy. Get a hold of yourself. Don't complain about how you don't have your dream life if you are lazy.

🍥REALISE YOU CAN CHANGE YOUR REALITY ANY SECOND

You can change your realities really fast if you start acting like the person you want to become.

🧁HEAL THE PAST AND MOVE ON

Go to therapy and heal from the past. You can change your story around . If you are a victim of trauma or abuse , don't just go around and tell people because they lose respect for you .

🍥YOUR BODY RESPONDS TO YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS

If you are constantly living in the past , reliving it , your body will make you ill. If you want a different outcome and different future, you have to do things differently. People around you don't need to change, you have the power to control that. You have the responsibility to heal yourself. What others did to you , it is on them . They will get their karma.

🧁ARE YOU LAZY OR DID YOU STOP PROGRESSING ?

People become happy when they start progressing. We constantly need that drive or something to strive for. Create a new project . Find a new hobby. Learn a new skill. Do something that you haven't tried before or pick something you used to love.

🍥TOO MUCH INFORMATION MAKES US LAZY

There is so much information on the internet to the point we don't know what to do. There are so many videos on the best diet , skincare or workout , we get consumed in other people's opinions and lives. We start filling their lives with our energy. ( Just a suggestion; you can search workout or skincare recommendations but at the end you should choose a diet or skincare or workout which suits you , not others )

🧁ARE YOU TOO CONSUMED IN OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES ?

If you wonder to yourself : Why do I not have any energy left for myself ? Because you are too consumed in other people's lives so you aren't living your own.

🍥FEELINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS RIGHT

Feelings are just feelings. If we all just react to go out of emotions we would all unalive each other.

🧁ALLOW YOUR FEELINGS TO PURGE AND YOUR BODY TO HEAL.

Feelings purge by you feeling them. Release your emotions , don't suppress them . If you suppress those Feelings, they will get stored in your body and might show up later as physical illness. Sleeping is also healing. Let your body heal. Once that's done , get up and do something . Don't dwell there for too long.

🍥WHAT DO YOU FEEL VS WHAT DO YOU WANT ?

If you feel like eating unhealthy food but then you want your dream body. It doesn't correlate. You need to have discipline.

🧁COURAGE IS BEING VULNERABLE

Go outside and try to meet new people. Do something which you wouldn't normally do .

🍥LEARN TO ASK FOR HELP.

Learn to accept help. Sometimes God send people to help you. Ask help from God and you will receive help in miraculous ways.

🧁BE PRODUCTIVE ON YOUR OWN TERMS.

What does productivity look like for you ? What are your goals? Create that productivity mindset and visions. What works for others may not work for you.

🍥ARE THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU DRAINING YOUR ENERGY ?

If you have toxic people around you , you are constantly around them , you are going to feel bad. Distance yourself. No one can make you feel upset, you have the control over how you feel.

🧁CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE ON SITUATIONS.

Most people are projecting their insecurities. Instead of feeling angry, have compassion for them. Similiarily , if you are going through a break up instead of thinking that they were the last person on earth. Think that your souls were meant to cross and then meant to separate. You learnt your lesson and they learn their lesson.Change your perspective on things .

🍥FOCUS ON THE THINGS YOU CAN DO

Think about three things you can do . What is your passion ? What makes you happy ? Who makes you happy ? Be grateful for these things. Realise that you can do alot and remind yourself of what you can actually do.

[craisinsensation1029]

Snuggle Bug

Toji Fushiguro

AO3 :)

just toji being soft and domestic, thats it ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~2k

SFW but minors still shoo

It isn't hard to make assumptions about Toji with just one look.

With his imposing frame riddled with pounds of muscles, enough scars to rival any war hero, and an expression that screams I don’t tolerate nonsense, ever on his face, most people steer clear of him. 

There isn’t much merit in thinking so, but so many easily peg him as a douche, an asshole, a womanizer—someone that probably has the worst opinion on anything ever. 

While Toji has definitely judged more than one book by their cover, only sparing something a glance for no longer than a second before deciding whether or not it would be worth his time, he’s more than happy he was a book you were willing to read.

He still remembers having to build up the courage to ask you out on a date.

Every week he would treat Megumi to a few new books, and low and behold on a calm Sunday afternoon the sweet old manager was showing you the ropes on the cash register. 

He was enchanted by your smile, the natural grace that you had, the zest for life that you conveyed just through your love of reading. At first it was innocent, Toji being just as excited as Megumi for the weekly trip to the bookstore, flying to the children’s section to see if you had any exciting news on any new releases. There was even the time where you decided to do an impromptu story time just for Megumi because it was a slow day.

After that, Toji had to admit that he did get a bit more greedy, making more frequent trips to the bookstore and flashing you a crooked smile when you would look for the bite sized version of him. “Just me,” he’d laugh, hoping that crimson wasn’t painting his cheeks.

When people say expect the unexpected you always thought it was referring to something completely drastic, like seeing actual pigs fly or winning the lottery. Not seeing this big, burly man scratching the back of his neck and blushing while he waited for you to say something, but you couldn’t complain. You simply smiled at him and said, “Well you can read at a higher level than Megumi, right? Let me show you some other books.”

As the weeks went by, Toji was spending more time (and money—but you did give him your employee discount out of the kindness of your shining heart) at the bookstore, whether or not he had Megumi with him. 

“I put something else in the bag.” A cheeky smile that he couldn’t quite decipher was on your face as you pushed his purchase toward him.

He thanked you and was fighting every single urge not to pounce on the bag the moment he stepped out the door. The bit of self control he was able to maintain allowed him to wait until he got to the car, seeing a slip with your number scrawled on it right on top of the books he just bought.

He never felt nervous about making a phone call before that night, but every bit of tension eased from his body when your bright cadence filled his ears over the speaker.

Soon the two of you were texting good morning and good night here and there, the occasional how is your day going. It was far from that though. After a few weeks you were moving on to talking about new shipments of books, mentions of family, future plans. It became routine for both of you to talk on the phone nightly. Even if it was a day that he visited the bookstore, the true cherry on top of the cake was drifting off to sleep with the sound of your voice in his ears.

It only seemed natural for him to ask you out and make you his.

Being with Toji provides you with comfort and security not even money can buy. No one dares to cat call you with Toji by your side.

There’s something just so entertaining about seeing one of the people you adore the most making others cower in fear with just a simple glance, like having a big, vicious dog that growls at everyone in public but snuggles up to you in private.

And when it comes to snuggling, Toji is well versed in that department.

See, he doesn’t really believe in personal space; he can never be too close to you. 

If you’re washing dishes in the kitchen, his arms are wrapping around your waist, bending his head so it's resting in the crook of neck, sighing contentedly as he breathes in your scent.

Sitting on the couch? He’s scooching as close as possible next to you, entwining his fingers with yours, not even looking at whatever is on the television. He damn near crawled in your lap a few times, arguing that it was much more comfortable for him despite your legs screaming in protest.

He doesn’t even care if you’re in the shower, sitting on the toilet seat and waiting until you finish. His go to is usually getting in the shower with you, withstanding the boiling hot water you somehow consider an appropriate temperature. He had to build up his tolerance, feeling like his skin was going to melt off his body if he stayed there longer than five minutes. This would only make you laugh and say, “Toji, stop torturing yourself. I’ll be out soon.” He’d just grunt and give you that pouty face that makes you dab a kiss to his nose.

If you’re taking a bath, he used to drag a chair out from the dining room, but ended up buying a cozy bean bag just to make himself more comfortable and accompany you.

Much like a big dog though, Toji’s spatial awareness seems to be a bit... Lacking.

He doesn’t mean it, you know he doesn’t, but there are times when you swear he is trying to decimate you with the weight of his body.

Especially nights like tonight when he’s coming home late from work. 

Megumi already ate the dinner you made and has been fully entertained by a movie you watched together. Once you made sure he was snuggled in bed with his two favorite stuffed animals, the only thing left to do is wait for Toji to get home.

His job can be pretty unpredictable, leaving him coming home at late hours when the only thing he wants to do is be by your side, feeling the softness and the heat of your body while he closes his eyes and melds into you. 

His stomach is rumbling, screaming for sustenance. When he walks through the door he knows there’s going to be a plate of food already made for him, just waiting to be heated up, but eating is far from being the first thing on his mind. 

Instead he cracks open Megumi’s door first, a small smile forming on his face when he sees his little form tucked in, arms wrapped around those stuffed dogs while his chest gently rises and falls. He closes the door behind him, making the few steps to the bedroom that he shares with you.

It was obvious you tried your best to stay up and wait for him, indicative by the bedside lamp still being on and the book laying facedown on your lap. Though your thrown back head, the bit of drool leaking from the side of your mouth, and soft snores coming from your body shows your efforts were unfortunately in vain.

This just adds to the smile on his face, silently slinking back out of the room so he can eat and take a shower. You’re still blissfully asleep once he emerges from his shower. He carefully opens the dresser, opting for just a pair of boxer briefs.

He turns off the bedside light and carefully secures the place in your book with the bookmark you left next to you on the bed. 

Despite his attempts at being gentle, the bed always creaks beneath his weight when he gets on it. The sound isn’t quite enough to wake you, only stirring a bit in your sleep.

With himself securely in the bed he moves in closer calling your name gently. Still, you only stir, murmuring out something unintelligible while your head turns to the side slightly.

He takes the opportunity to lay his head on your chest, listening to the soft beating of your heart while his fingers are drumming lightly against your stomach. The feeling always makes him melt, indulging in every pliant dip and curve of your body, the velvety texture of your skin such a contrast to the calluses and roughness of his own. 

It isn’t long before his hands are exploring, moving down to caress the swell of your hips and making their way back up to feel the dip in your waist. All the while his head stays on your chest, as if his skull is a sword that will do anything imaginable to defend your heart.

He stays like this for a while, the thumping of your heart serving as his own personal white noise, the sensation of your skin beneath his touch alleviating all the stress of work.

“Mmm,” you groan, slowly opening your eyes only to be greeted by darkness and consumed by heat. “Toji.”

At the sound of your voice he slowly opens his eyes, immediately pulling you closer to him and panting a slew of kisses on your cheek. “You were sleeping when I got in,” he murmurs against your cheek, plopping another kiss there. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

You’re not sure what time you fell asleep, but tap the screen on your phone, squinting at the harshness of its brightness. It’s a bit past four in the morning now, rain beating down gently against the windows.

“Like you’ve cared about waking me up before,” you laugh gently, playfully rolling over to escape both his hold and the slobbery kisses he insists on planting on you.

“Come here.” A fit of giggles leaves your lips as you continue rolling over, just out of reach every time he tries to wrap his arm around you again. He lets you have it for a few more moments, letting you tire yourself until you’re completely breathless with laughter. Like a tiger waiting to strike he ambushes you, caging your body between his arms and letting his weight settle on top of you.

“Toji!” You try your best to contain your squeal knowing Megumi is sleeping just beyond the thin walls.

“What?” His voice is muffled as his head takes refuge in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing softly against the sensitive skin there. He feels your pulse quicken every time his lips brush against your skin. “I missed you.” 

No matter how many jokes you make about canceling his gym membership or making sure he never has another protein shake again you wouldn’t trade the feeling of this for anything. One hand rubs small circles into his back while the other snakes around to the nape of his neck. He nuzzles further into your neck, humming with satisfaction when your fingers thread through hair and delicately massage his scalp.

“I missed you, too.” He doesn’t say anything, but you feel the curve of his lips against your neck as his arms maneuver beneath you, cradling your body tight.  

The warmth of his embrace quickly lulls you back into a state of unconsciousness, only willing for the serenity to end when you wake up, ready to appreciate him with bright eyes, marking another day together.

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter reader (platonic)

Reader can either be read as the child of Laenor, Daemon, Criston Harwin or other

-As her only daughter you are especially cherished. The moment they place you on her chest she instantly, unconditionally loves you. While she does not have favorites, you are cherished.

It was with one last agonizing push that Rhaenyras only daughter came screaming into the world. "A daughter, your Grace!" With trembling arms Rhaenyra took her daughter from the midwife. Y/n Velarion's e/c eyes opened and Rhaenyra instantly fell in love. Secretly, she had always harbored hopes of having a girl. She knew the realm prayed for a son, but deep inside Rhaenyra yearned for a girl. A daughter to love and cherish and protect her from all that she herself had suffered.

-You are absolutely doted on my your mother. She makes sure you have the best of everything. She loves to order sweets brought from all over and give them to you in elaborately decorated boxes. She has you all decked out in red and black clothing. Rhaenyra likes to do your hair and make elaborate hairdos. Whether for a special occasion or any normal day she takes great pleasure in showing off how pretty you are!

Y/n squealed in delight as Rhaenyra pulled out a box. Knowing that it held some kind of delight behind its wooden covering you wasted no time in hastily opening it. Tiny hands seized the sugar covered fruits from Dorne. The mother giggled as with great enthusiasm Y/n chomped away at them. "Remember to share them with your brothers!" Rhaenyra called out to her daughters. "Gods I love her." Rhaenyra thought.

-Because of the political situation you are heavily guarded. Your friends/ladies in waiting are carefully picked amongst Rhaenyra's closest allies. From the time you are old enough to walk she hires a personal guard to follow wherever you go. This is especially true if Otto, Alicent or Criston Cole are near. Unlike with her sons I don't see Rhaenyra letting you near your uncles. Partly because it would be seen as inappropriate but also for safety sakes.

-Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, eldest child of Viserys and heir to the throne, ran in great haste down the hall. She payed no heed to the sudden stairs of people. Most of the time she would care, but not now. Not when she noticed her brother Aemond speaking with her baby girl under the Weirwood tree. She did not know his intentions and frankly, did not care. None of Otto Hightowers grandchildren would be in any position to harm her daughter. "Y/n." Rhaenyra hurried down the path to see two children quite peacefully reading a book. Aemond was the first to look up and scowled. Rhaenyra didn't like it. Even something as innocent as this could insight trouble. Gods know Otto might even consider marrying the two if he could get away with it. A perfect way to tether the Princess of Westeros to himself forever. She would never let that happen.

-Obviously you will have a dragon from day one, if there isn't an egg already placed in the cradle. She will likely want you to have a new one rather than an older one. This is mainly because she worries an older one might be too aggressive and large for tiny you to manage. Of course she will take you for flight on Syrax, high in the sky. She uses these times to bond, even going on short daytrips for fun.

If she gives you an egg:

Rhaenyra cradles the large opaque egg in her hands. It was a good size, this dragon would be healthy. It was placed right beside the infant who was roused to the waking world. Her large e/c eyes focused on the egg with such intensity that Rhaenyra could hardly believe it. Her fingers brushed against the thin hairs that had just started to sprout up. Her little Targaryen.

If you claim your own dragon:

She would have preferred Dreamfyre. That dragon was so gentle and lovely, a perfect fir for her gentle daughter. Not fucking Tessarion. Anxiously Rhaenyra waited as Y/n advanced forward. The dragon keepers were on standby. But if Tessarion became volatile then......... The great dragon moved its head. The Valyrian coming out of Y/n's trembling mouth would barely be heard over the beasts rumbling. Horrified, Rhaenyra moved to intercede. But suddenly the dragon lowered its head and Y/n's hand placed itself on its snout. "Look mom! I'm a dragonrider!"

Riding a dragon with her daughter:

At five years old Y/n mounted a dragon for the first of many times. Rhaenyra had been hesitant. Normally Targaryen's took their children on a flight during babyhood. But in her anxiety Rhaenyra waited until her daughter was slightly older. She had a small harness made for the baby and herself. Part of Rhaenyra didn't want to stay on the ground, but Y/n was a Targaryen, a Valyrian ancestry going back thousands of years. The dragons wings expanded and in a great bounding leap Syrax was in the air. Y/n's small form was shaking and Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around her. They stabilized once above the clouds. Y/n finally had calmed down. Soon, she was giggling and enjoying the height. Rhaenyra smiled.

-When it comes to betrothals Rhaenyra will wait until you are grown before any of that comes to fruition. Like her father she will let you chose. That is, up until the events of episode 7 where Vaemond makes his bid for Driftmark. Even though she will not be aggressive about it, your attention will be directed to Cregan Stark. Of course you will get the talk, and what to expect during pregnancy/childbirth. Your also likely to get a new wardrobe. This is even more expected if where your moving to (think Winterfell and Dorne) has a drastic change in weather compared to Kingslanding/Driftmark. If you do end up married then she will make frequent visits to where you live.

Everyone bellow was mingling during the Red Keeps most recent party. Everyone except for Rhaenyra and Y/n. Mother and daughter observed the happenings bellow, talking in low voices. "Have you met anyone who appeals from you?" Rhaenyra closely watched her daughters expression. Y/n's eyes skimmed the handful of eligible bachelors that a Princess of the realm could take. "Hmmmm. Uncle Aemond is looking rather appealing these days." Y/n jested. Rhaenyra snorted. None of Otto's grandchildren would ever taken her daughter to wife. Only last week Alicent had requested a possible betrothal between their two children. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, that would only happen over her dead body. "Who is that?" Rhaenyra's eyes lit up. Now this was a much better match. "That is Cregan Stark."

Extra

What is your fathers relationship with you (excluding non cannon father)

Harwin Strong:

Like with his sons he is very close with you. Your his only daughter and so he is very protective. He will hold you as a baby and try to be there for everything. First words, steps and your progression into adulthood. He likes to carry you on his back during his time off. Even though you are a girl you will likely be taught to fight if you so chose. Although that will be in secret. I think that as the daughter of Rhaenyra and Harwin you will feel like you all are a great big family.

Leanor Velarion:

Your his only biological child. Because of this the family dynamic will change, with Laenor being far more involved with his family.1* Rhaenyra and Rhaenys will push hard for him to be a good father, the best he can be. Its a rocky start. But he gets better and does his best. Your time together is usually one on one with Laenor. Stuff like taking you on dragonrides and going to Driftmark.

Criston Cole:

This one is a doozy because he can't be sure until you are older that your his (given that Rhaenyra's likely got involved with Harwin shortly after marriage). But once he finds out....wow. Because as much as he loathes Rhaenyra he can't bring himself to hate the daughter. He will, very subtly, try to ingratiate himself to you. This will be sneaky and behind Rhaenyra's back. Of course Alicent will get wind of this making Otto aware. He will absolutely try to use this to his advantage. This of course puts Criston in a very difficult position.

Daemon Targaryen:

This pregnancy takes place shortly before the marriage to Laenor, meaning Rhaenyra was pregnant although very early on. I have a feeling Daemon might not even know the baby is his, thinking it is Harwin Strong's. So he as nothing to do with you until the funeral of his second wife. It was there that Rhaenyra reveals he has another daughter. The reason he was not informed earlier is because she was worried someone might get ahold of the note and Daemon was in Pentos all this time. This revelation will be surprised. When your parents marry he will take an interest in your education. You are expected to be an example of pure Valyrian, perfecting Valyrian and being a dragon writer. The two of you will sometimes read together and he likes to tell stories of his adventures.

Note: I'm gonna make one for Alicent and maybe Aemond. If you guys want me to make any more of these then please feel free to requested☺

[loveemagicpeace]

🌞Sun in Houses🌞

☀️Your sun is your basic personality. It helps you to find your individuality and who you really are. Your sun sign is giving you natural talents. It's your ego. It's your self sense. It represents your will to live. Where you have the sun in your house is where you find light and where you find the most inspiration. And also shows how you can inspire others and help them find the light.

🫧Sun in 1st house- people, for some reason, will always find you to be an inspirational person. They will always somehow find the light in you or something positive about you. You can give off a very positive energy. And even if you are not confident, others will see you as if you are. A lot of inspiration comes through you. And you find a lot of light when you delve deeper into yourself and your personality. And your ego is visible on the outside and you show it that way too. Your will to live shows through what you do.

🍹Sun in 2nd house- you can find your inspiration and satisfaction through money, food, music, luxury. I won't lie, money and expensive things can actually inspire you, and maybe through that you can find hope and the will to live. You can also compete with people who has more money. Or you want to have everything the best or better than others. Since the sun is your ego, you can feed yourself in a way that shows how much money you have or with material things. You show your pride through material things and your value can also be shown in this way (depending on other signs, but sometimes you can feel that you are important or worth something if you have money). People with this placement sometimes find it difficult to find a personality that is not associated with materialism.

🏝️Sun in 3rd house- you find inspiration through books, writing, reading, communication. You want people to see the light through your way of expression. Your ego shows through writing and communication (maybe you always want to have the last word). Your natural talent is to remember a lot, to encourage people with your speech. You can gain a lot of people on social networks. Your will to live is shown through your thinking and thinking. You can be most inspired through your thoughts.

💕Sun in 4th house- You find inspiration in your family or through your family. It can also be a home that you create yourself. Many times you protect the family. You also find the light through family. They become the owner of immovable property, which also adds to the assets that they possess. You do everything to help your friends and you are very supportive for them. In the family, you can often be seen as a person who gives positivity and light - you can also bring the family together. You are very attached to yout home and dream of a beautiful domestic life that you can make for yourself to feel secure. The way you evolve and make things happen later in life would be pretty much connected with your memories.

💜Sun in 5th house- the sun is at home here, so your energy here is very good and positive. You can always find happiness, joy - you know how to create an environment for you that suits you best. You find your motivation and light through your hobbies, joy, playfulness, childhood, romance. You may be very attached to your childhood and want to always have it with you. People always notice you and your talnets too. Usually these people become recognizable. In love with sports and very dramatic. Because they love life and children, they can make the great party organizers for the birthdays of little ones. With this placement, you should be careful not to become too self-absorbed.

🛁Sun in 6th house- you find your light through routine, health, body. It is important that you are connected to your body and that you love yourself the way you are. Because the sun here can become critical of your body. Which means you can find yourself through imperfection. You do things that are healthy for you and your body. At the same time, you can find a lot of good energy and inspiration through animals. Your ego can be noticed many times at work. Maybe it's better if you do something you see passion in it. You can inspire people through a healthy lifestyle or sports.

🧸Sun in 7th house- you find light through the relationships you have with people. It is important for you to get along with everyone and you like to inspire others. Relationship with this one person is also important to you, perhaps this is what complements your personality. Sometimes it can be difficult for you to be alone or to find inspiration outside of it. You can also be strongly influenced by others’ opinions on you, be it from your partner or someone from work. You are very proud of your negotiating skills and ability to bring the peace everywhere. You can also be a person who motivates others with your relationship (and that everyone can achieve a beautiful relationship).

🌊Sun in 8th house- your true personality is hidden from others and you usually find light through things that are deep, hidden, behind the scenes. Your ego shows itself many times when you are jealous or when someone notices others before you. You you may find yourself driven to understand the depths of your own nature so that you come to terms with the power you hold within. You like power and control. You could be fascinated by the workings of psyche, helping to create emotional transformation and lasting change. Self acceptance then comes from seeing others in their true light. You can find your will to live deep within yourself.

⛵️🎸Sun in 9th house- you find inspiration in travels. You see life as full of opportunities and new things. Places can take you over and you can always find your favorite place. Many times you can look for a place under the sun. You are a person who can teach others a lot and can tell many interesting stories. You get to know the most things when you travel, and that's also good for your soul. Places by the water or places that take you over are the best for you. Your belief is best seen through your passion for life. You can be a very good teacher to others and help them find faith and inspiration. Sun here indicates that you will understand who you are by exploring the world. Intuitive about deeper meanings and following what life has to offer for the soul, they will look to experience with people and situations that make them develop as philosophers.

☁️Sun in 10th house-you may feel motivated to fulfill your ambitions and so will drawn toward accepting responsibility or embracing executive positions. It can be harder to find motivation, inspiration and light - but it comes later in life. Many times you look for yourself through the audience, your parents or your father. You want to find the personality that suits you best. Sun here motivates you to have a strong influence and to get recognized while you’re also satisfying your thirst for power and make your dreams come true.

🪷Sun in 11th house-you are most motivated through your dreams, goals, friends. You find a lot of happiness and inspiration through friends. You are also very open minded. When you don’t have the same interest as someone, you prefer to leave that person behind. Because you adapt almost instantly to new groups and situations, you’ll fit in everywhere. These people also post a lot on social networks. Usually these are some things with which they inspire others. Maybe when people see your profile they feel better and you give them hope.

🩵Sun in 12th house- you find inspiration through everything that is hidden from others. Your personality is hidden from others and you like it because that way you can feel the safest. You are more productive when you do things alone and when you do them at night. Belief can be found through spirituality, subconsciousness, dance, music, art, or something related to your thoughts. Meditation and yoga are also good here. Sun is the representative of the ego and identity, this house is among other things, about limits and the line between what’s real and what’s completely strange. This means natives with this aspect are confused about who they are and about life altogether. Finding yourself and becoming determined, confident and starting to believe in yourself and your abilities is the key here.

✨Ig- bekylibra✨

-Rebekah🫧🌊🩵

[wilwheaton]

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (pt 2)

Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 3.6k)

Summary: Despite learning about Aemond cheating on you, life has never been sweeter. Who knew being so bad could be so good.

Warnings: manipulation, mentions/allusions to pregnancy issues, mentions of self harm

A/N: first, I just have to say thank you for the response to part 1. I truly had no idea it would get the reception it would. Thank you to everyone who followed me as well. I hope I can continue to produce stuff y’all like. I’m hoping to write more hotd stuff, Aemond and non Aemond related. I plan on taking a small hiatus but will be back around thanksgiving weekend. I will be writing on/off during that time but just away for a trip/the holiday. If you have any hotd requests my inbox is always open. I would try to get them out either before my hiatus next week (11/16) or after it ends (11/26). I’m pretty open to writing any character, though I will warn you I’m way more fascinated by the greens so they just come easier to me. Anyway please reblog, like, and follow if you read anything you enjoy 🫶🏽🫶🏽. And some housekeeping: in this Aegon is not r*pist who enjoys watching children fight (the hotd are truly…. not right for the cartoonishly evil way they wrote Aegon). He’s just petty and neglected. Also the timing of this is different from the books bc Aemond meets Alys pre dance.

Fmo masterlist

Blog Masterlist

A bastard Strong. The irony is not lost on you. Your straight-laced husband fucking someone who is the complete opposite you. Older, no kids, no title, and no duty to uphold. At this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, it makes your blood boil in the most delicious way. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize how you’ve been going through the motions; endlessly sleepwalking, hoping one day Aemond would come around. It woke you up to how much he’s taken advantage of you. He sees your kindness, and aversion to standing out as a weakness. Something he can manipulate and twist like one of his daggers.

The both of you must have forgetten where you came from. A rich, well respected house. The only daughter of smart, albeit conniving, family that knows how to get what they want. Your family didn’t have dragons or absurd ideas of exceptionalism to help you gain power. You’ve learned that inflated egos and prideful indulges can cloud Targaryen judgment. A trait you hope skips your children.

Shame on you for thinking Aemond would be different. Shame on him for the carefully curated facade.

All you do after Larys Strong comes to you the first time is think. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many options in front of you. Your mother’s words about patience run through your head. Keeping your wits is key. Play your hand too quickly, and you lose all leverage. You have Daella and the babe in your belly to think about. You stood pat in the beginning; Lord Strong simply relaying messages to you. You make sure Alys gets the letter Aemond wrote, and the ones after that. Lord Larys makes sure you get the details of each letter exchanged.

When the days grew lonely, and your body aches because of the babe in your stomach, you think about the letters. The declarations of love and recounts of lust filled meetups simmer in your head, but it’s the mentions of you that makes the anger sizzle and crackle. It makes the guilt you feel wash away.

You question if the rumor is true. That his Alys is a witch. Does her magic allow her to see the way Helaena can? Fuzzy premonitions and dreams that only make sense after they happen; a gift and a curse. A part of you wishes it to be true. You hope while your stomach stirs with untold truths, hers stirs with regret. Maybe the pain that runs through you leaves an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. That she can’t quite put her finger on it, but she feels you.

You wonder if when Aemond prays, he asks the Father to protect him… to protect her. The same way when you pray, you ask the Warrior to help you find the courage to destroy him.

It started with a bruise. A bruise that you don’t even remember how you got. Maybe one of those things you just wake up with. But it’s there, on the inside part of your left arm. It’s starting to fade but an otherwise noticeable bruise that stands out when you wear something with shorter sleeves.

The idea doesn’t come to you till you see the curiosity in Alicent’s eyes when you absentmindedly rub the bruise while asking if she’s seen Aemond. It’s only you two in the walkway; an unusually quiet day at the Red Keep. Her eyes go from it to the far away look in your eyes. It makes her tilt her head in thought.

“No dear, I haven’t,” her eyes go back to the scratch. “Are you doing alright? I know for some, the second babe can be even harder than the first.”

You look down at your arm, and something just clicks.

“I’m fine,” you start, then you make your voice tremble a bit. “I will be fine. I think I’m just tired.”

You give her a strained smile, and she returns one that tells you she doesn’t believe you. You can feel her big brown eyes burning into your back when you walk past her towards your chambers. There could be two thoughts in her head: you did this yourself or someone else did it to you. Either way, her son’s sweet pregnant lady wife is not doing well, and her son is nowhere to be found. Queen Alicent is one of the smartest, if not the smartest, person you know. She sees the change in her son; the change in the dynamic between Aemond and you.

It hits you. It would be too easy to physically harm Aemond. Though the idea of taking the blade that hangs from his hips and putting it to his throat has crossed your mind more times than you’re proud of. It would be too easy to get Larys to kill Alys. You don’t want to give Aemond the satisfaction of having his whore’s blood on your hands.

Where’s the fun in killing when your rage could be channeled into something more… methodical.

Under all that false bravado is the little boy who got picked on for not having a dragon. To break the man means bringing out that little boy. A truly broken man can’t love anyone. Isolation, and self hatred. What a gorgeous combination for your dear husband.

If this is going to work you need to up the ante.

So, you write. If Aemond and Alys can document their love, you can document your pain. You sent your lady in waiting out to get a blank book from one of the maesters. The color dyed cow skin feels smooth under your hands. There needs to be a slow build. Each day you grow closer and closer to shattering. Whoever reads it needs to know Aemond brought you to this place. He is the villain in the story of the poor, innocent wife that did nothing but carry his children and try to love him.

It will read like a diary, but to you it is a creation. A mixture of truth and imagination. A manifestation of pent up feelings. Purging and revenge all rolled up into one. You make sure to mention how terrified you are for your safety, and for you children’s safety. How an angry or disenchanted Aemond is nothing to toy with, especially if he has a bastard witch on his side. How maybe life would be better for Aemond if you just weren’t around.

But this fading bruise isn’t enough. Neither is just having a diary that will be discovered in due time. A deep cut, a dark bruise, half hazardously placed hand prints.. now that could work.

There’s something cathartic about the pain you feel when the dagger slices through your skin. The blood is so red and warm. It smears so smoothly on the page. Blood on your dress, cloth pressed to the wound, and wandering the halls is how Ser Criston finds you. You notice the worried, confused look in his eyes when you stutter out an ‘I don’t know’ when he asks what happened.

As the maester tends to your wound, you notice how Alicent and Criston stand in the corner of Alicent’s quarters. They occasionally glance at you while they whisper to each other. You recognize the familiar crinkle she gets in her forehead when she’s upset. All her children do it too.

“Sweetling, we both think it might be a good idea to give you your own knight of the kingsguard,” she sits next you. “Just to help you and… keep an eye on you during this vulnerable time.”

You blink. Not one mention of her son. But it’s clear to see how Ser Criston is with his queen. Submissive, and utterly devoted. Having someone like that is an asset. So, you smile weakly and nod. The more people who see you in this way, the better.

Ser Quinton Throne was quiet in the beginning. As if he was scared to be in your space. A far cry from the rambunctious knight his brother, Rickard, is. Moving past the initial shyness, he is attentive and even indulges Daella’s fascination with him. Despite you telling her not to, she would always run up to him, tugging on his white cloak to get his attention. She likes having someone around just as much as you.

The distance between Aemond and you had started to carry over into his relationship with Daella. Kids are more intuitive than adults give them credit for. Your throat felt tight when you daughter finally asks where father goes. You lie; it comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would. It makes you think if this is how easy it is for Aemond to lie to you. Or for everyone to not gloss over the clear problems in your life.

You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having a man around, even if it was his job. It was Aemond’s job to do right by you, and he couldn’t do that. A man carrying out his orders with a warm smile was welcomed. The comfort of having someone who sweared his allegiances to you, and only you, and intended on keeping them.

You look from your embroidery loop to see Daella and Ser Quinton sword fighting with wooden swords. It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day. Perfect to get much needed fresh air, and apparently going to battle.

“She’s gotten quite good.”

Like a storm rolling in to ruin a sunny day, your husband’s tone is ever cold and distant. You hate the uncomfortable energy that radiates when he sits next to you.

“Yes, she has,” you stare at the Lysene lilac flower starting to come to life on your loop. “He’s good with her as well.”

You know he won’t like you saying that. He hates Quinton being around, and he especially hates how Daella taken a liking to him. Aemond scoffs and mumbles something under his breath you can’t make out.

“It’s just lovely having real protector around,” you continue to push your luck. “Someone so attentive and… strong.“

You look at with his a sickening sweet smile. He opens his mouth to say something, a complaint or rude comment since those seem to be the only reasons he talks to you, but he is interrupted by Daella yelling out for him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters to you, getting up.

“Oh you’ll actually be here long enough for that?”

The words slip out your mouth and it makes him turn to glare at you. It reminds you of the gossip you heard about him when you first arrived at court. How cold the king’s second son can be. It should’ve been a warning to you.

Quinton takes it as his cue to leave them be; you know he can sense how much Aemond doesn’t appreciate his presence. You watch as Daella clings to her father. As selfish as it sounds, you patiently wait for the day she too realizes he can’t be depended on.

“My mother used to make me embroider,” your knight’s voice breaks you out of looking on. “Something about being dangerous with a needle is just as great as being dangerous with a sword.”

You take a good look at him. If Aemond is the moon - ethereal, mysterious, and always changing, then Quinton is the sun. Bright, forward facing, and shines brighter with time. His choppy black hair, beard, and warm standing in contrast to your husband’s Targaryen features.

“Sounds like a smart woman,” you smile as he sits next to you.

His eyes linger on your embroidery work before traveling to you right arm. The blade wound was just starting to scab and scar over. His first day on duty was marked by seeing your husband give a long lecture on safety and ‘using your brain’ after Aemond saw your wound. The blade cut wasn’t under pure circumstances, but the look of resentment on your face was real. He saw that. He’s never asked what really happened to your arm.

“How are you my lady,” he whispers. You told him he can address you by your name, but he still insist on the formal names especially around others. “Is the babe giving you trouble.”

Ser Quinton, Helaena, and Alicent are the only people that seem to care about your well being, on top of the babe’s. Aemond concern went making sure the babe was fine to just not asking all together. It’s better that way, you think. You don’t think you’d be able to take fake concern about your little ‘mistake’.

“My bladder is being pushed on, I’m finding clumps of my hair on my pillow, and Maester Oliver told me this baby will weigh more than Daella did,” you reply lightly. “But other than that I’m doing fine.”

This pregnancy had knocked you on your ass. You’re sure the stress and thoughts that consume you don’t help. You know how it feels to come into a fracture family; it makes you feel awful for the babe in your stomach. Your parents tried hard, frankly too hard, to pretend things were good between them. Trying to prove their union was more than a duty for their houses. Till this day, you don’t know what’s worse: knowing they didn’t share that love or the years you watched them fake everything. They had ambitions, and to carry them out there needed to be an appearance of an united front. You took your father’s lead, knowing he always tried to have your best interest. The relationship you have with your mother often ebbing and flowing, especially since your marriage.

When you ravened your mother about your pregnancy troubles, she tells you that this is your responsibility to your husband. Harsh and utterly true. You don’t know if your father ever had indiscretions like Aemond, but you know she’d never plot the way you do. Her calculating nature showing up in different ways. Instead of going after him, she chose to focus on elevating you.

Her and Queen Alicent remind you of each other. Devoted to a fault. A victim who had no other choice but to fall in line.You pray for the both of them. Pray that they find peace with the sacrifices they’ve made. Pray that you never get that far. A shell of yourself. Duty, responsibility, cleaning up others’ messes - what a dull way to live.

“Once he’s out, I’m sure it will all be worth it,” says Ser Quinton, voice not wavering.

He’s trying to be kind, mentioning the working theory in the castle that you’re having a boy. You try to smile at the thought. It’s hard to believe that. Plan or not, you still have to know the truth about the father of your children. There is hole left in your heart about that. Him disrespecting you is one thing, but his words pertaining to your unborn child is another. A sudden spurt of anger rushes over you thinking about everything. It makes you stand abruptly.

“I’m feeling tired,” you watch as Daella pretend to stab her father with her sword. Her giggles ringing out when he reaches to pick her up. The dichotomy of Aemond Targaryen will always fascinate you as much as it terrifies you. How he manages to smile in her face, and lie to yours is quite a sight to watch. “I’ll send Margret out to get Daella.”

Waiting for the perfect moment is not going to work. There no time like the present.

The stiff upper lip of this family is something you noticed the moment you stepped into their presence. It’s seeped into the way they gatekeep a dying Viserys. Alicent is cold and collected in the most beautiful way. A sharp glittering icicle. A pretty rose littered with thorns to keep you admiring from a distance. Even Helaena, who you consider a friend, keeps certain things close to the chest. It’s better to keep the full truth away from her.

But there’s Aegon.

Pitiful, and lonely Prince Aegon. A drunk with a bad attitude. But he’s also the most painfully self-aware person you know. There will be times that you and him exchange looks, as you are in on the joke. That everything is a farce. One day someone will just come up and say it’s all been a bad dream. You think it’s the reason why he frustrates Aemond so much. The teasing on top of him never taking the Targaryen name seriously. Aegon spends his days trying to drink and fuck his way out of thinking about his life. Stuck in a royal cuckold. The first born son of a king with nothing to show for it.

He’s messy, nosy, and so openly brash. He’s your missing chess piece. The perfect pawn.

You leave the diary around places in the castle you know he will be. It’s not until you conveniently leave it in the play room where all Daella, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys all frequent that you know he’s taken the bait. His lilac eyes seem to follow you whenever you two are in the same room. It takes days for him to confront you; book in hand and wry look on his face.

“Is it true? Everything you wrote?”

You stroke your belly while looking at him, a small smile on your face.

“Does it matter that if it is,” you tilt your head, and his eyes glitter with something you’re not used to seeing.

He mirrors your head tilt with a full blown smile on his face this time. It’s like a bright light after weeks of darkness. A person who also sees through the bullshit that enraptures once you call yourself a Targaryen.

“I greatly underestimated you my good sister,” he whispers. You know he’s thinking about his own words. ‘Pretty but horribly dull’.

“That’s fine,” you motion to the seat next to you. “You can make it up to me.”

Queen Alicent stands facing the fire. Aegon, Helaena, and Ser Quinton off to the side. All of them standing across from where you sit. Aegon gives you a knowing look while Quinton’s eyes are filled with pity and anger. Pity for his princess, anger towards his prince. Helaena looks like she wants to say something.

“I… do not know what to say,” her voice is strained with pain. You know this hurts for her. The image of the perfect son being destroyed. The pedestal she put him on crumbling before him.

You’ve gotten better at crying after Aegon told you tears will be necessary to sell it. It’s an automatic response now. The perfectly timed emotion that breaks like flood gates when Alicent holds out the diary. You say you’re embarrassed. That you never meant for anyone to read it, especially not anyone in the family. Aegon gets to be the concerned good brother. He rubbed your back, while his mother called for Helaena. She needed to know who else knew about this.

“I can say what everyone is thinking,” Aegon pipes up. “He’s a fucking cunt.”

“Aegon.”

His mother turns to glare at him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Walking around with that self righteousness just to fuck a Strong,” he scoffs. “Calling his child a mistake?”

The words makes Alicent sigh, and squeeze her eyes shut. Helaena continues to play with her fingers with a quizzical look in her eye. If Aegon of all people can judge, the actions must be bad.

“This all my fault,” you decide to take it up a notch. Your breath catches. “I must’ve done something to deserve this.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” Alicent walks over and sits next to you, pulling you into her chest. “None of this is your fault.

“I just don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you continue. That part is true; what the seven hells did you do to deserve this marriage? “This, and the baby, and missing my family. I’m just so unhappy here.”

Alicent strokes your hair. You can feel her heart thumping in her chest. You can tell she’s upset and scared. Scared for what your unhappiness means. You’re a risk now.

“Maybe… my father can come and visit. He hasn’t been here since Daella was born.”

After you got married, your parents left court to tend to your house. They felt their work was done. That the marriage was as far as their political ambitions can go. They visit from time to time to see their granddaughter but normally you’re the one who has to make the trip.

“Of course,” you can see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m sure the Hand would love to pick his brain on some things. Your father has always been so kind and helpful”

Queen Alicent is as predictable as she is smart. Your dad thought your marriage would help him get a seat in the small council. When no offer came, his ego was bruised. If your marriage couldn’t, maybe a desperate Alicent can. The idea of sending a raven about the news makes you have to bite back a smile. An ally in an castle full of strangers.

“I’ll speak to Aemond about this,” she nods to herself. “You don’t need to be worrying about this in your condition.”

The disappointment is clear in smooth voice. Before you can reply with a thank you, Helaena finally piped up.

“A baby’s green eyes spurs brighter skies.”

She mutters it before looks at you curious. You look down at your swollen belly, feeling confused. Neither Aemond or you have green eyes. You try to push the sinking feeling out of your stomach. Even Aegon, who normally ignores Helaena’s cryptic language, has perked up a little.

You take a look at Ser Quinton… his eyes as green as spring grass.

Ok this is my first one doing a tag list, so I’m sorry for those I’ve missed. It only let me do 50??? Idk it’s it’s different on desktop or I’m doing something wrong. Hopefully I can find a more conducive way for this. I also only tagged people who specifically asked: @afro-hispwriter @crispmarshmallow @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @its-sam-allgood @lol-im-done @grey-water-colors @sassysaxsolo @justsumstufff @lilithskywalker @dc-marvel-girl96 @bekky06 @claudie-080102 @cloudroomblog @shelbythequeen @crazylokonugget @solacestyles @instantpeachpeace @katyadenauer @nsainmoonchild @deeeeexx @iwanttohitmyself @rosa-berberifolia @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @princessmiaelicia @bregarc @castellomargot @thesadvampire @chaosmagiq @icarusignite @happinessinthebeing @flavorofsalt @wishfulwithwine @slut-for-eddie-munson @rosaryos @mistalli @inana-mm @winxschester @papery-maniac @nolongereviliwantlove @fultimefangirl @missusnora @skinmittensgoblin @duckworthbean @b00kdiary @chiyausu @alexandra-001 @tachibubu @juneisreading @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @verycollectivecreator

[mvltisstuff]

Could i request for a Conrad fisher X reader where reader has a younger sibling who gives her a hard time and her parents favour her younger sibling more. It's the reader's bday on the same day as belly's and her family doesn't get her anything and they don't bother with an excuse either and say they don't really care abt her so it doesn't matter. So Conrad comforts her later and if u don't mind u could include some smut at the end?

(this is my situation rn lololol but without Conrad to comfort me😭)

matilda - c.f

summary: request

conrad fisher x reader

a/n: i’m so sorry love, sorry this is a few days late but you are so loved and appreciated no matter what, hope this makes you happy today <3

it’s been a recurring theme for most of y/n’s life. the overheard quotes about the older sibling had eventually become a reality. they didn’t even wait for y/n to try and live up to them. instead, they just accepted that their daughter wasn’t as good as the rest of their children.

as upsetting as it is, kids experience it too much. y/n experiences it every day, so when she realized it wasn’t normal, that’s when it started to hurt more every year.

this day was supposed to be different. she was so excited, turning 18 and finally being an adult. free of her parents if she wanted to be. she thought that maybe, just maybe, her parents would think of her for a day, and make it about it. alas, the second she woke up and walked into the kitchen, y/n’s hopes were shut down.

“y/n, can you take y/b/n to practice? i’m going out with sharon today,” her mom said, barely even looking at her.

“uh, i’m leaving in a bit, remember?” she speaks, trying to sound as polite as possible. “the fishers invited me over for today.”

“hon, we get it,” her dad talks next, peering up over his glasses and newspaper of the town. “but, to some point, it’s just another day. just do what your mother asked.”

y/n looks at her little siblings at the table, messing around and receiving no repercussions. she still remembers when that was her. playing with her parents, happier than she ever was again. she loves her siblings to death, but she loves herself, too. y/n deserves more than she’s been given, so she confides. she drives her brother to whatever practice, wishing him luck as he whispers a happy birthday, then jumping out of the car to see his friends.

she’s already dressed up for the party for belly. the fishers had welcomed her with open arms, even having decorations and sweets for her on the table. everyone figured she’d have something going on at home, but oh, they were so wrong. she didn’t receive a single birthday message from the people who gave her life, so did it matter? even if she didn’t believe it, at least the fishers knew she was worth it. she was dressed in one of her best outfits, a simple dress with small flowers printed over. she had small wedges and her hair was done neatly. she felt pretty, she is pretty.

she walked into the house, belly hearing the door open first. she skips toward, engulfing y/n in a huge hug. “y/n!” she squeals. “happy birthday!”

“oh, belly! happy birthday to you, you look so cute!”

“are you kidding? your man’s gonna go wild when he sees you!” she whispers, making y/n blush toward the end.

“belly, stop!” she nudges. “he’s not my man… yet.”

they giggle together before moving back into the kitchen where y/n greets susannah and laurel, along with the rest of the boys. conrad stands up first, in a heartbeat. he walks over, almost lifting y/n off the ground in a hug.

“hey! happy birthday!” he tells her, excitedly as he pulls away. jeremiah comes piling in next, saying his words to the person he considers a sister.

“didn’t y/m/n have anything planned?” susannah asked from the pure kindness in her heart.

“oh,” y/n mutters. “we, uh, we did something yesterday.”

conrad can tell when y/n lies. he can read her like a book at this point. he’s spent so long fanboying over her that he knows what she’s feeling. when she’s sad, excited, pissed, he knows. it pulls at his heart when he can sense the disappointment in her voice. he starts to get more alarmed with every drink she takes throughout the day. she’s not even a big drinker, never really taking an offer. now he’s positive somethings wrong.

if y/n’s parents didn’t care about her, they don’t care if she drinks, right? she’s with her friends, she’s allowed to. plus. it’ll take the edge off of the internal wounds her parents have left her with. her feelings on the whole matter start to disintegrate for a while, until belly’s cake comes out and is handed to her. it’s so nicely done, perfect detail and so much love. they put time into her cake and party, and y/n can’t help the jealousy rising up. she vividly remembers every one of her younger siblings birthdays. all of them having their friends and a party, while y/n was just locked in her room on her birthday. the presents and the cheesy grins from everyone were overwhelming every year. she couldn’t help but think about what it could be like with her real family. maybe they could love her as much as she deserves, but in reality, they won’t. they can, but they chose not to, which hurts even more.

y/n stumbles around on the balcony, around people while carefully savoring every last drop of whatever is in her can. she’s probably had too many, but she doesn’t care. it’s almost like it’s reversed itself now. she watches belly open all of her presents and receive hugs and kisses, and the lump in her throat becomes thicker. she thinks of the alcohol as her enemy now, just bringing back the thoughts in her sober mind.

it’s not until everyone hears the clicking of y/n’s heels on the pavement that they notice her walking away. her hand is swiping away the loose tears and everyone looks at conrad. if there’s anyone y/n wants to see, it’s him. they’ve been in love for so long, it’s almost painful to watch. as she walks away, blurry vision from the alcohol and the tears, she tries to grab another can from the box before a hand stops her.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” conrad says, gently taking it out of her hand and landing it back in the box.

“oh, great. more fuckin’ judgment,” she retorts, making conrad’s face contort.

“hey, what’s going on? you’ve been off all day.”

“i am, perfectly fine,” y/n slurs. conrad places a hand on her shoulder, and takes them to sit on the steps. his arm is wrapped around her, the other one gripping her hand.

“i know you’re not. it’s ok to not be ok,” he looks at her nose scrunch and her cheeks turn red again. “hey, hey, don’t cry, you’re alright.”

“no,” she weeps out, putting her head in her hands. “i’m a mess! i don’t know what to do, i cant make it any better and i’ve been trying for 14 fucking years!”

“hold on,” he keeps his voice low. “what do you mean?”

“my parents don’t give a shit. they haven’t since y/b/n was born and they didn’t even bother about me anymore,” conrad pulls her into his arms, leaning back as her teardrops soak into his shirt. “i didn’t do anything for this, and belly’s being loved unconditionally without having to fight for it. and i feel like a bitch getting upset over it but-“

“absolutely not. don’t say that ever again. you don’t deserve anything they’re giving you. anything they’ve said to you is a fucking lie. i know who you are. you’re the most perfect, beautiful person i’ve ever met, inside and out. you don’t have to prove anything to them, because they don’t deserve your amazingness,” he speaks to her. it’s nothing but the truth, and nothing he would ever hesitate to say. “and i will spend forever trying to prove to you that you’re nothing but beautiful a beautiful person.”

y/n looks up at him, only bursting into more tears as he laughs a bit. “oh, my god, conrad. i love you, so much. i know i’m drunk but i mean it more than anything.” she’s felt nothing like she does now. she’s never had someone accept her so quickly and with so much appreciation. she feels like she can do nothing but cry and just love on him.

“i’m glad,” he begins again. “because i love you, too. no matter what your parents say or do. they don’t define you.”

and in this moment, for the first time in a long time, y/n knows someone loves her. and he’s not just saying it for comfort. she doesn’t need her parents to be loved. if they can’t do that, there will forever be someone out there who loves her just as much. she knows she’s enough, and that’s enough.

[sailor-aviator]

By Its Cover: Prologue

By Its Cover: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Historical inaccuracies, Regency period, Period related drama, Talks of judgement, Period typical sexism, Talks of marriage, Death of a parent, Talks of making a debut, Reader's feelings are hurt, light angst, some fluff. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

Winter gave way to spring as quickly as one rumor gave way to another. Public opinion changed as quickly as the seasons, as far as you were concerned. Your whole life was spent in the thralls of high society, your entire life scrutinized by the judgmental lords and ladies of the Island before you could even walk or talk.

You had earned your reputation as a rather odd girl fairly young not quite seven years. Where the other girls were interested in dolls and hair ribbons, you found yourself enraptured by the world around you. On more than one occasion, you received a tongue lashing from your nanny as you tracked mud through the house after one of your many excursions into the garden, your mother heaving a tired sigh as you argued the merits of fresh air and stimulating your endless supply of curiosity.

“My darling,” she’d say pointedly, giving you one of her signature looks that reeked of motherly disapproval and exasperation, “while I find the fresh air and time in the garden as stimulating as the next person, it is unbecoming of a lady, dearest.”

You had recounted the tale to your father later that evening, the older man sitting at his desk with his feet propped up on the top of the wooden surface as he thumbed through a page of one of his many novels.

“I just don’t understand, Papa,” you muttered, your hair hanging from where you sat upside down on the chaise. “Why can Will go about doing as he pleases while I am to be tied down by all of these ridiculous rules?”

Your father had merely chuckled, marking his page before setting his book down to look at you.

“My darling Bug,” he smiled, taking his feet down and opening his arms wide to you. “Come here.”

You obeyed, righting yourself on the couch before standing to walk over to him. Bug had been bestowed upon you as your moniker well before you could remember. Your father had said that you earned the nickname once you were old enough to crawl all over the place, getting into things that you most decidedly shouldn’t. Your siblings had said it was because you were a pest.

Your father grasped your upper arms gently, the smile on his face as affectionate as always.

“William doesn’t get to do as he pleases,” he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you pouted at him. “He will one day be lord earl of this estate, and as such he will take on many duties that will prevent him from doing a great deal of things. Indeed, he will take on many things that will see him as constrained as you.”

“I don’t believe you,” you grumbled, scowling up at him. Your father tilted his head back with a booming laugh, patting your head before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Nevermind all of that now, my little Lady Bug,” he hummed. “I’ve found a new story for you, would you like to read it?”

Your father was a fixture in your life, encouraging your love of learning perhaps more than he should have given the expectations set forth by society for you. Your mother saw no problem with your need for intellectual pursuits, but often grew exasperated at your clear lack of regard for decorum and stereotypical ladylike hobbies. Your elder sisters were the pinnacle of what proper ladies should look like in society, and you often found yourself being compared to them, much to your chagrin.

North Island, or the Island for short, was the nickname given to the group of nobles and upperclass that made up the elite, wealthy families that dictated the standards of polite society - the society you had the misfortune of being born into along with your elder siblings.

Your brother, William, was the pride of your family. He was a handsome, strong man that commanded the room with his very presence. He was jovial, charismatic, and intelligent by all accounts, and very popular amongst the other ladies of the Island.

Lydia was the second eldest after William, and was the the spitting image of your mother, with beautiful features that left all the men on the Island giving her longing looks. It was the Earl Reuben Fitch that won her hand in the end only seven seasons ago, and now they visited once in a while with their three children in tow.

Theodosia, or Theo for short, was the second eldest daughter, having entered into society only one year after Lydia, she was the prize to be won with her charming and elegant demeanor. Not quite as beautiful as Lydia, she made up for it with her wit, having won the affection of a viscount that same year.

Georgiana, or Georgie as your family was prone to call her, was only a year older than you and had made her debut the year prior. She had not settled for any of the men of the Island the year prior, setting her sights high and determining that the best had yet to come.

You rounded out the lot as the youngest, the strange, little sister that no one knew what to do with more often than not. The ladies of the Island often remarked that your head was too full of ideals, unsuitable for a lady of your noble family, and they lamented how your mother and father must have grown lax in their child rearing when it came to you. Or perhaps you were a hopeless cause. The reason varied day to day it seemed.

You were quite content with how your life was playing out. You had your books, the garden, and your dearest friend, Natasha Trace. Natasha, or Nat, was about a year older than yourself, having made her debut the same year as Georgiana.

“I’ll be happy once you make your debut,” she had said to you one night. “I won’t feel so alone at all the balls then.”

You had frowned at her words, the very thought of entering society growing less and less appealing by the day.

“Why must I debut?” You had asked your mother not too long after. “I’m the fourth daughter of an earl. Surely it is not that important that I marry.”

“Dearest,” your mother had sighed, setting her needlework down to look at you, “marriage is not all work. As the fourth daughter, you have more freedom to marry whom you would like. Your father would have wanted you to marry.”

“Father would have wanted me to do what made me happy,” you had muttered, turning to leave the room before she could respond.

Your father had passed years prior when you were only eight, and his memory still haunted the halls of the manner. William had taken up his title as earl, seeing to the estate with the help of your mother until he was capable of doing things on his own. Ten years your senior, he had done his best to fill in the holes your father’s absence had left behind, though he still needed reminding that he was, in fact, not your father.

“You’ll be making your debut this year,” he reminded you, scribbling away in the family ledger, casting you a spare glance as you scowled down at him.

“Please don’t make that face,” he sighed, setting his quill down to give you his undivided attention. “And please don’t make this more difficult than need be. Every young lady makes her debut at some point or another.”

“Why must I debut?” You frowned, your lips quickly forming into a smirk as a thought struck you. “Can I not live out my days on my own with you to support me?”

“You may not,” Williams replied flatly. “Bug, I know it can be nerve wrecking-”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you interjected.

“But, it’s a part of growing up. You’ll find a husband who will make you reasonably happy and live out your days with him,” he finished. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you clasped your hands together.

“William,” you began, “who would want me? The whole Island has deemed me strange, the black sheep of our family. You would really put me through this embarrassment for the sake of tradition?”

“I think you’ll find yourself surprised at who may want you,” William countered. “Many men on the Island are in need of a wife, and some may be willing to settle for someone of your nature given the right circumstances.”

A beat passed between you two, your heart stalling in your chest at his words.

“Settle?” You laughed quietly, but there was no humor to be found in your tone. “I am something to be settled for then?”

You hated how small you sounded in that moment. Of course, you didn’t care for what others thought of you. No, you were above all of that. Still, the thought that your brother saw you as some secondhand prize, something no one would seek out, hurt, and you willed the stinging tears behind your eyes to go away as you schooled your features.

William cursed under his breath, moving to stand, his face apologetic as he rounded the desk.

“Bug, that’s not what I meant-”

“No,” you snapped, sniffly slightly as you fought to compose yourself. “You’ve said quite enough already, brother. You’ve made perfectly clear where I stand as it is.”

He moved to say something, but you waved him off, already turning to leave the study.

“You’re busy,” you said flatly, “I’ll leave you to your business.”

William called out your name, but you ignored him, walking briskly down the hall and to the solace of your family’s library.

If you were something to be settled for, then you would at least make the most of what little freedom you had left.

A/N: Ahhhh!! The long awaited, much requested Regency!AU is finally here! Here's our first taste of Bug and Jake, so what do we think? As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please go follow my sideblog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[dejwrites]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ make up⠀ 〳 ⠀ j.todd ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) even after a harsh argument, he still finds his way back at your door.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reading discretion is advised: female reader, her/she pronouns, female anatomy, written with black reader in mind, same y/n & jason from this one shot, profanity, angst (implied argument between reader and jason), mentions of bruises/cuts, jason meets reader's parents in this, him asking whose is it was extremely self indulgent ok, pet names (baby, listen you guys can't unclench this pet name out my hand when it comes to jason), mentions of children, reader and jason make up after an argument in reader's childhood bedroom lol, soft smut yay, oral (f.receiving), missionary position, i guess slight mating press positon, breeding kink (try to unclench this kink away from and i'll bite you), wc: 3.6k, minors dni pls

YOUR ARGUMENTS NEVER DRAGGED OUT LIKE THIS. They were always little and ended with mumbled apologies and hush kisses after heated words. However, this argument left the most hideous knot in your stomach whenever your mind wandered off to think about it. You never went over two days not speaking to your boyfriend Jason, it was never in the both of your nature to not at least hear each other voice. Even if it was for a split second, the two of you always found a way to talk to each other. Perhaps that's why these past couple of days have been rough for you.

A simple disagreement about communication was an explosive time bomb that caused you to question where your own relationship stood at the moment. You found your eyes watering thinking about how upset Jason was before storming out of your apartment. The sound of the door slamming still played in your head like a horrendous loop of a chilling Halloween tune. One day turned into two days and two days turned into three—still no word of him. Your pride not wanting to message him since you weren't even sure he understood why you were so frustrated at him.

"Hey sweetheart, I can't wait until you and Jason get here. I know you said, he didn't have any specific request for dinner tonight, but I think I went a little overboard" You remembered your mom saying before you left to venture towards your childhood home.

You had forgotten all about Jason meeting your parents this weekend. You couldn't even come up with an excuse on why he wasn't coming. If you told them that you and he were taking a break, your parents would most likely not like him. So, here you were showing up with just yourself and some excuse on behalf of Jason. Maybe you can say his grandfather got sick? Had to babysit his younger brother? Anything to avoid any other curious questions from your parents. Praying that within your time of not seeing them for a while, they would no longer be able to read you like a book similar to when you were a teenager.

However, the time has come, and here you were sitting at the dinner table—alone and with silence swallowing you and your parents up bit by bit. You sipped at your wine nervously before it was your mom addressing the elephant in the room of your missing boyfriend that you spent the past couple of weeks gloating about how excited you were for him to finally meet them. Your mother's lips parted to speak, but the sound of the doorbell interjected in her concerning words for you.

"I'll get it," Your father firmly said before he's standing to go answer the door.

As soon as your father was out of sight, your mom leaned over a bit to get a closer look at you. She took note of the way you were avoiding her direct eye contact, "Sweetie, did something happen between you and Jason?" Her hands reach over to caress your hand.

"You know you can speak to me about anything," She comforts you like the way she did during your first high school breakup.

You were trying so hard not to cry. Your eyes were aching to let a tear finally come tumbling down your cheeks simply because you missed him. But the sound of a familiar laugh causes your head to snap towards the entry of the dining room. There he stood with a black eye a bruised lip and that stupid grin he always gives you. Jason Todd.

"I apologize for being late," Jason says as he placed a kiss on the top of your head before taking the seat next to you at the dinner table.f

You could tell that your mom was suspicious of Jason, her eyes darting from you who had plastered a smile on your face, and back to Jason. He managed to butter your father up with some joke and an expensive bottle of scotch you were sure Jason probably snagged from Bruce when Alfred wasn't around. "I just got caught up with work." He says.

Your mom darkly chuckles. You wanted to mentally roll your eyes at the way the kind sweet welcome basket-making mom went away with a quickness. Now, the protective mother lion attempting to protect her cub demeanor was on. "Work? Huh? What exactly do you do?" She asks.

"Jesus! At least let the kid put food on his plate first." Your dad sighs with a head shake.

Jason returned the chuckle and gave your mom a grin. You weren't sure what excuse he was going to give her. You just knew the true occupation would have your parents banning you were seeing Jason as if you were Rapunzel herself.

Jason motions to the bruises that decorated his face like a used art canvas. "Boxing." He said with a grin.

You watched your mom shift in her seat. It was as if she was searching for if he was telling the truth or not. You wanted to tell her that this trick only worked on yourself and your father, but you just sat back passing whatever food Jason's eyes lit up seeing. After all, your mom did cook all of this for him. As soon as his plate was full, he dug it. He had a quite large appetite.

"So, are you pro or trying to become pro?" Your father asked as he was eating also.

You knew anything about sports would get your dad excited. He used to coach your high school basketball team.

"I'm trying to, hence the fact that I was late. I want to apologize again for that, I know this was very important for you two and Y/N." His eyes glances over you before you could feel him grabbing your hand under the table.

Could he sense that you were beyond out of it at the moment? Your mind was racing with so many questions? He just showed up after the two of you haven't talked for days. Eating with your family like the two of you haven't shared severe words towards each other.

"No need to apologize, she seems happy that you came and that's all that matters." Your mom answered before her lips finally curve into a smile. "She talks so much about you that we just had to meet the guy that has our daughter so lovestruck in Gotham." She pushes around the vegetables on her plate.

"Hopefully, she has only told you good things," Jason says.

"You know the usual. He's so cute. I really think I love him. We'll make such cute babies...the usual things." Your mom says.

"I didn't say the last thing." You said out loud.

"So, you don't think you and I will make cute babies?" Jason playfully nudges your shoulder. "Come on, they'll have the most cutest nose because they'll have your nose and my eyes." He says with a grin.

There goes that grin again. That grin causes your body to instantly heat up and all the blood to rush to your cheeks. Despite being so confused about the situation, you still returned the smile that you were trying so hard to hold back. "I didn't say that. It's just, I haven't mentioned anything about babies to her. The other statements are true though."

Jason laughs, "I know."

You could feel the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your palm. How can he make you feel at home even though you were technically in your childhood home? He made you feel so safe and cherished.

The night went on with Jason wooing the hearts of your parents. He had a drink with your father in your father's study, most likely giving Jason the somewhat-threatening threat in case Jason broke your heart. Jason even helped your mom put away the leftover food that was left. As soon as the moon peaked through the curtains of the house, it was time for everyone to call it a night. You got ready for bed after showering, most likely settling in bed to go to sleep. You knew your mom would purposely have her book club ladies at the house the following morning just so she can show off her future son-in-law.

As you were in bed reading a book, you could hear Jason come into your room after showering. He's rubbing a towel through his damp dark locs while a white towel was wrapped around his waist hiding away his lower half you have seen countless times. You hated to admit that your curious eyes glanced up from the romanticized words in your book to peek at him while he was looking through his suitcase for something to wear to bed. Droplets of water staining his toned chest followed by the glorious site of happy trail—that went so well with the well-sculptured v-line that was on display.

Your lip grazed at your chapstick-covered lips before you realized you were staring. You quickly averted your eyes back to your book, but your attention was tugged away once again due to Jason's words.

"I'm sorry, that argument we had was so fuckin' stupid." He admitted. His back was turned from you, but you knew he had a look of regret on his face. "I shouldn't have said what I said."

"It's okay. I figured you were sorry as soon as you came here. If you wouldn't have shown up, I would have assumed our relationship was done." You truthfully admitted.

Jason turned around and the look of horror that was on his face caught you off guard. You could even see his lip twitch in annoyance at you even thinking about the mere thought of you two breaking up. "Please, never think about something like that." He takes a couple of steps to be by your side.

"We'll figure it out, we'll talk it out. That's what we do." He firmly said.

And that was true. Every argument, you two figured it out. You sat down and communicated with each other. Perhaps this argument just got a little too heated due to the overwhelming amounts of stress on both ends. With Jason and his Red Hood activities and your life at work, it was bound for both of you two explode like a ticking time bomb. You just exploded at each other though.

“I know.” Your voice trails off as you looked down. Finally realizing that your argument was silly, could have been resolved if the two of you weren’t so stubborn.

Jason’s tall stature is hovering over you before he’s lifting your face up to look at him. “Don’t have such a down face.” He’s leaning down peppering your face with subtle kisses gaining a giggle from you.

"Jason, stop! Your towel is going to drop." You said through your faint giggles.

"Let it," Jason responded before he entrapped your lips.

His kiss forced you to fall back on your bed, your body pushing yourself further on it to give Jason space to climb on top of you, which he did with a quickness while being sure to not squish you with his weight. Through subtle breaks between the kisses, you’re mumbling against Jason’s lips. “I missed you so much.” 

It was true. The days without him not being next to you in bed felt empty & quiet. You missed the warmth of being in his arms after a long day. You missed his soft grumbles while he was sleeping so close to you not wanting to let go. You just missed him.

“We miss you too baby,” Jason spoke back against your lips. 

His tongue is stained with the taste of mint toothpaste traces alongside the outline of your lower lip. You could even feel him grind against you a bit, feeling the imprint of his hardened cock against the inside of your thigh. That’s what he meant when he said we. 

Your hand slipped between the two of your bodies, gracefully brushing against his heated skin to tug the towel down. Your hand grazed against his hardened cock causing him to tug away to let out a relaxed sigh. Jason begins to kiss your neck, indulging in the scent of you that he missed so much. His hand grabbed ahead of yours which was so desperate to make him feel good. He pinned them above your head and kissed his way back to your kiss-swollen lips.

He mumbles against your delicate skin, "I want to make you feel good."

His callous fingertips danced down your body until they found their way into your underwear. The oversized t-shirt that once belonged to Jason was pushed up just so he could have better access to you and what was his. He hooked his fingers upon your underwear to tug them down your smooth legs. Tossing the piece of fabric so carelessly behind him before he kneeled down. His hand tugged you closer to the edge of the bed. His lips pressed teasing kisses on the inside of your thigh.

He was so eager to get a taste of you and you could tell by how eager his kisses got as he got closer to your drooling cunt. You relaxed under his touch when you finally felt his face fully in between your thighs. Your breath instantly hitched in your throat feeling the way Jason's tongue glided against your puffy lips. Your hand instantly went to grasp for his hair as felt the wet kisses upon your sensitive bud. "Jason, stop the teasin' please." You whimpered out.

You gained a hum from your boyfriend as he made direct eye contact while he was letting the flat of his tongue collect all your juices before he was back paying attention to his task. His eyes closed as if he wanted to focus on making sure you came. Each time you attempted to squirm away from him, his arms only pinned you back down forcing you to endure him. After all, he hasn't had a taste of you in a while—it's the least you could do.

As soon as you felt his tongue trace alongside your sopping entrance of your pussy, you felt yourself rocking upon his face in the most pornographic manner. You prompt yourself up on your shoulder assuring Jason how well he was making you feel. The fiery pit that was bubbling in the pit of your stomach was slowly approaching. The only thing you could let out was the moans that encourage Jason some more. "Don't stop Jason, I'm so close." You panted out.

As soon as he heard them words, Jason's tongue begin to rapidly flicker at your clit. He insert his index and middle fingers and his dick appeared to grow harder feeling how wet you were. His fingers weren't shy to make you feel just as good as his mouth. He was sure to pump them inside you at the pace you loved. He felt you tighten around his finger, but that didn't stop Jason from removing himself from between your thighs. Your body shook so violently while your hips rocked against Jason riding out your drastic orgasm. You exhaled sharply letting out a dragged-out moan of pleasure and as soon as Jason's mouth was no longer on you—you felt so empty.

"Gosh, you look so beautiful like this," said Jason as he was letting his tongue glide across his lips collecting any more of you that stained his mouth.

Jason was a very passionate lover at times. It all depended on his mood and the situation. Tonight, you couldn't tell which side you were going to get. But from the way he left you a panting disaster after being in between your thighs—you knew he wanted to prove something to you. Perhaps he missed you during the days you two weren't speaking. As Jason climbed on top of you, his hand lining himself up at your soaked entrance, his tip that oozed with precum teasingly brushed against you.

Before your lips parted to mumble a sarcastic complaint, Jason's cock shoved its way inside you bit by bit shutting you up completely. Your head sank into the pillow under your head and your hand flew up to grasp at Jason, "It's okay baby, you just haven't had my dick in you in a while." He cooed down at you.

By his cocky tone, you weren't sure if he was praising you or mocking you. He leaned down to pepper your face with soft kisses, "I'm going to start movin', okay?" He adds.

Jason begins to move slowly. He didn't want to hurt you or anything, so until now his strokes were slow and steady. It kinda felt like the first time you two had made love. You remembered the vivid memory of when Jason first said I love you. It took you by shock because you weren't even sure he meant it. However, the way he made love to you that night proved it.

With each move of his hips, Jason gained a moan from you. From broken gasp to subtle mumbles of his name, he was putting his all into making sure you felt good. Most likely putting his own pleasure on the backburning just to hear you coo out his name a little louder in the night. When Jason heard your hush moan encouraging him to go faster, he did what he was told like the perfect boyfriend he was.

His pace quickened causing the headboard to your bed to knock against the wall. You were glad your parent's room was down the hall, but you did remember on some nights your mom would leave the master bedroom to get tea when she couldn't sleep. Hopefully, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights.

"Fuck, you feel so good." Jason groaned out.

He tugged his cock out fully and his eyes darkened at the sight of your slick covering his cock. He pushed himself back inside your addicting cunt as if it was the missing puzzle piece to a puzzle. The feeling of you wrapped around him was like an intoxicating drug he couldn't get enough of. Without a word, Jason hooked his muscular arms under your thighs to form the lewdest mating press position.

You were completely trapped under Jason due to each time his hips pushed forward he was bottoming down inside you. The sound of skin slapping against each other echoed the room alongside your broken moans of his name.

"Whose pussy is this?" Jason questioned. Each syllable that passed by his lips, he rammed his hips into your harder.

Usually, you would spit out some bratty comment to get a rise out of the dark-haired male, but tonight in the heat of the moment—you're desperately and proudly moaning out that it was his and only his.

With your legs hooked under Jason's arm, your eyes lolly in the back of your head each time his hips pushed forward. Your pedicured toes curled with each kiss his cock pressed against your cervix. Your fingernails dug into the skin of his limbs grasping to want to intertwine your bodies some more.

"I'm going to cum Jay," You moaned out. A single tear glides down your flushed cheeks.

You finally were able to meet Jason's intense stare. Sweat droplets decorated his forehead and chiseled chest. His face was shaded with the color read through the intense session of passionate sex. "Go ahead and cum. Let it all out, baby." He says.

Jason could feel your thighs quivering under his arms and that caused him to drop them immediately—returning to the ardent missionary position the two of you were previously in. His strokes were slow and sensual. A sign that he was so close to being a cumming mess just like you. His hand went down to rub at your throbbing clit in a circular motion. It was quite amazing how well, Jason knew your body. From the way your lips gasped apart or the way your eyebrows crinkled together—he knew that you were so close to clutching around his cock and that's all that mattered to him right now.

The pleasurable feeling of you pulsing around him drives him to the edge. The grasp he had on you grew a bit tighter and his strokes were a tad bit sloppier. Just a matter of time, he could feel his balls grow heavier. A string of profanity words with a mixture of whines rolled off his tongue as if it was a foreign language. He could feel his body grow hotter due to the load of cum he just released. Just as the vigilante was about to pull out hesitantly due to the overwhelming power of your pussy clutching around him perfectly, you wrapped your legs around his waist. The heel to your feet pressed against his lower back as you trapped him into a kiss indulging in the mess below your waist. The both of you are forced to ride out each other high from makeup sex until your bodies finally gave out on you.

Jason's body collapsed next to yours, you and Jason were completely exhausted while your dazed eyes stared at the white-colored ceiling. Your brain felt like mush while your body still was processing what had just happened.

"You think your parents heard us?" Jason broke the thick silence between the two of you.

"If my mom starts showing you my baby hand-me-downs in the morning, then yes." You rolled over to cuddle against him. Your head promptly laid on his chest as you felt him kiss the top of your head.

"Good thing I didn't pull out then."

TAGS — @maydayaisha @shamelesshoefairy @eiflawriting @lostwanderr @stunnababyyabyyy @bunnyyamor @endeavours-jockstrap @hllokttyairhead @aasouthteranoswife @godessofbucky @cybervei @everstoneluna @scabsaint @saintblk @heejayy @prettyboyyuji @polyqueen101 @diorlov3er @dior-fawn @celestialuffy @venusflytrapstar @cookiemonsterboss @blackwolfqueenzz @trunichole15 @yooniluvbot444 @smileyy-cakee @deeliciious @putridstares @obitohno @aotwarriorsimp @renjiluvermain @spookyblackwitch

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (28)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of masturbation, public dirty talk, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ 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

_____

Even though he had expected nothing else, his wife's reaction completely devastated him anyway − her words cut through him like daggers, showing him his own face in the light of the truth.

What should I do now?

Divorce you?

Not speak to you for eight years?

He didn't know what he should answer.

The realisation that he was constantly searching for fault in her because he felt guilty himself, that he was accusing her of betrayal because he had betrayed her himself, caused him to no longer know who he was anymore. He felt so lost and heartbroken that he had simply burst out crying in front of her like a child scolded by a parent.

He just wanted her to forgive him.

When she told him what Alys had seen in her dream and informed him of her conditions, even though he was dying at the thought of spending even one more day in this fortress, he sat down at her oak desk the next morning to write a letter to his brother-king.

My King, our half-sister has agreed to our terms, however, she makes her own demands. I have decided, in order to alleviate the situation, to travel with my wife to Dragonstone, where we are currently staying. We want to try to convince them to change their minds − one order from you is enough for me to return to King's Landing. Your loyal brother

His niece was furious with him − he had never seen her like this before and preferred not to address her at all when she spoke to him knowing that he would only make matters worse. He hoped that his conciliatory attitude and the fact that he had fulfilled her wish would make her calm down.

The thought that he wasn't her prisoner didn't comfort him, because he felt like one anyway.

Wherever he went he might encounter someone he didn't feel like looking at, so he preferred to stay in her chamber and bear it somehow.

As soon as she had left her quarters he rose from his chair and began to walk around her room, looking at the various objects on the shelves and bookcases − he looked through the books she was reading, finding with satisfaction that most of them were also in his possession in King's Landing.

He spotted her embroideries in one of the drawers, including those he remembered well from his childhood, and smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if she had kept them for the sake of memories.

He shuddered as the door to the chamber opened suddenly and he slid the drawer back in, turning with a rapidly beating heart − Daemon stood with his hands folded behind him, sighing heavily.

"− come, nephew − we must discuss many important matters −" He said with a kind of boredom, as if what he was speaking of was a duty he had no desire to perform at all.

"− I will not go anywhere with you, uncle − I am quite comfortable here −" He said lowly, looking away, frustrated.

Why did he always feel like a little child in his presence?

Daemon chuckled at his question.

"− it wasn't a request − come, let's have a walk −" He encouraged him in a ferocious, mocking tone from which he felt rage and a clench in his stomach.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Daemon led him out of the fortress through one of the side entrances − he checked a few times before the sound of the sea surrounded them that the dagger he always carried with him was strapped to his belt.

They stepped out onto a gigantic white beach seeming to stretch on endlessly to him, with only the water to their left and high rising rocks and mountains to their right.

They were completely alone.

His uncle finally stopped and turned to him, looking at him for a moment without a word.

"− why did you suggest you spend the night in Dragonstone? −"

He licked his lips, feeling his heart stop at his question.

"− that was her wish −"

"− don't fucking lie to me or I will pierce your skull with my sword −"

He looked at him in disbelief, his jaw clenched so tight he felt like it was going to burst, his fingers involuntarily tightening into fists.

Silence fell again, the sound of the waves around them, their hair and tunics blowing in the wind.

It seemed to him that his uncle's gaze was piercing him to the core.

"− Larys Strong had his own plans for you − I couldn't let that happen −" He muttered at last.

"− does she know about this? −" He asked coldly.

He swallowed hard at the thought that he was referring to his wife.

"− yes −"

"− did you tell her before or after we came here? −"

He lowered his gaze already knowing what he was leading up to, he felt like his whole body was quivering.

"− after −"

Daemon snorted in annoyance, shaking his head as he looked out at the sea stretching before them.

"− you fucking cunt − I was supposed to personally deal with his rats overdue in the Eyrie, but you ruined my plan − though surely that's good for you −" He confessed looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a powerful, cold shiver run along his back at the thought that he knew everything.

He knew that they were about to be murdered.

And Rheanyra?

Seeing that he couldn't force out the question that was pressing on his lips his uncle laughed out loud.

"− the rider of the world's greatest dragon since Balerion's passing is unable to get a word out − shame has taken away your speech? − where is your pride that you always boasted so much? −" He continued, provoking him to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

What should he do?

How should he behave?

"− you are exactly as I assumed − you are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him − you are like a stone, unable to move on − my daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool −"

"− what do you want from me, uncle? −"

"− no − what do YOU want − are you able to name it in your head, or are you like a child in a fog without your mother? −" He asked in a raised voice, frustrated, making him feel a hot wave of humiliation flowing through his body.

"− I want her to be safe −"

"− what happened in King's Landing? −"

"− I −"

"− fucking speak − and you'd better say the truth −"

"− your spies in the Red Keep didn't report it to you? −" He hissed, his uncle taking a step towards him, looking him straight in the eye.

"− you're trying my patience −"

He pressed his lips together feeling his heart rise to his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"− my mother gave her moon tea without my knowledge − she wanted to be able to pact with you and give her to Lord Arryn's son −" He said dispassionately feeling, however, that his voice trembled. Daemon looked at him wordlessly.

"− and what have you done to punish those who wronged my daughter, and your wife? −"

He looked at him feeling his whole body freeze.

"− what would you have done to her if she had been the one to fail your trust? − if she tried to fight for her freedom, if she stood up to you and threatened your mother? −" He asked, stabbing his words into him like daggers .

He didn't know the answers to these questions.

He never wanted to ask himself them.

"− I did everything I could − she is my mother − you would expect the same from your daughter yourself −"

"− and yet she was the one who came to beg her own mother to surrender her claim to the crown when yours was encouraging your brother to steal the throne that never belonged to him − gods, Viserys has taught you nothing, has he? − you see nothing but your mother's skirt to which you have always been clung −" He muttered with some kind of disgust from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver and discomfort in his stomach.

"− I regret − I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow − I did not, though it was my duty −"

He looked at him in disbelief, feeling with horror the burning under his eyelids. He laughed and shook his head, wishing he could somehow control what was happening to him − he hid his hands behind his back feeling how much they were trembling.

"− are you remorseful, uncle? − do you see that you yourself also contributed to the division of our family into two separate parts? −" He asked with mockery and regret in his voice feeling that he was weak.

What had happened in the last few days had completely destroyed him.

"− I want to hear the truth and I will ask for the last time − what do you want? −" His uncle asked with emphasis on the last sentence.

He shuddered, realising that deep down he knew what the answer was.

He always knew.

"− I wish it was all over − I wish I could take her to Essos, as I promised her − I am tired, uncle − I have been tired all my life − I only rest when she is by my side −"

Daemon looked at him for a long moment and let out a loud breath, looking out to sea. They stood like that, not speaking to each other.

"− is there anything else you have hidden from her? −" He asked coldly, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the memory of the Witch of Harrenhal's words.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He raised his eyes to his uncle and met his gaze, proud and distrustful, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"− I −"

"− speak −"

"− there is − there is a woman in Harrenhal, called by some a witch − she came to me last morning and −"

"− did you take her to your bed? −"

His voice stuck in his throat at his question, so he shook his head quickly, horrified.

"− no, but she said − she prophesied to me that this would happen − that − that I would put my child inside her −" He muttered, feeling with what difficulty those words left his mouth. Daemon raised his eyebrows in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"− and? − if she said so, now there's nothing left for you to do but put your cock inside her? − don't make me laugh −" He sneered, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"− she can predict the future − I −"

"− are you listening to me, or have you not only gone blind but deaf? − if she told you that you would run away with her to Essos and beget twenty children with her would you believe her too? − she told you exactly what she wanted to happen − she hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants − I don't know any man who would put his cock into a woman by accident or by fate − pull yourself together −" He said impatiently, causing a warm wave of embarrassment to surge through him.

He thought he really was a fool.

How could he have believed her with such ease?

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, his words brought him relief.

"− do you have anything else to convey to me? − this is your last chance −" He asked coldly, and he shook his head.

"− very well − I'm glad we've got it behind us − you may leave −" He said dryly; he pressed his lips together at his words and simply walked away, swallowing his dignity and pride.

As he stepped into his wife's chamber he noticed her seated figure out of the corner of his eye, but he did not say a word to her − he felt humiliated and tired and did not feel like making conversation.

He also recognised that she certainly still hadn't forgiven him, so they might as well keep quiet.

He therefore sat down with one of her books by the fire, trying to concentrate on what he saw before him and not on his uncle's words.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

Though some part of him did not want to admit it, he knew that subconsciously he had been waiting for those words, for any praise or appreciation from him, the Rouge Prince himself, the greatest warrior and dragon rider he had seen in his lifetime.

So why did he feel so bad about what he had said to him?

You are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him.

My daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool.

He swallowed hard, knowing that there was partly truth in his words.

For some reason though he wanted to, he couldn't completely free himself from the past and move on.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −"

He lifted his gaze to her from his book thinking he had overheard himself. He felt a wave of anger and disbelief surge through his body when he noticed in her gaze that she wasn't mocking him.

She meant it.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, getting up from his seat, throwing his book on the table and leaving immediately thinking he was going to kill this fucking bastard with his own hands.

When he finally walked into the right chamber he breathed heavily and grinned, feeling as if all the frustration, the things that had been happening to him after his conversation with his wife and uncle were going to find release at this very moment.

Jace stood up from his chair, pale at the sight of him, clearly knowing exactly what awaited him.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −" He murmured teasingly, feeling the presence of his niece beside him, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs again.

"− Aemond −"

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered, cocking his head to the side, resting his weight on his right leg, watching curiously as his nephew turned all red with embarrassment.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela growled, his smile widening even more at the sight of her, her lips tightening into a thin line.

He thought he would love to hit her in the face again before he remembered that she was a woman.

What a pity.

His wife appeared suddenly in front of him, looking at him warningly.

"− we are leaving −"

He felt like laughing at her words.

Her brothers were getting away with far too many things.

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −" He said sweetly, looking his nephew straight in the eye thinking with amusement that this time would be different.

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He muttered in a voice filled with challenge and poison seeing that Baela looked at her betrothed in disbelief.

Always pretending to be so righteous, so wronged.

He was nothing more than a pathetic brat who was once again reaching for what didn't belong to him.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela thundered, clearly wanting Jace to stop being a scared cunt, which unfortunately he was unable to do.

He could feel his own heart pounding fast, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing quick and deep.

He was ready to attack him, he was ready to rip him to shreds.

Some part of him wanted to do it.

A fucking would-be King.

You'll never sit on the throne − he thought with satisfaction − and in my wife's eyes you were never a man she could desire.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He mumbled in horror as he looked at his niece with pleading eyes.

Did he really think that he would let him hide behind her skirt like a coward?

That he would allow him to escape the consequences of his foolishness again?

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" He hissed grabbing her cheeks, heard her draw in a loud breath, shocked, as his lips pressed against hers in a hot, aggressive kiss − she moaned quietly as his slick tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low sigh of delight.

He pulled away and met her simultaneously terrified, enraged and thirsty gaze − she only mewled when he turned her with a confident tug with her back against him and pressed her figure against his chest, gripping her neck with one hand, the other sliding down her lower abdomen.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip when he felt her fingers tighten on his wrist trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do, her mouth parted in disbelief.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out, not really understanding himself what he was actually doing, focusing more on her than on them as he dug his fingertips into her womanhood lying beneath the material of her gown.

Her head was tilted back, her thighs clenched, her lips struggling to hold back the moan from which his erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks in his breeches.

He thought he will fuck her with his fingers in front of his eyes.

"− u-uncle − stop −"

In fact, he had to stop when Daemon walked into the chamber − the ashamed, horrified expression on Jace's face who couldn't even look at them and the accusing look his betrothed turned towards him was reward enough for him.

He wanted to watch his world, everything he desired burn and fall apart in his hands.

He wanted him to know what it felt like.

He knew his wife enough to know that her rage was mixed halfway with the desire and tension he himself felt. He wanted to respect her request not to take her and break it at the same time, feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he did something that stopped halfway between both, coming with a sigh of relief on the material of her nightgown when he heard her moans of sweet fulfilment.

He wanted nothing more after this than to lock her in his arms and fall asleep.

"− let me embrace you −" He muttered.

"− no −" Her frustrated, trembling voice answered him.

He huffed loudly, heartbroken, at the same time understanding her and longing to take refuge again in the warmth that the closeness of her body gave him. In a gesture of desperation, he simply pressed his face against her neck, taking in her scent.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

He heard her sigh heavily, annoyed, but said nothing more. When he finally felt she had fallen asleep, his hand slowly touched her waist and slid to other side, taking its place on her warm lower abdomen.

"− no −" He heard her quiet, unclear mumble, her body stirring in his embrace.

"− shhh − let me −" He whispered in her ear, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

"− mhm −" She muttered, twisting towards him immersed in a deep sleep − he sighed heavily as her body involuntarily clung to his, her face sinking into the hollow of his neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling the squeeze in his heart and the tears under his eyelids that, one by one, began to run down his cheeks as his hands wove through her hair and the material of her nightgown at her back, pressing her close to his body.

He thought that for some reason during the nights he spent with her he was most vulnerable and weak, her presence, the warmth of her flesh, her closeness made him feel as if something was melting inside him, not allowing him to pretend that Daemon's words had not hurt him.

Despite repeating to himself that his uncle's words meant nothing to him, as a child he had looked up to him, dreaming of being like him − fearless, ironic, intelligent, confident, proud of his family and his heritage.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at his words, which cut into his heart like a sword, because although he had tried to find his pattern of masculinity in his father, in his older brother, in his grandfather, in Ser Criston, it was his uncle that his gaze had always followed, it was his uncle's reaction that he looked at when he and his father watched them duel.

He never heard a single warm word from his lips.

The fact that he was his mother's son had crossed him out in his eyes, and he had no intention of apologising for anything.

So what was he to do with his words?

That he did not know − nor did he know what purpose the conversation had served or why he had told him about the Witch of Harrenhal. He thought with shame that guilt and fear had crushed him so much that he had to get it off his chest, and he had chosen the worst person to do so.

What if he uses this against him?

Poison his daughter's thoughts with words that her husband feared that he would betray her in the future, beget a bastard child with another woman?

He felt a cold shudder run through his body at the thought, but for some reason he had a feeling that this would not happen.

She told you exactly what she wanted to happen.

She hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants.

He was right.

This woman, whoever she was, was playing with him and his wife.

He thought she was hoping to frighten them both and lead them to lose trust in each other.

That this was perhaps also part of Larys' plan.

He had no intention of killing his wife.

He wanted her to do it herself.

That thought, that realisation flashed through his body like a flame, his fingers clamped down on her flesh as he swallowed hard, feeling some kind of indescribable relief, finding meaning in it at last.

They knew that if his wife disappeared, he would join the war.

He sighed quietly, thinking with surprising calmness in his soul, stroking his wife's soft, dark curls with his fingers, that he would cut off the heads of all the vipers plotting against her, one by one.

He intended to personally inform his brother what their grandfather and Lord Strong were planning to do behind his back.

[memphisflash]

𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: It's been a year since you've seen Elvis - he hasn't called or reached out to you once, yet you still can't forget about him. Summer rolls around and you find yourself back in Vegas, picking right up where you left things with the singer that brings the heat to the desert every year, and you can't help but fall harder and deeper...

Word count: 6,7K

Warnings: basically a smut fest. reader losing her virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), kissing after oral, somewhat uncomfortable first time for reader (that shit hurts, hello???), they fuck multiple times- woops.

A/N: I tried to keep it short and sweet, but anyone who knows me that's a damn joke, because I always get carried away HA. I kinda hate the ending but oh well, I had to stop somewhere. Hope y'all like it!

← part one | masterlist →

A whole year had passed since that night you shared such an intimate moment with Elvis.

He had asked for your number before the two of you said goodbye but you didn’t expect to hear from him. You didn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You didn’t want to become just another foolish girl that was completely head over heels for the singer, but you couldn’t help yourself, no matter how hard you tried.

He’d been on your mind every single day for that whole year.

You listened to his records, read everything the magazines printed about him and would even watch some of his movies to hear his voice. Your boss at the local art gallery you worked at in Tucson, your hometown, even caught you daydreaming a couple of times and snapped you out of it which was highly embarrassing.

The whole thing was embarrassing, to be quite honest.

You were in love with a man who was fawned over by thousands of girls across the globe and he most likely didn’t even remember you. After all, you hadn’t been the first girl he brought up to his suite in Vegas.

You hid those feelings well for your parents though, who thought you were just infatuated by the superstar and dealt with the amount of times you played his music through the house. Your father secretly liked it – you’d heard him sing along plenty of times when he thought no one could hear him.

But your best friend Emma knew better. She was the only one who you had told what happened between you and Elvis and like the supportive, and sometimes tad overly excited, best friend she was, she made it her own personal mission to save up for another trip to Vegas the coming summer.

You picked up a few extra shifts at your job and even babysat the children in the neighborhood and before you realised it, summer was there and you and Emma made the six hour drive to sin city.

Las Vegas was as exciting as ever. With Elvis’ residency being promoted like a summer festival, Elvis fans were everywhere – walking the strip to spot him or any of his entourage members, taking up hotel rooms in the numerous accomodations in town and shopping, dining out or seeing afternoon shows by other artists to kill time.

Vegas was thriving off of the tourists and if you could, you would want to stay here for the rest of your life. Despite your innocent nature, the sinful aspect of it all drew you in.

“What if he does recognize you…” Emma retorts to your worries as you lay side by side on a tanning bed by the pool of the International hotel. You two had booked so many months in advance that you were assured a nice room in the crowded hotel. “and asks you up to the room again. This is Vegas, baby, anything can happen!”

Emma grins widely as she looks at you over the rim of her sunglasses, wiggles her eyebrows and then laughs as she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose, reaching for her margarita. You laugh with her and sigh deeply as you watch some people in the pool splash around, chattering and hollering adding a nice atmosphere to the pool area. “Oh please, Em, I bet he won’t even recognize me. He’s been to other places for the past year and God knows what kind of girls he met.”

“You’re hotter,” Emma says matter-of-factly as she puts her drink down and lays back on the sunbed, soaking up the rays of the harsh Vegas sun.

“You haven’t even seen the other girls,” you snort softly, looking at her even though her eyes were closed behind her glasses.

“I don’t need to. I’m your best friend and I’m obligated to tell you, you’re hotter. And even if I wasn’t, I would still tell you the same thing.”

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face and let it spread across your features, playfully slapping Emma’s arm. She always knew just what to say.

Ofcourse you didn’t think you were ugly, but you would always compare yourself to other girls that seemed just a little more prettier. A little skinnier, their skin a little more flawless, their clothes a little more expensive.

Emma often talked you out of it though, because she was right when she’d tell you that wasn’t the way to live your life.

You did have to admit that your confidence had grown in the past year, even if it was just a smidge. Your boss gave you more responsibilities at work which had you come into contact with customers face to face more often, which included handsome business men and rough around the edges cowboys who came in to buy an art work.

They’d flirt with you more often than not and their blatant but sweet compliments even helped you with your blushing. In a way, you’d grown used to the men in Tucson, so hopefully you’d be the same around that one man from Memphis.

If you’d even meet him again.

“Okay, let’s say he knows who I am and he invites me up to his suite again,” you said, sounding a little more light hearted. “I think I wanna have sex with him.”

“You already did, Miss Foreplay.”

“That wasn’t.. sex!” you whisper loud enough for Emma to hear above her own laughter, gasping as you chuckled. You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the sunbed, leaning in closer to your friend so nobody else was able to hear you. “I’m serious, Em. I want to.. I want him to.. you know.”

Emma pushed her sunglasses into her hair, turning her head to look at you. She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. “You can say it, Y/N, it ain’t some kinda disease. You want him to pop your cherry,”

The way the word ‘cherry’ rolled off her tongue so sensually it had your cheeks heating up a little, but you quickly forced the heat back down, slapping your friend’s arm once more.

This time with a little more force, which made her pout and rub her arm.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Fine. You want him to fuck you then.”

“Emma!”

The girl next to you laughed loudly and quickly avoided you before you could assault her poor arm again. You shook your head but laughed along with her – she was impossible at times, but you loved her like a sister.

You and Emma had tickets to several shows Elvis did at the hotel. You were staying for two whole weeks and would attend a few shows during the week, and every show during the weekend.

While getting ready for the dinner show that started at 7, the phone in your hotel room rang. The sound startled you a little, hoping it wasn’t the front desk with a noise complaint because you and Emma had been playing music while getting ready – and Emma was singing along in the shower, sounding like a dying cat.

You put your curling iron down after switching it off and ran into the room from the bathroom, picking up the phone. It was the desk clerk, telling you you had an incoming call from an individual named Jon Burrows.

You didn’t know anyone by that name, but thinking it could’ve been work related, you accepted the call.

But as soon as you heard that deep voice and that Southern drawl, you realised this wasn’t Jon Burrows.

“Hi Cherry,”

Your heartbeat started picking up, resembling something of a group of wild horses gallopping.

“Elvis?” You questioned, sounding breathless and in somewhat of disbelief.

He didn’t confirm, but you knew it was him. Especially when you heard his deep, rich sounding laugh which felt like a comfortable blanket being wrapped around you.

“Now why didn’t ya tell me you’re in Vegas, honey? I called your house and your Daddy told me you were already here, comin’ to see me..”

You looked at Emma as she wandered out of the bathroom, waving your hand like a maniac to the radio that was playing. She frowned but took the hint and switched it off, walking closer to you to silently ask who you were talking to.

“Well, I’m sorry, Elvis,” Emma immediately widened her eyes and sat down next to you, pressing her ear close to the phone. “I didn’t.. I didn’t know how to reach you..”

You mentally cursed yourself for such a lame answer, but it was the truth. You didn’t have his number, and in that whole year, he never called you.

At least, not to your knowledge.

“You comin’ to see the show? How long are ya staying?”

“Me and my friend will be here for two weeks, and yes, ofcourse we’re coming to the show. We wouldn’t want to miss it.” You made sure your voice sounded extra sweet and Emma nearly toppled over when Elvis said, “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t make any plans for after the late show tonight, honey. I want you and your friend to come to a little party, okay?”

Emma looks at you and immediately nodded yes. You agreed and after talking to Elvis for a few more minutes, he hung up to get ready for the show. You put the phone down and looked at Emma, who was staring at you with wide eyes before you two squealed like two teenagers.

“Oooh, that man wants you, believe me,” Emma smirks as she gets up and turns the radio on again, dancing happily through the room while getting ready.

As always, Elvis was amazing on stage – his moves making you feel things and his vocals were superb. He recognized you in the crowd and during the moment where he wandered through the crowd and kissed girls, he made sure to press an open mouthed kiss onto your mouth, his tongue playfully flicking against your lips.

You were already on cloud nine, fantasizing about what would happen during the rest of the night when you’d have him alone. You were praying that that party wouldn’t last very long.

It turned out the party was held in the dressing room and you nearly fainted at the sight of Cary Grant greeting Elvis when you stood next to him. They talked for a short while and you couldn’t even keep up with the conversation, so many things around you were happening.

Emma was standing across the room, talking to Charlie Hodge and by the way she was squeezing his arm and throwing her head back as she laughed, you could see they were hitting it off.

Good for her – Emma had horrible taste in men, often falling for the bad boys, but Charlie Hodge seemed like a nice man. And a funny one, because you could hear your best friend’s flirtatious laughter all across the dressing room.

Elvis and you didn’t talk much one on one, as there was always someone who came up to strike a conversation with him. But he kept his arm around your waist, because he liked knowing that you were still there, close to him.

To him, it wasn’t strange at all. He acted like you’d always been there, like you belonged to him and only him.

It sent your mind spinning, or maybe that was because of the two Cosmo’s you’d already had.

The party was nice – everyone was having fun, talking to each other, enjoying each other’s company and sipping drinks. But it was like Elvis could read your mind when he looked at you and leaned in closer.

“Let’s get outta here. I want to be alone with my sweet little cherry,”

The way he whispered in your ear nearly had your knees buckling, but instead you flashed him a smile and quickly nodded. Elvis slipped his hand into yours and as he signed to Red and Sonny he wanted to leave, the four of you moving out of the room. You exchanged one more look with Emma, who grinned widely at you and blew you a kiss, mouthing a “have fun!” to you before she disappeared out of your sight.

After walking through a few long hallways and a short ride on the service elevator, you arrived at the top floor of the International and you disappeared into the suite with Elvis.

“You know, I really missed ya, honey,” Elvis smiled at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close against his chest, making you stand on your tiptoes a little due to the height difference.

Again, you wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called if he missed you so much but you knew better than to ruin the moment.

You hugged him back, telling him you missed him too and in this moment, you felt like he truly cared about you.

Like you weren’t just a fan, or just another girl that would tend to his needs for the evening.

“Why don’t you go take a shower an’ we can relax, hmm?”

It could sound so innocent, but with what you had planned for tonight, you knew it was the beginning of something very sinful.

Elvis led you to the bathroom and handed you one of his silk pyjama button ups, this time in a shade of crimson red. Once again, he didn’t give you the bottom half of the set but you didn’t mind it, nor protest against it. As he left you alone to take a shower in the other bathroom in the suite, you locked the door behind you and turned on the shower. You washed your body, making sure to leave your hair and make-up untouched.

Thank God for Emma who hounded your ass for making sure you were trimmed nicely – your bikini line, legs and pits waxed, only a little bit of pubic hair left on your vulva.

You turned the shower off after a little bit and dried yourself off, making sure to spray some perfume in your neck that you carried in your purse and sneaked into the bathroom. You put on the button up, leaving your panties on top of your folded clothes on the sink. You quickly brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush in the bathroom and took a deep breath before you walked back into the bedroom, smiling shyly at Elvis who was already sitting in his bed against the headboard.

His hair looked like he’d just dry-blowed it, soft and fluffy. He was wearing his own set of pyjamas in black and the tan skin that was visible due to half of his top being left unbottoned made arousal slowly creep its way to the surface.

Talking turned to cuddling, cuddling turned to kissing, and kissing turned to wandering hands creeping up your top.

You were nervous, God how nervous you were, but this time you didn’t stop him when he cupped your breasts.

A soft gasp left you when he caressed his thumbs across your perked nipples. He looked at your face to see if he was taking things too far, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks and the way you were looking at him with pleading eyes, he figured he could go on.

As long as you did not tell him to stop, he wasn’t going to.

Slowly he got on top of you, wiggling himself in between your legs which you eagerly opened and wrapped around his waist this time. He moved his hands out from underneath your top, fingertips working quick as he flicked the buttons open one by one.

“Cherry,” he spoke softly, his eyes finding yours. “Have you been touched in the past year?”

The question rolled off his tongue so casually as if you were just making conversation, but it caused goosebumps to tingle along your skin. You looked at him and shook your head slowly, unable to control the heat that was crawling up your neck, reddening your skin.

“N-No..” you whispered, feeling exposed as the fabric of your top fell open, your breasts on full display for him. “Only by myself,”

You didn’t know where you’d got the courage from to say such a thing, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Elvis smirked, his hands back to cupping your breasts, squeezing them a little firmer.

“Is that right?” he hummed lowly, keeping his eyes on your face as he leaned in closer to your chest, his soft lips connecting with the supple flesh of your right breast. “Did ya think ‘bout me when touchin’ yourself?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his tongue poked out to swirl it around your nipple. A gasp and then a moan slipped past your lips and you gripped onto his shoulders, arching your back a little.

“Yes!” you moaned out, perhaps a little more desperate than you intended to. “Y-Yes.. Always.. thinking about.. you..”

Your words came out breathless as he sucked onto your nipple softly and he grinded against you a little. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your folds and you were pretty sure you were staining his silk bottoms with your arousal.

Neither he or you cared and you grinded back against him, trying to rub your clit against his length.

Elvis could see the difference between last year and now. With those flushed cheeks, he knew you were still the same girl but there was a flair of eagerness lingering about you now.

You wanted him and he sure as hell was going to enjoy taking you, stripping away your innocence completely.

Just as you were about to reach out to unbutton his shirt completely, he was already moving lower onto the bed. His lips dragged over the curve of your breasts and along your stomach, his hands sliding up the back of your thighs to spread your legs and give him the view he’s been so eager to see all night.

Your perfect exposed pussy… right there in front of his nose. So beautiful, so pink, so untouched.

He looked up at you through his dark lashes as he kissed your inner thighs, grinning against your skin when he felt your legs trembling with anticipation. He could practically smell your arousal and it had him groaning softly as he rubbed himself against the mattress slowly.

You wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on the most intimate part of his body but he decided to take things slow. He knew you were eager but he wanted you to experience it all, and he wanted to be the one who could make you feel this good.

His fingertips caressed through your folds, spreading your slick all over your lips before he pressed his thumb against your clit, adding a little pressure. You were looking down at him the whole time, not wanting to miss a second of this sight, and he loved hearing you moan softly the way you did.

By the end of the evening, he intended to have you screaming for him.

“My Cherry’s got such a pretty pussy,” he whispered as he grinned at you before looking down at your wetness glistening against your skin. He ran his middlefinger down your folds, slowly pushing it inside of your entrance. “All for me to play with,”

You gasped and gripped onto the sheets, your muscles immediately tensing up around his digit. He let out a soft laugh as he pulled his finger back before sinking it into you completely again. “Relax, baby. It’s jus’ a finger,”

Just a finger that already had you moaning louder, like a damn cat in heat. You moved your hands to your face to cover up your mouth and muffle your moans, and Elvis let you – for now. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, moving his finger in and out of you a little faster.

Then he added another finger and you were clenching around him so viciously, he was thinking you were going to push his fingers out of you at one point by just using your muscles.

The thought of feeling that feeling around his cock had him grinding against the bed a little more.

But Elvis wasn’t a quitter and he pushed the two digits deeper inside of you, fingertips curling inside of you and caressing that special spot. Your hands couldn’t contain your moans anymore and they once more found the sheets as you arched your back, spreading your legs wider.

He repeated the action a few more times, fingering you at a steady pace until he couldn’t take the sight of his fingers coming out so wet anymore. It was too tempting.

“Let’s see how sweet you taste, Cherry,” he smirked as he pulled his fingers out and grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing his fingertips into your skin a little to keep you still.

Without warning, he leaned in closer and dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit. You gasped as your hips stuttered and he held onto you firmer, looking up at you as his tongue swirled slowly around your clit, before he gently sucked it in between his lips.

The sight was downright sinful.

But even though you couldn’t get enough of it, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head as his tongue slipped through your folds again.

He put your legs over his shoulders, his hands moving up your sides until they found your breasts again. He fondled them lightly, pinching your nipples in between his fingertips softly as his tongue worked wonders on your eager pussy.

“Mmm, Elvis!” you moaned out freely now, unable to contain yourself. The sounds leaving you, the way you were moaning out his name, made you feel so… slutty.

And yet, you were loving every second of it.

He groaned against your skin, his hands slipping down to your hips as his eyes shot open and stared up at you. He wanted to see your reactions to his actions and make a mental reminder of it – the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip, the way your eyebrows knitted together. And the added roll of your eyes as he sucked on your clit was very much appreciated.

You didn’t know what an orgasm felt like. Sure, you had touched yourself but when that pressure would start building in the pit of your stomach, you stopped.

Because truth be told, you were nervous about it – scared even. And now that Elvis was the one who was causing the muscles in your tummy to tense up like that, you felt as if you were about to crawl out of your own skin.

Tangling your fingers in his now messy hair, you tried to get him to stop, tried to get away from him, but the raven haired devil wouldn’t let you.

He’s been between enough girls’ legs to know that you were close to falling apart. Could feel it by the way your thighs were trembling on his shoulders, hear it in the way your moans turned a little more high pitched, a slight hint of panic hidden on the back of your tongue.

You could practically feel him smirking against your clit as he slipped in a finger, pumping it in and out of you in a steady pace. There was a slight sting, though it was barely noticeable due to the orgasm that had you on the verge of tears.

You clamped your hand over your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, your other hand still in his hair as he just wouldn’t stop while you were falling over the edge. If it wasn’t for Elvis holding onto your hips to keep you down, you were sure your hips would’ve lifted off of the bed with the way they were bucking upwards and you were writhing in the sheets.

You could barely recognize your own voice as you moaned out, Elvis’ name falling off your tongue like a mantra.

Elvis slowly loosened his grip on your hips and let you spread your legs, raising his head to look at you with a smug grin spread across his face. You pushed some of his hair out of his face and then let out a breathless laugh, running your hands through your own hair.

Elvis loved the way you were looking at him with those half-lidded eyes that held stars in them, cheeks flushed the way he likes.

“Jus’ like I thought, Cherry,” his whisper is low, his voice a little raspy as he kisses your lower abdomen. “Jus’ downright teeth rottin’ sweet,”

Your cheeks heated up even more as he crawled his way back up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. It made you moan softly in his mouth, allowing him to take the pyjama shirt you were still wearing completely off.

In a matter of seconds, Elvis’ clothing pieces flung across the room as well, thanks to your greedy hands.

Foreheads pressed together, moans exchanged into each others’ mouths, Elvis thrusted his hips forward slowly as your small hand wrapped around his hard cock. You figured if you would do something wrong, you would know by his reaction, but now he seemed to enjoy it with the way his tongue was dipping into your mouth now and then, eyes closed as he grunted and his jaw clenched.

Elvis had planned to take his time tonight, but he couldn’t take one more second of foreplay. He wanted, needed, to be buried inside of you.

“Can I put it in now, honey?” He whispered as his eyes flutter open, looking at you with a small smirk as he remembered how a year ago you were nearly pleading for him not to put it in.

But tonight he could see how much you wanted it, there was no way in hell you’d put a stop to it now.

At least, he prayed you wouldn’t.

A sense of relief washed over him when you bit your lip and nodded, yet he still wanted to hear you say it. “Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes,” you inhaled a shaky breath, squeezing his cock softly in your hand as you loosely wrapped your legs around his waist. “I want you to be my first.”

You felt vulnerable speaking those words and Elvis smiled, fingertips caressing some hair out of your face and gently tugging it behind your ear. He pressed a kiss onto your lips and nodded. “I’ll be real gentle, okay?”

Slowly letting go of his length and having your hand replaced by his own, you put your hands on his upper arms. He didn’t rush it – didn’t push it inside of you at once, instead caressing the tip of his cock through your folds and rubbing it onto your clit for a little bit.

But it was going to have to happen eventually and even though you’d anticipated it, the feeling of his tip finding home at your entrance still made your muscles tense up and your nails digging into his skin a little.

“Relax,” he whispered, looking into your eyes before kissing the corner of your mouth. “Jus’ try an’ relax, or it won’t feel good, cherry,”

Truth was, it wasn’t going to feel good either way. Emma had already warned you about this, even going as far as to say she had bled when she lost her virginity.

God, how embarrassing would that be… although you doubted Elvis would mind it, because he seemed like an understanding man, but you still didn’t want it to happen.

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded, trying as hard as you could to relax, but it was barely working when he pushed himself inside of you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch his cock disappeared inside of you, stretching you the way his fingers, or your own, never could.

He let out a deep groan that came straight from his gut as he finally bottomed out, having missed someone so incredibly tight engulfing him.

“E-Elvis… It h-hurts..” you looked at him with wide eyes, nails pressed into his arms so firm you were sure small crescent moons were created in his flesh but he didn’t stop you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, leaning his elbows on the bed on either side of your head, slipping one arm underneath your head to keep you close to him. “But it’ll feel better in a little while, ‘lright? Jus’ relax..”

You trusted him and you really hoped he was right, because now you were so full you could barely speak. He could see the tears twinkling in your eyes and as he lovingly kissed your cheeks, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, you melted into his arms a little more.

He held still inside of you for quite a while, letting you get used to the feeling of being filled with something the size of his cock – which, for the record, was definitely not small.

Perhaps someone who’d been so blessed wasn’t the right person to lose your virginity to on a physical level, but then again… go big or go home.

Emma would be proud of you.

And all craziness aside, you were happy that you were losing your virginity to Elvis Presley. Not because he was famous, but because he was so gentle and sweet, taking his time with you and being patient. It was good to have someone older, someone with experience who knew how a woman’s body worked instead of taking what he wanted and calling it a day.

This was truly a special and intimate moment and you were losing yourself into it more and more.

As you felt you were relaxed enough, you whispered to Elvis that you were ready and boy, were you wrong. The second he slowly and softly started thrusting into you, those tears that had blurred your vision were starting to roll down your cheeks. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer into your embrace which made him hide his face in your neck – you didn’t want him to see your tears, nor did you want him to stop.

A million of girls have been through this for centuries.

If they could do it, so could you.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. Damnit, why does he seem to know everything? “Jus’ relax… Give all of yourself to me..”

He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear and they helped you relax and your muscles to lose that tension – must be witchcraft, you were positive of it.

Step by step, slowly but surely, Elvis picked up the pace as he heard your gasps and soft cries turn into soft moans. The sting was still very much present, but the burning sensation had subsided and you were sure that had everything to do with the grunts and deep moans leaving Elvis, and the sight of him on top of you. He had pulled his face out of your neck again, his eyes boring into yours and while you usually hated eye contact this intensely and for so long, now you couldn’t find it in you to look away.

You were lost in those oceanic blue orbs and when he smiled that sweet smile at you, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were sickly in love with Elvis Presley.

It wasn’t just idol infatuation.

You were totally, completely, irrevocably in love.

Sex was a tricky thing to human kind. Some people used it as a meaningless way to get what they want or to meet their needs, and other people view it as something sacred, something meant to be shared with only that person who you love more than anything in the world.

You had no idea it could be this good, never believing Emma when she said that once you’d done it, you would only want more and more. You’d turn greedy, goddamn near feral because it was such a raw and primal instinct… perhaps that was why it was considered a sin.

You’d never think you would turn into one of those girls that would crave sex and felt like they’d just die if they didn’t get it. But Elvis had that kind of effect on you.

The sun had long risen over Las Vegas but the suite was still dark due to Elvis’ dark curtains being drawn. It must’ve been around 6 or 7 in the morning, but neither of you had slept a wink.

When he’d popped your cherry a few hours earlier, it had hurt. The second time you did it, there was still a slight uncomfortable sting. But by the third time, you were a moaning mess as he turned you around and pressed your face in the pillow, the sound of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust filling the room.

If it wasn’t for the sex daze you were in, you’d be embarrassed by the way you were already crawling onto his lap again after the both of you had taken a shower. Your limbs felt weak and Elvis felt the same, but you couldn’t help yourself and Elvis couldn’t deny you.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned as you straddled him and sunk down onto his length, your hands on his chest, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I created a monster.”

You laughed softly at his words as your cheeks flushed crimson, although that could just as well be because you were so worked up. Elvis grabbed onto your hips and pulled you down a little more, gasping as you fept his tip grazing your g-spot.

“O-Oh… Elvis..” you moaned, biting your lower lip harshly. “S-So deep.. like this..”

He smirked, moving his hands to your ass to squeeze your cheeks in his palms before landing a soft slap on the left one. “That’s right, baby. Can’t get enough of bein’ filled, can ya?”

You giggled softly and started thrusting, slow at first but quickly working your way up to a faster and more steady pace. Didn’t take long for you two to become a bunch of moaning messes once more, going at it like damn rabbits.

It had felt like Elvis had taken a piece of your soul from the moment he’d entered you for the first time and you willingly gave it up for him to keep. You had blossomed into a new person tonight – broken out of your cocoon, going from girl to woman.

Elvis bent his knees a little, heels pressed into the mattress as he grabbed onto your hips and kept you from moving. Instead, he took over and thrusted up into you in such a pace that you had to grip onto his arms to keep steady.

“Oh, fuck!”

He was surprised by the profanity coming from you, but definitely not disappointed. He liked his ladies soft spoken in public, but inside these four walls it was a whole different story. Those rules didn’t apply and especially not to you, because he enjoyed this side of you.

Added more fuel to his fire.

“Shit, I fuckin’ love that pussy,” he growled as he clenched his jaw, his fingers most likely leaving marks on your skin. You threw your head back and Elvis took the opportunity to watch the softness of your skin, he could’ve sworn he could see your heartbeat pulsing underneath it, and the way your breasts bounced along with his thrusts.

He wasn’t going to last long and neither were you with the way he was pounding into you, hitting the right spot every time his hips came up. You were moaning so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if the downstair neighbors could hear the whole thing.

Though before the two of you could reach climax, he wrapped one arm around your waist and switched positions so fast you barely noticed it until you were laying on your back and he was pounding into you like a mad man. The beads of sweat that formed on his forehead, the animalistic growl that left him when he pulled out of you after a few more thrusts to release strings of cum onto your breasts and stomach was a sight to behold. This man was extraordinary.

You’d fallen over the edge right before he’d pulled out and you were clenching pathetically around nothing, wrapping your arms around him to keep him somewhat close, careful not to mess up the masterpiece he’d created on your skin. His lips found yours, kissing you for a little bit until he hid his face in your neck.

“I think I’ll keep you… My personal little Cherry,” he grinned against your skin and you scoffed softly.

“What am I? A puppy?”

He pulled his head back to look at you and raise an eyebrow, playfully nudging your chin. “Oh, she’s been fucked a couple of times and immediately has an attitude, huh?”

You laughed softly at his words, cupping his face to playfully squeeze his cheeks together. He leans into your touch and softly bites down onto your thumb before kissing it.

“You ain’t a puppy,” he said as he smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re jus’ a little baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” You exclaimed, pretending to be offended as you gasp.

He nodded his head and leaned his face closer to you, pecking your lips while he talked against your mouth. “Uh-huh, you are. A baby with pretty little feet and little red cherry cheeks,”

Instantly, you blushed and pouted against his lips, which made him laugh softly. “As long as I’m your baby, I’ll take it.”

You didn’t mean to say those words. They felt too bold for you to be saying and you half expected him to turn serious and tell you not to get things in your head, but instead he looked into your eyes and smiled.

“Ofcourse,” he said, patting your hair. “You’re my little cherry and I don’t like sharin’..” his fingertip caressed across the black star sapphire diamond engraved into the ring you were still wearing around your neck.

For the whole past year, you had not taken it off once.

“We should clean up and sleep,” you whispered, ignoring how his words had sent your heart aflame.

“I wanna get ya ‘nother present,”

He was already getting up and pulling you off the bed, letting you wander off into the bathroom to clean his cum off of you. This time, you left the door unlocked and seconds later, Elvis came in with his jewelry box.

“Elvis, no.. Put that away. Let’s sleep..”

“Honey,” he said sternly, although you could hear he was playful at the same time. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you closer to him and grabbed a ring, slipping it into your finger, looking at it and when decided he didn’t like it, he took it off of you and rumbled through the box to find another piece. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

You let out a laugh and shook your head at his antics. While he was putting jewelry on you, from rings to bracelets, your eyes were on him.

This magical, weird, funny, sweet man that had the world at the tip of his fingers and probably one of the richest people in the country, and yet he had no problem giving away his gold as if they were pieces of candy.

You didn’t care about the jewelry, though. Or about the money, or about any of the luxury. All you cared about was the man next to you, a child like smile of excitement rooted on his face.

You didn’t want to think about it all ending, so you forced yourself not to. Because all that mattered was right here and now, and this night (and morning) of two people’s souls connecting the way they’d done.

They say you never forget your first time and you wholeheartedly believed that statement. How in the world could you ever forget Elvis Presley?

Taglist: @peaceloveelvis @notstefaniepresley @jhoneybees