#defend press freedom

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I’m sorry but the best Jon Snow AUs are those where he is some sort of civil servant. I always see people headcannon him as ROTC/soldier or cop but I think they kind of miss the mark. GRRM has steadily been moving away from the traditional warrior archetype with Jon and more into the counts-pebbles ruler type. So the cannon compliant AUs are the ones where he ends up as some sort of government official. Maybe he could be a city hall manager or an ombudsman. He could be a state representative or maybe even a senator. Let me remind people that he’s the only elected leader in the series. AU!Jon Snow would totally be the extremely competent but also extremely depressed congressional representative from like, idk, Alaska.

[pressfreedomday]

NIGERIA - How journalists can promote civic space?

 Gatefield is hosting a mixer on Friday, May 3rd, 2024 by 4pm to commemorate the vital role of journalism in a free society. Mingle with journalists, media personalities, and social justice defenders over food and drinks. The evening will feature: An open house discussion on the current state of press freedom in Nigeria. Insights on how journalists can promote civic space in Nigeria.

[imperialgurgaon]

On World Press Freedom Day, we salute the brave journalists who strive to keep us informed and empowered. Your dedication to truth inspires us all.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere Wild West Outlaw!'s Reaction to You Trying to Escape

Warnings: Slight Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Thoughts, Dominant Outlaw Confirmed, Kidnapping, Restraining/Binding, Binding Kink ( 👀), Punishment, Outlaw having Intrusive Thoughts, Forced Proximity (And They Were Roommates), No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

♡ He has you tied down to a chair so quickly you don’t even get the chance to feel the wind being knocked out of you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw hasn’t survived this long by letting pretty little things like you turn the tables on him. And if his unwavering strength and endurance aren’t enough to confirm that, his knotting skills are.

♡ “Thought ya could pull the wool over my eyes, didn’tya,” the Outlaw drawls, pulling the rope tight over your wrists, panting, recovering from your frolic with freedom.

♡ He leans in, close enough that you can smell the rock-beaten freshness of his shirt, can feel the warmth of his anger radiating against your skin.

♡ “Suppose I’ll just have to discipline ya. Make ya nice and obedient.”

♡ Despite the low, husking tone of his voice, the quiet promise of promiscuity in his drawl, Outlaw’s rendition of punishment comes as… solitude.

♡ He leaves you tied to that chair for hours, riding off into the desert, leaving you with nothing to entertain you save for your thoughts and the wonderings of what he’d do to you when he returned.

♡ You might view this as a cold, calloused method of behavioural conditioning. Starving you, not letting you stretch your legs or go to the bathroom.

♡ Of course, the punishment is still horrific. But, rather unintentionally so.

♡ You see, in the moments between Outlaw’s two-minute tango between you, himself and his rope, something in his brain had switched. Snapped.

♡ Having you look up at him with wide eyes as you writhed beneath his touch, the burn of the rope, the pleas starting to fall from between your lips for him to let you go, stirred something in him. A primal frenzy. A dark need.

♡ Yandere Outlaw can’t think straight, his mind flooding with involuntary ideas, notions of what he could do with – to – you while you’re bound and at his mercy.

♡ He doesn’t know what happened; why having your body pressed so closely to him in such a thrashing, violent, desperate encounter has left him with a heavy burden in his heart and in…other places.

♡ He’s wrangled captives before and they’ve never had the same licentious effect as you did. Then again, he’s never kept a captive for this long, either. And certainly not willingly.

♡ Yandere Outlaw eventually returns, the thought of you helpless in that chair weighing heavy on his mind all day, taking him down avenues and annals of thought he’d only have the opportunity to explore under the cover of darkness.

♡ Of course, he was concerned that you must be hungry by now. Thirsty, too.

♡ That, and…

♡ How there’d be nothing to stop him from having his way with you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw shakes his head, his horse letting out a puff, as if she could read his mind. Don’t, she told him.

♡ “Don’t worry,” he said, voice quiet. He patted her mane, rubbed the space between her ears. “I won’t.”

♡ Upon Yandere Outlaw’s return, he cuts you loose. He doesn’t apologise, but his silence is thick enough with the accent of shame that you can tell he regrets, in whatever slim capacity, what he’s done.

♡ He puts together a simple meal tonight, either for a lack of trusting that you won’t spike his meal with one of the earth’s thousand natural poisons, or as an apology for his actions.

♡ That night, as you lay next to the Outlaw in bed, your hands and legs bound to the bedposts, the Outlaw looks over you. Watches you.

♡ He doesn’t know why the image of you being tied up hadn’t aroused him as much as it had earlier. Especially now, of all times, with you sleeping beside him, entirely incapable of defending yourself if he acted on his primal desires.

♡ Perhaps it was the thrill of the prospect of having everything on the line, of losing you. Perhaps it was the display of his strength, his ability to make you do whatever he pleased through physical force alone.

♡ Yandere Outlaw tried to dampen his thoughts by placing his hat over his face; to stop the heat he was certain made his cheeks glow in the pitch blackness of the cabin. 

♡ And to stop the onslaught of another issue. 

♡ Taking a dip in the cold waters of the river this time of night didn’t much appeal to him. Especially when he could indulge himself a little longer in the image of you gagged, bound and entirely his.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[webslingingslasher]

i'm a sucker for angst to fluff. what if parker's friends say some mean things ab your body but parker doesn't defend you. that night, you won't cuddle him, you won't even sleep in the same bed because you don't wanna disgust him... and peter has to make it up to you.

parker is a dunce!!! peter supremacy!

Peter had two sets of friend groups. 

The first one was the original one. Kids he grew up with, suffered through high school and flew into the freedom of college with him. The group you knew the most of, they were the closest to him and nearly the entire group became your friends too. Weekends spent smashing drinks and staying up too late before hitting up a diner for greasy burgers at four in the morning. 

Then the second group, which you did not know well, don’t know how Peter knows them and can’t fathom why Peter would entertain them. 

It’s split like this. 

With friend group A, he’s Peter.

With friend group B, he’s Parker. 

You don’t like Parker; not one bit. 

Parker can be stark, blunt, bold and cocky. 

It was the friend group, they made him believe he was one of them so sometimes he acted a little too much like them. It wasn’t ever too bad, just the stuff you know he normally wouldn’t feed into, he gorged. 

His friend, leader of the group, Nick, said it in passing. It’s not the first time you met, granted you try to spend as little time as possible with them but you also won’t give them the cold shoulder. The mutual understanding with friend group B is that you both are there for Peter’s sake, it just makes things easier. 

Nick threw his beer back, foam swirled to the top. His long arm extended to the seat next to him, his watch clicked against the chair top. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t bag someone with a better body, Parker.” A sharp wink is thrown at your boyfriend, and in response he snorted, “yeah, right.” 

It was sarcastic, you’ll give him that. But he didn’t give more, you waited for the ‘real funny, but don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.’ However, he just rubbed your shoulder and sent a small smile, almost like he was saying, ‘you know how it is.’ 

You didn’t miss the tiny curl of Nick’s lip when you shook Peter’s hand off your arm. 

If he couldn’t stand up to his friends over a shit comment then why would you let him put his hands on your body, knowing everyone thinks he could do better?

—------------------------------

Peter frowned when you pulled away from his grasp, he was going for a hug but you floated away. You were quiet on the ride back, not starting conversation but not letting it fail either. 

If Peter could describe your emotion right now it would be ‘fine.’ 

“C’mon, gimme a hug.” 

You cross your arms, “you sure you want your hands on me?” 

Peter reaches out and tries to pull one hand back with the other but his right hand breaks free and grabs you, “I can’t control them! They need you too much.” 

Sometimes it’s really, really hard to be upset with him. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you pull away, forcing yourself to stand up for yourself, if the situation was reversed you’d shut it down at the dinner table. Not smile sympathetically and give him an ‘oh well!’ 

“Want company?” 

Disappointment covers your features, “not really.” 

He wouldn’t stand up to defend the body he loves but he wants to be first in line to use it. 

“Oh. Okay, if you want I’ll make us some ice cream cones and set up a movie?” 

You shrug, “sure.” 

Peter knows what’s wrong but he views it as a boundary issue between his friends and him, not you. He knows what he needs to do but doesn’t want to involve you further. 

That message doubles down when you told him you would sleep on his couch tonight, he woke you up after the movie to take you to bed when you shrugged him off, “I’ll sleep here tonight,” that never happens, ever. 

“No, c’mon, I’ll carry you.” 

His hands slipped under your thigh when you rolled over, “if it wasn’t so late I’d be at home. Consider yourself lucky that I’m still here.” 

So, Peter presses a kiss to your temple with an “alright, honey. Goodnight, we can talk in the morning, okay?” 

When he walks away you mumble under your breath, “hope you dream about girls with better bodies.” He hears you, it takes everything in him to not bring you with him. 

—----------------------------------

Noise woke you up. 

The room was bright, sleeping in the living room left you exposed to nearly every window in the apartment. Peter’s room was dark and cool, if you were in there it could be well into mid morning before you rose. 

There was a blanket on you that wasn’t there last night, it’s one from Peter’s room, he keeps an extra by his bed for you. The sun peering in warmed up the room and you started to feel just a little too warm. 

You almost forgot why you were awake until you heard a cabinet shut loudly and a soft curse murmured from the kitchen. Peter was up early making breakfast, you know he feels largely guilty. It almost makes everything okay. 

It took heat swarming your face for you to pull the blanket away, the cool breeze from his ceiling fan felt really good. You yawn, then cough from a dry throat. 

“Baby?” 

You sniff, nothing more than a harsh breath, “morning.” Your voice croaks from the couch, you hear shuffling, steps get louder until you looked up at his face peering over you. 

“I slept like shit, how about you?” 

You stretch your arms over your head, “no complaints.” 

Peter recognizes you’re still mad. 

“Waffles or pancakes?” 

You grin, “french toast.” 

Peter leans over the back of the couch, his lips puckered. “Deal,” you push his chin away. “No kisses, you’re on time out.” 

He wanted to wait until after breakfast but he really can’t last that long without a kiss. 

“Okay, come here.” 

You got up and followed him, he grabbed his phone sitting on the counter and gestured to taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Peter unlocked his phone and tapped around, he handed it towards you, you looked at him confused before he wiggled it. “Take it, read it.” 

Taking his phone you looked down, it was blurry and you had to blink a few times. Peter busy with moving around the kitchen. 

A text thread between him and Nick. 

“hey man, I know you didn’t mean anything by it but you hurt some feelings by that comment tonight. From here on out no jokes on or about her, cool?” 

“Ah shit man, my bad. I didn’t mean to get you yelled at, no jokes about the lady in front of her from now on.” 

“I mean don’t joke about her, ever. It’s not cool to me, and it disrespects my girlfriend.” 

“Say less, I’ll tell the guys, no more jokes about parker’s girl.” 

“Appreciate it, man.” 

A small pout takes over your face, he texted it last night after you got home. If you can track it back it would’ve been around the time you were in the shower, unprompted he stuck up for you. 

Peter stood up for you, he had your back. 

You assumed he didn’t, but he just didn’t make a scene. He kept cool and calm until he was back at home, in regards to not embarrassing you or his friends and maybe damaging either relationship. 

You click your tongue, your boyfriend meets your eyes, he’s awaiting a response. 

“Well, now it’s hard to be mad.” 

“I will always defend your honor, sweetheart. Just because I don’t do it at that moment doesn’t mean I wont, okay? I love you and you are absolutely the hottest woman I could ever bag, alright?” 

You respond with countless kisses and cuddles, Peter needs to nearly peel you off his body so he can use the stove safely, but not one complaint utters from his lips. 

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 || dark!joel miller x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 || he told you he'd never let you go, but it hadn't sounded like a threat at the time— it sounded like pillow talk, like sweet nothings. you should've believed him; you should've known escape wasn't an option from a man like joel miller.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 || a bit over 3k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 || smut (18+ only; noncon/heavy dubcon, bondage, forced breeding), stalking/yandere, possessiveness, past/described character death, "bunny" as a pet name (with a couple "baby"s and "babygirl"s in there), angst, gaslighting/manipulation

“How’d you find me here?”

His face was straight and stoic.  Last time, he’d smirked when you asked that— like he was proud of himself.  Now, he was just tired.  Tired of chasing you, tired of your constant yet fruitless search for freedom. 

Tired, and angry.

“I’m persistent,” was his flat reply.

“Well, doesn’t matter,” you shook your head, “doesn’t change anything— same as before, it’s over.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” you shot back instantly, “and I’m not explaining this shit you again.  You don’t fucking own me.”

“So all those things you said— that we said?” Joel hissed, stepping forward, making you feel cornered in your own tiny room.  It wasn’t much, but it was your own, and you loved it for that.  You’d spent the last month making it feel like home, and now you’d have to leave it all again, have to run from him again.  “What was that, then? All just bullshit?”

“I— that was a different time, I was a different person,” you sighed.  “So were you.”

“Said you loved me,” he recalled.

“I didn’t even know you,” you snapped.  “You aren’t who I thought you were…”

He stepped up to you again, and you reached for your belt— but he grabbed your wrist before you could grab the knife.  “Whatcha gonna do with that, bunny?” he cooed, sickly-sweet.

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, trying to wriggle out of his grasp but only hurting your wrist more.  “You can’t call me that anymore…”

“Gonna hurt me, bunny?” he continued, pulling you closer until you had to bite down on your shaking lip— you didn’t want him to see you cry, again.  Because even after everything, when you cried, you still wanted him most— you still craved his comfort, even knowing that it was all lies.  He was sick and twisted, you knew that, but he looked just like the man you fell in love with— he smelled like him, he had his warmth and strength, and your body sometimes longed to wrapped up in his arms again even if your heart ached remembering what he’d done.  “Y’already hurt me as bad as you ever could.  And I still love you.”

You shook your head, tears starting to roll, as he pressed his face against your head and took in a deep breath beside your hair.  “You never l-loved me,” you hiccuped, “you don’t— you don’t do what you did to people you love—”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he defended, “just made sure nobody would try to keep us apart, s’all.  M’sorry for what happened to your brother, too, but you know I only did what I had to.”

“Shut up,” you pleaded, trying to pull away again.

“You know he stepped up on me,” he continued anyways, “you know he said I couldn’t be trusted, that I wasn’t good enough for you— and I couldn’t just let him say that shit.”

“Stop, stop talking,” you begged, shutting your eyes tight and trying so hard not to see it again— your brother on the ground, his face red and bruises already forming on his neck, Joel standing over him catching his breath.  “Y-you just did it b-because he was all I had left,” you said, mostly reminding yourself.  “That was the only reason my brother died.  Because you needed to be the only thing I loved.”

“He was a piece of shit!” Joel barked, making you cry harder.  “He was nothing, okay?  I’m your everything—”

“No, no—”

“You said that!  And he was gonna try to take you away from me!”

“Because I told him I was scared of you,” you explained.

“So it’s your fault— you killed him,” Joel insisted as you tried to cover your face with your spare hand.  “Shouldn’t’ve told him that, bunny… shouldn’t’ve let him try to steal you, you know I couldn’t let you go— you know I can’t let go of what’s mine…”

He always got in your head so quickly; he'd carefully built his control over your mind in the year you'd been together, and it took a while to break out of it once you'd left.  But even still, you'd never stopped looking over your shoulder— every time he tracked you down, you made another escape and started all over.  But it didn't usually last too long.

“That’s why I’m just gonna keep finding you, bunny.  ‘Cause you’re mine.  So will you just stop runnin’ from me?”

You tried to take a deep breath, fighting to get enough air in your lungs to speak, but it all still came out as a shaky whisper: “I’m not… I’m not yours anymore,” you informed him weakly.

“Let me tell you somethin’,” he said— calm at first, but suddenly getting angrier as he sneered and yanked you closer.  “Somethin’ you’re gonna be better off the sooner you accept it: you’ll always be mine.”

You whimpered as he spun you around, embracing you— or was he constricting you? — as your back pressed against his broad chest.

"Need me to remind you?" he purred in your ear, and you struggled harder against his grip.

"No, Joel— don't—" you pleaded.

"Need to remember who you belong to?" he pressed again, reaching down to start unbuttoning your jeans.  "M'gonna help you, bunny, it's okay— you're not gonna forget again."

"Please," you whined, shivering when he started to tug your pants down— it was cold in here, and even his warm fingers weren't enough when the draft hit your bare thighs.  "Joel, don't have to do this— let's just talk, we can talk—"

"Too late for that," he shook his head, groaning as he cupped your sex in his rough hand.  "Tried to talk to you already, when we talk you start fuckin' lyin' to me— callin' me a monster just 'cause I love you.  Sayin' you don't love me anymore… but your body doesn't lie, baby, feel that?"

He'd pushed your panties down and was sliding his fingers between your lips, purring as he roughly explored the slick folds of skin.  Your stomach sank and your chest felt hollow— even with everything he'd done, you never thought he'd do this to you…

"Oh, fuckin' wet," he noticed with a sickening grin that you could hear in his voice.  You turned your face away but he grabbed it with his free hand and turned you back to look at him.  "Kiss me," he ordered.

Slamming his lips on yours, you whined and tried to pull away.  He kept kissing you anyways, lips and tongue overwhelming yours, indifferent to your resistance.

"Don't be like that, bunny," he pouted when you managed to wrench your head back— he started kissing your jaw and neck next, rubbing circles on your clit with two fingers.  "You just need to remember how good it is to be mine— just relax, baby, just let me help you—"

But when you tried to kick at his legs, a desperate attempt for a chance to flee, he got angry again and threw you face-down onto your bed.

"Please, don't," you sobbed, but he was already behind you, grabbing your wrists and holding them down over your head.

You cried harder when he let go with one hand, and you heard the slide of leather on denim as he took his belt off.

Crying harder, you felt him lean over you and wrap the belt around your wrists, tying them together tightly.  You were begging incoherently, too scared to try to fight against the leather on your wrists but hating how it felt to be restrained (especially in such a crude way).

A moment later, he tugged you down so that you were bent over the side of the bed while he stood behind you, and he started to open his own jeans.

A shudder crawled over you when you felt his cock rub up against your ass, a low groan coming from behind you as he ran his hand over your back— maybe just to touch you, maybe to hold you down.

"Joel, I'm sorry," you whispered, "I'm sorry, I won't leave again, I swear…"

He hummed happily, but didn't stop.

"Just please stop," you requested weakly.  "I'll be yours again, but you— you're hurting me…"

"Only 'cause you made me," he accused with a growl.  "If this is what you need to know whose you are, then I'm gonna hurt you."

"No— you don't need to do that, I-I know now, I swear…"

You heard him spit, then the wet sounds of him spreading the fluid on his cock, and you buried your face in the sheets.  "It's gonna be okay, bunny," he promised, just before he shoved himself inside you.

He used to be so tender, so delicate with you.  For all his mood swings and violent tendencies, he'd always made love to you so sweetly.  You couldn't believe that was the same man as the one holding you down now, forcing his cock deeper and grunting loudly as you whined in pain. 

"You can take it," he informed you coldly, already moving far too fast and slamming to the deepest parts of you each time.  "Same dick you used to beg for all the time, don't act so fuckin' hurt when I know you like this."

His hands moved to your shoulders, holding them tightly as he found his pace; you heard every moan, every heavy breath, even though you wanted so much to try to ignore it all.  The most difficult thing to ignore, of course, was how it felt: the sting of being stretched around him, the soreness where he dug his fingers into your skin, the sick pleasure you hated yourself for noticing.

"God, I missed this," he groaned.  "Missed having this little pussy around me— I'm gonna make you feel so good, bunny, gonna take care of you like I promised."

He laid himself down over you, pressing you down deeper into the mattress, and spoke right by your ear.

"Used to say nobody else ever made you feel like I did," he purred.  "You remember that?  Was that even true, or were you a liar then, too?"

"N-no, I never lied to you, Joel," you tried to defend yourself— but then he moved his hips just right and forced you to take even more of him than you thought possible, and your voice fell into a whine.

"What about when you said we'd always be together, huh?" he prompted with disdain in his voice.  "I told you I needed you, bunny.  M'fuckin' nothin' without you, you know that— and then you left me.  How could you break my heart like that, babygirl?"

"I'm sorry," you cried, "I-I was just scared… you… you killed my brother, Joel.  I hate you for that."

"I know," he soothed, "I know— but I can't lose you.  I'm sorry, bunny, I can't let you go."

Unfortunately, that you knew; and in a way, you understood.  You just wished this wasn't your fate, that you might have a chance to be free— that just wasn't in the cards for the girl Joel Miller loved.  He'd let a lot of things slip away from him in this life and you were not going to be next on that list.

After a while, it started to feel familiar; it reminded you of how it used to be, when things felt so simple and you had no idea what was around the corner.  Your body relaxed under his, your legs stopped flailing and your grip on the sheets loosened… you went limp, the struggle leaving you as another instinct took over.

Slipping his arms under you, he held you tightly, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck.  The sickest part was how easy it was to let his praises wash over you.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered to you, “that’s my good bunny— just like that, lemme take care a’you…”

All your energy was focused on not letting him hear how it affected you, how easily he could reclaim your body.  You’d been running for months— almost two since you’d seen him last, when he tracked you down to Michigan and you only got away cause you had a friend with a car— and he had you back under his thumb in minutes.  Maybe he was right: you’d always be his, no matter what anyone did.  Even your own brother couldn’t save you.

“I betcha missed me, too,” Joel mumbled in your ear.  “Betcha got lonely, huh, bunny?  I’m here now, never letting you go again, I swear— can’t live without you… we need each other.  You need me.”

It was so strange to you, how he could sound so sweet and then so livid in just a moment.

“Just admit it, baby,” he encouraged— but it was an order, you weren’t too far gone to know that.

“I need you,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Louder,” he demanded.

“I ne—” you choked, having to stop and start over because your voice was broken from crying.  “I need you, Joel.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and his thrusts picked up in speed.  You could hear the sound of skin slapping on skin— of your wet channel betraying the way you actually did need him.  “Yeah, fuck,” he repeated, “s’my girl… always ready for me, huh?  Such a needy fuckin’ pussy y’got…”

He was moving harder and faster than ever, but his thrusts were more shallow than before— he usually started by savoring you, pulling out to the very tip and sliding back in so he could feel you on every inch of his cock.  But then he got into this sort of mood, where he could barely bring himself to pull out at all— said it felt too good inside you to leave— and so it was more like grinding, staying deep in you and letting just the base of him thrust in and out.  It was so deep it made your head spin, but you couldn’t do anything but lay there.  Lay there and realize that it was too late to stop him, or to stop yourself from what was about to happen.

You hoped if you didn't make a sound, he wouldn't notice.  You used to always tell him when you were coming, because he told you to: coming, Joel, you're gonna make me come— please don't stop—

But he noticed, even without all that fanfare.  Even if only a suppressed whine echoed in your throat, he felt the way your body reacted when he brought you to the peak.

"Mm," he hummed proudly, "y'see?  See how your body remembers?  Fuck, love feelin' it when ya come, babydoll.  Love feeling that li'l cunt squeeze me."

After you’d come, though, you became far too sensitive— everything was just too much, all at once, and your whole body began to shake.  He didn’t slow down, he wasn’t fazed at all, but you were so overcome you could barely choke out your plea for mercy: “J-Joel, please… s’too much, I jus’... I need a second—”

“Shh,” he interrupted.  “Still teachin’ you your lesson, bunny.”

“No, fuck,” you gasped, “Joel, I… I can’t…”

“Can’t take it?” he finished for you.  “Can’t take any more of this?  This is what you wanted, though.  Isn’t that why you made me come all this way?  Made me chase you all over the fuckin’ country just so I could get my girl back?

"I won't leave Joel, just stop—"

"I know," he groaned.  "I know you won't leave me again, especially when you're pregnant."

"What?  Joel, no—"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, gripping your hips tighter.

"Joel, don't—"

Your begs were accompanied by your shaking hands trying to somehow wiggle their way out of the belt, but both were useless.  He was so much stronger, his weight kept you pinned so easily that you felt like you couldn't breathe; his hips drove into yours over and over, every movement like another punch to the gut and a stab to the heart.  “Just take it, baby,” he demanded, though the tone of his voice was sweet— rough, but sweet.  “Just trust me.”

I don’t trust you, you wanted to scream, I can’t trust you.  But it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, if you could even pull yourself together enough to speak.

"We're gonna be together, like you said," he promised, his voice a deep growl as he fought his way to the peak of pleasure, slamming into you ruthlessly.  "Me an' you, and our baby.  Gonna make you so happy, bunny, gonna take care of you— and we're gonna be a family—"

"Please,” you breathed, “let's just— just talk about this first…"

"And you'll be mine forever, y'hear me?  You're never gonna try to fuckin' leave again."

You shook your head, exhausted and overwhelmed and giving in completely to the fact that he did own you, even after you insisted that he didn't.

"Say it."

"I won't try to leave you again," you promised, the words like poison in your throat but music to his ears.  "I love you, Joel… you know I love you…"

"I love you too, bunny," he returned, holding onto you tighter.  "So much— more than you can imagine."

You were numb, barely in reality, as he filled you; you could feel his cock flexing inside you and you hated the way it made your walls pulse— it showed how your body craved what your mind feared.  

“Baby…” he groaned, that heavy satisfaction in his voice as he sunk down on top of you.  You’d been waiting for him to pull out, disgusted that he was still inside you and hoping that you could sneak off to the bathroom to try to clean yourself out; but, he stayed inside, and relaxed even further as he stayed laying on top of you.

Staring off into space, you tried to shut your eyes but it burned.  So you just blinked through the pain and wished against everything that this was some horrible dream.

If it was, it felt more real than anything ever had.  He kissed your face gently, wiping the last of your tears away with his thumb.  "Shh, it's okay, little bunny… everything's gonna be okay now," he soothed in a whisper.  “You won’t have to be alone anymore.  It’s gonna be how it’s supposed to— how we said it would: you and me, forever.  Okay?”

It wasn’t a dream, but the way you spoke and moved without even thinking first sort of felt like one; “Okay,” you mumbled weakly as you nodded.

He smiled proudly down at you.  “Now let’s get you home, bunny.”

[l0viia]

𝙰𝙺𝙰𝚉𝙰 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆! 𝟷𝟾+!

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚         

✧. ┊         

⋆ ★

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

❥┈┈┈•˼͝ʹ͜ ˓̇͜∙͡∘❀ 𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓘𝓘𝓐 ❀⋞∙͜͡∘ʹ͜˻͝•┈┈┈❥

❥┈┈┈•˼͝ʹ͜ ˓̇͜∙͡∘❀ 𝓜𝓘𝓝𝓞𝓡𝓢 𝓓𝓝𝓘 ❀⋞∙͜͡∘ʹ͜˻͝•┈┈┈❥

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He met you while he was investigating a lead on the spider lilies. He realized you were a Hashira and a 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧. So he did what he felt was right and fled. Obviously you chased after him relentlessly which annoyed him to no end.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He dodged your attacks and only defended himself when it was absolutely needed, but no matter how much he ran you just 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 leave him alone so he turned around and caught you in his arms forcing you to stop.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who watched you flail uncomfortably in the air so he pinned you on the floor to try and make his grip less painful on you. This only caused you to get flustered which confused him until he realized his knee was in between your legs pressing against you while he restricted your arms beside your head.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Looking down at your flustered expression he let indecent thoughts run through his head as he contemplated if what he wanted to do to you would be considered harming a woman.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ “ It would only hurt her for a second then it would feel good”. He would make excuses to justify what he wanted to do before actually deciding to give into his desires.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would immediately rip the fabric protecting your chest off of your body causing you to struggle against him while the cold night air nipped at your exposed skin.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would watch as your nipples would harden at the sudden loss of warmth before he dips his head down and swiped his tongue along the bud.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Hearing you suck in a sharp breath trying to cover your sounds would annoy him as he retracts from your chest. Looking down at your flustered face he would hum lightly before dragging his tongue along the center of your neck teasingly.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ “ I forgot that you mortal women always like to be kissed a little before being handled isn’t that right 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓?” He would watch as your face gets red in embarrassment and anger, but as soon as you open your mouth to yell at the demon he would connect his lips to yours sensually.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would allow you to try and gain control over the situation because he thinks it’s amusing. Letting you almost win before rubbing his knee against your clothed pussy causing you to gasp into his mouth.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would shove his tongue into your mouth while grinding you down against his knee. Moaning around his tongue you would give up the fight between you and the demon letting him have his way.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would notice immediately that you’ve given into him and release you from the deep kiss. Moving his head down he would take each of your nipples into his mouth lightly just to watch your sensitive body react against him.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would get impatient the moment he smells your arousal and release you from the pinned state he had you in, but before you could react to the new found freedom he would hike your skirt up and yank down your panties before spreading your legs and opening you up for him to see.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would watch you try and sit up to cover yourself before pulling you towards him by your legs and attaching his mouth to your pussy.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would love the way your hands would shoot into his hair in attempt to pull him away from your leaking core but still grinding your hips up to deepen the pressure he was applying to your clit.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who would get pussy drunk off the taste of you as he drug his tongue in and out of you greedily before pulling your sensitive clit into his mouth and sucking on it while swirling his tongue over the little sensitive nerve.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would groan into your pussy as you cry out and release in his mouth while pulling his face closer to you desperately.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who would realize you we’re overstimulated and that you were trying to pull away from him. He would immediately lock his hands around your thighs and bury himself deeper in your cunt growling every time you tried to jerk away from him.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who couldn’t find the strength to pull his face away from your pussy regardless of the painfully hard boner he had been dealing with sense the moment his tongue met your heat.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who would drag orgasm after orgasm out of you just from his mouth leaving you shaking and crying from the overstimulation and humiliation.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ Who finally released you after realizing the sun had started to come up. Looking down at your semi naked form he would glance between the sun and your body.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would quickly pull his vest off and slide it over you buttoning it quickly. Sliding your underwear off he would stuff them in his pocket so he could find you again next nightfall.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would pull your skirt back down to cover your flesh before leaving quick kisses over your thighs before reaching up and connecting your lips quickly.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ “ There’s another human heading up the trail. Seek refuge from them until I come back for you next nightfall little warrior”. He would give you these light commands as you babbled any words you could before he took off as fast as he could to seek shelter from the sun.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ With his luck he would almost immediately find an abandoned cottage the moment the sun almost hit him. Kicking the door shut he would slide down the wall before pulling your underwear from his pocket.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would hold them over his nose inhaling deeply before reaching in his pants, quickly freeing his cock before wrapping his hand around himself immediately.

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 ⇨ He would moan and tilt his head back before thrusting himself into his hand repeatedly while thinking of you 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓.

𝑨𝒌𝒂𝒛𝒂 ⇨ Who would spend the next 12 hours of daylight imagining you in every position he could think of and practically begging his god to let nightfall arrive already so he can go devour you the only way he would allow himself too.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Loneliness

The Fall from The Heavens Universe Chapter

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, trauma related to sexual experiences and their description, sexual experience of a minor (brothel), manipulation, swearing, description of discomfort associated with menstruation ]

[ description: The events that took place between the beginning and the end of chapter two of The Fall from the Heavens, i.e. the memories of Aemond and Rhaenys as children and later, just before their reunion after many years. ]

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

My other works: Masterlist

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"Where are we going?" He asked uncertainly, seeing her excited face, which meant she had a plan in her mind that he might not like. Her lips curved into a wide, happy smile at the thought.

"To the Dragon's Pit." She explained, and her uncle froze in half-motion and stopped.

"I don't want to." He replied coldly.

She looked at him in surprise, seeing his discouraged, distant gaze, his jaw clenched in discomfort.

"Don't you trust me?" She asked softly, bestowing on him a comforting, warm smile, meant to add credibility to her attitude. Her betrothed swallowed hard and hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"– I – well – I do –" He muttered finally, defeated.

Although she tried to converse with him on various light topics that usually aroused his interest, such as their lineage or history, her uncle remained sullen and silent, gazing indifferently out the window of the carriage that had taken them from the Red Keep to their destination.

When they stepped outside, the dragon guardians were already waiting for them, assuring her that everything was ready.

Larax squirmed with joy at the sight of her, the sound she made reminding her of the squeal of a small child – she was still quite tiny, her silver-blue scales shining as she swept her wings, hopping in place as if to show her how happy she was to see her.

She was like a puppy that could breathe fire.

Her uncle seemed shocked – he walked a few steps behind her, aloof but intrigued at the same time. Her dragoness, although wearing a long chain around her neck, had quite a lot of freedom of movement and came running to her as soon as she knelt down in front of her, cuddling her head into her breast. She lifted her gaze to her betrothed, smiling.

"Marriage is sharing everything, becoming one. This means that Larax belongs to you from now on as well, and I wanted you to get acquainted." She said excitedly.

Her uncle swallowed hard, clearly shocked, his lips twitching in a shy smile of disbelief, from which heat filled her heart.

He knelt down beside her, but stepped back immediately, frightened as Larax hissed, in her dragon mind defending her from the strange intruder.

"Daor, Larax! Lykiri! Lykiri." She called out, stroking her back reassuringly, wanting her to understand that they were in no danger.

"– give me your hand –" She said softly, extending her palm to him. Her uncle allowed her to take his fingers in hers, and after a moment, keeping them entwined together, she placed his hand on her head.

Feeling the familiar and unfamiliar scent at the same time, Larax froze, breathing anxiously, as if wondering how she should react. She could hear her uncle's heavy, excited breath behind her as she began to stroke her scales with his palm in soft, slow movements.

Larax calmed down after a moment, recognising that, indeed, the small creature that accompanied her rider was no threat to them. She laid her head on her thigh, gazing at the strange newcomer, and she let go of his hand, allowing him to touch her alone.

Her betrothed leaned slightly over her shoulder to get a better look at her dragoness, keeping a safe distance, however, so as not to provoke her.

"– what do you think of her? –" She asked lightly.

Her uncle was silent for a long moment, stunned.

"– she is beautiful –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"A man should not run after a woman, Your Grace. It's a sign of desperation and weakness not befitting your position." Criston Cole said to him coolly, taking him aside after one of their trainings in the courtyard.

He had hurt her by not letting her kiss his cheek in the presence of the others and he just wanted to fix that, make her smile again.

He swallowed hard, feeling a wave of shame and discomfort fill his lower abdomen at his harsh words and impatient gaze.

"– she's good to me – I just didn't want her to be sad – we're betrothed –" He muttered, looking at the ground beneath his feet, embarrassed by this conversation.

Cristone Cole looked away and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"– it's just appearances, my Prince – her mother wants her to manipulate you and push you away from your brother and your family –" He replied dryly, and his words left him stunned.

"– she had never –"

"– only a naïve man allows a woman to rule over his mind – keep your dignity and do not allow her into your heart as anyone other than the mother of your future children –"

For some reason, his words and their overtones hurt him deeply and he himself did not know what he should do, what was expected of him.

The septon had always told him that a good husband looks out for the safety and well-being of his wife, listens to her, and sometimes allows himself to be weak in her arms in order to experience relief.

He said that if his wife reciprocates his endeavours, their marriage will be peaceful and successful.

Indeed, by following these rules and observing her efforts towards him, he felt a pleasant contentment and satisfaction. His niece did not impose on him or order him to change his habits, just as he did not require her to do so.

What's more, she supported him every step of the way in his daily duties, and in moments of sadness or fear, which he refused to admit out loud, she allowed him to take refuge in the warm embrace of her soft arms.

The thought that he should reject all this and build a wall between them seemed to him, despite all his doubts, inappropriate and hurtful to her when she was trying so hard to make him content.

He decided that when she came to his chamber at night he would tell her not to do it again and send her away.

She, as soon as she crossed the threshold of his quarters, ran to his bed and jumped onto the sheets, hiding under the soft, warm furs at his side, sighing in relief, immediately snuggling into his body. He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant shiver run down his spine, and thought they could lie like that for a while before he told her of his decision.

"– I am grateful to you for being so good to me –" She whispered, lifting her head, wanting to look at him. He nodded, not embracing her as was his usual habit, looking dully ahead. She raised herself on her arm, seeing his complete lack of reaction at her words, frowning.

"– uncle? – is something bothering you? – you can tell me –" She added immediately, moving closer to him, leaning over his face – her eyes were shining in the darkness of his chamber, her dark brows arched in sadness and worry at his condition.

He swallowed hard, looking at her with his lips parted, his hand involuntarily touching her cheek.

It was soft and warm.

Do not come here again.

He thought that phrase in his head, but instead his hand forced her to lean in, her moist, puffy lips pressed against his in a soft, soothing kiss.

He could feel his heart pounding fast, how hot he was with excitement, how his whole body screamed that this was what he wanted, this was what he needed.

Her, as close as possible.

He hugged her to his chest, pressing her face to his neck, and closed his eyes.

"– it's nothing –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"I would like to discuss with you… a delicate matter." Said her mother, sitting down next to her a few months after the King had announced her betrothal to her uncle. She nodded, sensing that she was about to hear something important.

"I want you to understand that your nuptials with Alicent's son and what they entail will not take place until you reach the age of fourteen." She said slowly, as if she wanted her daughter to understand exactly every word she spoke.

She nodded her head slowly, looking at her with big eyes, pressing her lips together in some kind of disappointment.

"Why do I have to wait so long?" She asked uncertainly – her mother twisted restlessly in her chair, placing her hand over hers.

"My love, Aegon… from what I've heard, I know he likes the company of girls. That he likes to touch them in places that only a husband can touch his wife. I wanted to ask if his brother, and your betrothed, is also trying…" She did not finish, clearly not knowing how to put into words what she wanted to convey to her.

She cocked her head, curious, understanding after a moment what she meant.

"– does my uncle slip his hand under my nightgown? –" She asked lightly, her mother squeezed her hand tighter at her words, turning pale.

"– yes – yes, my love –"

She shook her head quickly, and Rhaenyra sighed in relief, clenching her eyes.

"– no – but sometimes, when we're alone and we're happy, our lips meet –" She muttered, embarrassed, swinging her legs sitting on a chair that was too high for her.

Her mother laughed under her breath.

"– I see –"

"– is it a sin? – can I expect his child because of this? –" She mumbled out quickly, choking out what she had wanted to ask her for a long time, terrified of the disgrace she would bring upon her betrothed if it turned out that she was carrying his illegitimate offspring.

Rhaenyra burst out laughing, shaking her head, her hand stroking her hair affectionately.

"– no, my love – it is merely a tender expression of affection that can be shared with one's betrothed –" Her mother replied calmly, and she smiled broadly, comforted and reassured, thinking that she would place many warm, sweet kisses on her betrothed's lips that evening.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– no – forgive me, Princess, but it is impossible – your request is unworthy of a lady –" He heard Criston Cole's voice directed towards his betrothed as he stepped out into the courtyard as he did every morning – he escorted her away with a surprised, uneasy look as she nodded her head and walked away, without bestowing even a single warm word on him, as was her custom.

He did not dare to ask Ser Criston what she was requesting; he found out later, when, concerned by her absence in the library, he paid her a visit in her chamber.

She was lying on her bed, her face red from the tears she had surely shed immediately after their brief exchange of words – she was no longer crying now, but her eyebrows arched in pain when he asked her what had happened.

"– my mother gave me a dagger so I could defend myself when I am alone – but what good is it to me if I can't use it? – I wanted Ser Criston to teach me how to hold it – I wanted to be like your Visenya –" She confessed sadly, her last words like a mumble, her eyes flooded with tears again as she burst into sobs.

He stared at her with wide eyes, not knowing completely what to say or think about her unusual request.

She was a woman and the image of her holding a weapon seemed unnecessary and ridiculous to him, however, her words planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart.

What if someone harms her in his absence?

Threaten her life?

Once he was her husband, he thought, he would be her protector by day and night, but until they were married, he could not fulfil that role.

He left her chamber, making her think for certain that he now despised her as well, he, however, returned a moment later with a small straw target in the shape of a man with spots marked on his body. His niece rose on her hands, looking at him with big eyes as the door closed behind him.

"– come here – I will teach you the basics –" He muttered lowly, serious, feeling a pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would now be her teacher and she would have to obey him.

His betrothed beamed all over, a light, sweet giggle left her lips that made him hot.

"– turn your back on me –" She ordered cheerfully.

"– why? –" He asked.

"– my dagger is hidden only in a place known to me – not even you can know where it is –" She said in an unobjectionable voice – he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away reluctantly, impatient.

He heard a creak and a quiet rustling, and a moment later his niece was standing beside him with a beautiful short dagger created from Valyrian steel, with a handle in the shape of a dragon's tail, holding it as if she were wielding an axe.

"– you're holding it the wrong way – lower it so that the blade is in horizontal position – yes, just like that –" He praised her as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to lower her arm. She nodded, apparently writing down in her head this important remark.

"– the main rule is: don't cut as if you have a sword, because your opponent will grab your wrist and snatch your weapon away – just stab – at your height, preferably in the stomach or thighs, right here –" He said, demonstrating the move she should make by pretending as if he had the weapon, hitting the spots he mentioned with the front of his clenched fist.

He stepped back and watched with wide-open eyes as his niece, with an expression of great fierceness and anger, began to stab the hay puppet, as if she actually imagined that it was someone who wanted to harm her.

"– enough – enough, surely it's already dead –" He muttered, pulling her away, looking at her in disbelief, thinking that with such a commitment perhaps she would even be able to wield a sword.

"– did I do it well, uncle? –" She asked excitedly, curls of her hair stuck to her cheeks red with emotion.

"– yes – very well –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After her uncle lost an eye and her mother remarried, they stopped visiting the Red Keep. Her betrothed, to her despair, did not write back to her first letter or the many that followed, in which she asked him about his health and when she would be able to see him again.

Accustomed to his daily presence, despite being surrounded by her siblings, she felt lonely. Her bed was cold and empty without his warm body beside her, without his tender hand to stroke her head as she fearfully awoke again and again from a terrible nightmares.

One morning she woke up feeling discomfort between her thighs. She moved higher, wanting to look at the liquid that covered her skin and screamed involuntarily when she saw it was blood.

Her mother, as soon as she found out, came to reassure her.

"Do you remember our conversation when I told you that a woman blooms like a flower? This is what has just happened. It means you will be able to give your future husband children." Said her mother, covering her tightly with furs, already lying in a clean nightgown and smallclothes to prevent her from dirtying the bedding again.

She nodded, and as soon as Rhaenyra left, she broke into tears.

Although it was supposed to be an uplifting moment, it wasn't at all – she felt discomfort and contractions in her lower abdomen, she didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and she felt blood flowing again and again from between her thighs.

She thought it was a disgusting feeling, and she felt even worse at the thought that it meant she would soon be ready to get married.

Her betrothed didn't want her, and her mother began to speak more and more boldly about her possible nuptials with her cousin.

She closed her eyes at this thought and swallowed hard, holding back the tears of regret that were again pushing against her eyelids.

That day she took out the parchment and quill again, thinking in the back of her mind that even if he threw her letters into the fire and didn't read them, she needed to confide in someone and she wanted it to be him.

She began to write, for the first time not thinking about the content of what she had to communicate, letting her thoughts flow.

Today, something terrible happened, and although I know these things don't concern you or may even cause you disgust, I can't confide in anyone else about my suffering. My bloody flower has blossomed. My mother says that I have now become a woman, but I feel nothing of the sort. I feel dirty, I feel pain, I feel ashamed. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to be a mother.

She cried out loud as she wrote the last sentence and rolled the parchment up, ordering it to be sent to King's Landing into the hands of the Prince before she could change her mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

To his surprise, despite not answering her, he would find her letters waiting for him, lying on the top of his table exactly every two months.

At first he never wanted to read them – he even thought about throwing them into the fire, but then curiosity won out and he would sit down in front of the fireplace, unrolling the parchment.

He read what she had written, imagining her voice, that she stood behind him and whispered it all in his ear, embracing him, confiding in him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart, feeling the suffering behind every letter she wrote down for him, her expression of longing and sadness, loneliness and loss.

He himself was more lost than ever.

His brother surprised him when, on his Name Day, when he turned exactly thirteen, he announced to him that it was time to get it wet.

He did not understand what he meant.

It was only when he led him under cover of darkness to one of the buildings he had evidently visited himself that he noticed with embarrassment the curves of the half-naked women they passed, whom Aegon evidently knew, greeting them along the way.

"– we should not be here – our mother –" He muttered, but his brother shushed him.

"– shut your mouth, mummy's boy – today you will become a man –" He hissed, tapping his index finger against his forehead, as if to show him that he was a fool, a silly little boy.

He clenched his jaw in rage at the thought, recognising that, indeed, he was already a grown man.

Or at least he thought he was.

The woman he took him to was pretty, but much older than him.

He thought she could be their mother.

When Aegon left them alone he did not know what to do with himself – he felt both excitement and embarrassment at the same time, not really knowing whether he wanted it or not.

Aegon said that laying with a woman was very pleasant and gave a feeling of immense relief.

He wanted to feel relief.

The woman reached out to him encouragingly, telling him not to be ashamed, to lie comfortably on the bed and let her take care of himself.

He didn't know what she meant, but decided that since she was more experienced, he should listen to her.

The feeling of being inside her was terrifyingly foreign and uncomfortable – he swallowed hard, looking wide-eyed at her stomach, afraid to look at her face, clenching his hands into fists on the sheets.

She has never touched me like this, he thought.

Rhaenys had never touched me like this.

He was furious with himself, but he felt tears burning under his eyelids at the thought, and though he pressed his lips together, one by one they ran down the sides of his face.

"– no –" He muttered and shook his head. "– not like this –"

The woman understood vaguely what he meant, an expression of sympathy on her face from which he felt discomfort in his stomach and throat.

"– Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfilment –"

It wasn't until a few years later that he realised he wasn't even completely hard at the time – that effect was only achieved when she climbed off him and took his manhood in her hand, squeezing it up and down until his warm seed leaked out.

He felt relief, but not the kind he wanted.

In fact, he felt even worse than before.

What would she say if she saw this?

She would be disgusted with me, he thought and cried out loud, walking back to the Red Keep alone, not waiting for Aegon to finish whatever it was he was doing with those girls.

He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to know about it.

When he returned to his chamber, he took out all the letters she had sent him over the years and placed them beside him on his bed. He closed his eyes and was only relieved when he realised that they had soaked up her scent.

The smell of vanilla.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

One day she woke up, breathing fast, feeling a pleasant heat and tickling in her lower abdomen. She dreamt that her uncle had flown to Dragonstone and spent the night with her despite her cries and pleas.

She didn't know what exactly could happen during this act, not being aware of all the details, but she knew that he would put the part of his body that was in his breeches between her thighs to fill her with his seed.

In the dream, his hot, wet lips clung to hers in greedy, possessive kisses, his breath heavy as his broad hands roamed all over her body, squeezing her breasts and buttocks, until he finally forced his way inside her with the sudden, sharp thrust of his hips.

In her sleep, she felt no pain – moreover, his deep, quick pushes and his low groans of pleasure made the space between her thighs swell and pulsate, making her feel tense and uncomfortable as soon as she awoke, drenched in sweat.

She closed her eyes, feeling on the one hand relieved and on the other disappointed that this was not true – the worst part, however, was that the unpleasant, almost painful tickling sensation between her thighs did not go away.

She decided to check with her hand what this place was, what would happen if she touched it.

She tentatively lifted the material of her nightgown and traveled down between her warm thighs – a quiet sigh escaped her lips as her soft fingers stroked her moist, fleshy folds, all leaking and sticky.

She felt a pleasant shiver run along her spine and some kind of tingle deep inside her, her nipples and lips puffy with desire.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, digging her fingertips deeper into her soft skin – she shuddered and sighed as she touched the small, swollen bud between her folds – surprised, she found that when she touched it directly, it felt almost painful, but as she began to gently press and rub the area around it, a wonderful wave of heat began to rise in her lower abdomen.

Her breath became heavy as she imagined it was his hand touching her as he came back for her, whispering that he had wanted to do this to her for a long time, that he thought only of her, that he would now take her for himself.

She imagined his hot lips clinging to hers, his fingers sliding deep inside her, wanting to feel her, and she threw her head back with a quiet, surprised moan, feeling a sudden, wonderful relief.

She swallowed hard, realising after a moment that it was her own fingers that had slipped deep into her tight slit, her hot, moist walls clenching around them again and again together with waves of delicious pleasure surging through her whole body.

She stared dully ahead, panting loudly, feeling that as soon as the wonderful sensation passed, a complete and terrifying emptiness filled her heart and mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After what had happened in the brothel, he would not allow himself to be touched this way by any woman. He told himself that he simply didn't want to experience a similar humiliation, to cry at the thought that the one he fucked wasn't the one he dreamed of at night, but the truth was that even if he wanted to, he couldn't get fully aroused by the sight of another woman.

Even as he watched his servants bustling around his chamber, preparing his morning meal, looking at their pleasingly girlish shapes, their breasts and hips, his musings always fled to one thought.

Was this what her body looked like now?

Blossomed like a flower, full of grace and soft, feminine shapes?

He imagined that her bare skin would be soft as silk under the touch of his rough hand, that she would be obscenely warm, quivering with desire under his body. He imagined her breasts, plump and swollen, filling his palm perfectly, her little nipples that he would like to lick with his tongue.

He pressed his lips together, always feeling the same thing – his manhood swelling painfully and twitching in his breeches, causing him discomfort on the verge of pain.

It ended the same way each time – as soon as he was left alone in his chamber, instead of concentrating on his food, he quickly untied the material and slid his hand under it, grasping his half-hard, throbbing erection.

He began to squeeze it gently, merely teasing it, pressing his lips together, suppressing the shuddering moan of delight that wanted to burst from his throat at the thought that it was her fingers caressing him so wonderfully tenderly, it was her lips whispering that they didn't have to hurry.

He mumbled the name he'd given her himself in his head, feeling the tears welling under his eyelids, thinking with pain how much he missed her, that deep down he didn't loathe her, that all he desired was for her to return.

"– Rhaenys –" He cried out, tears running down his cheeks as his warm seed spilled over his fingers, relief, pleasure and pain surging through his loins at the same time, shaking his body.

He stared at his empty silver plate, panting heavily and pressed his lips together, furious and bitter, then burst out into silent sobs like a small child.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– it has come to my knowledge that Alicent has decided to make a pact with Borros Baratheon – she wants Prince Aemond to marry one of his daughters –" Her mother said during one of their suppers together in Dragonstone; she froze, feeling her heart stop in her throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver running down her spine as she raised her gaze to her.

"– we cannot leave this unanswered – after consulting with Daemon, we have together decided that you should marry the son of my dear cousin, Lord Arryn –" She added, taking one of the platters from her husband.

Daemon, seated next to her mother, gave her a quick look in which she seemed to catch a glimpse of sympathy.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her whole body involuntarily begin to tremble, tears of despair and disbelief gathered under her eyelids. She felt Baela's hand on hers, but she pulled away from her and got up from the table, leaving the chamber, bursting into sobs as soon as she ran out into the corridor.

Although she covered her mouth with her hand, she was unable to stop the moans that ripped from her throat or what she saw in her mind.

Him, lying on top of another woman, touching her naked body, whispering in the ear of Lord Baratheon's daughter that she was more beautiful than his niece, that he loved her more deeply than he had ever loved her.

She locked herself in her chamber, wishing to be alone.

She knew Daemon would come to her.

He always came.

As she lay on the bed, staring blankly at the wall in the distance, her father sat by the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the flames, playing with the ring on his little finger.

"– your mother is doing this for your own good – she couldn't leave this insult unanswered –" He said coldly and maliciously, as if he was impatient with the fact that she was pitying herself.

She did not answer him.

She heard him sigh heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, bowing his head as if he had no strength for this conversation.

"– my spies in the Red Keep say that he has changed beyond recognition – that he is a cold, cruel man – that he calls you a little whore –" He said indifferently, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, tears of humiliation and pain one by one began to flow down her face.

"– give up your dreams of a man who has already disrespected you for years – his feelings for you have disappeared along with his fucking eye –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– have you heard the word from Dragonstone, brother? –" Aegon asked him during one of the suppers, his brother's mind and sight already a tad clouded by the wine he so adored.

He threw him a brief, discouraged glance, their mother twisting restlessly in her chair.

"– Aegon –"

"– your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie, and her cousin will be given the honour of putting his little cock inside her –" He sneered, and he felt his jaw and hands clench, a shiver of discomfort, horror and humiliation running along his back at the very thought.

"– enough –" Their mother said.

"– why? – after all, my little brother no longer holds any affection towards her – am I wrong, brother? – what did you call her before she became a little whore in your eyes? – let me think – ah, I remember – Rhaenys –"

He stood up from the table, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, a sea of memories filled with her surging through his mind making him feel as if he had begun to suffocate.

He heard Aegon chuckle behind him as he left the room panting with rage, bursting into his chamber with a loud slamming of the door.

He opened the drawer with his key and slid it out with an aggressive gesture, pulling out all the letters he had received from her over the years and holding them in his trembling hands, he stopped in front of the fire.

He stared at the flames, hearing himself breathe heavily, droplets of cold sweat running down his back at the memory of what his brother had said.

Your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie.

He pressed his lips together, crushing the letters in his hands, and drew in the air loudly, feeling with shame that he felt like bursting into tears. He sat down on the floor, leaning over and laid his forehead on his knees, hugging her letters, her words to him, to his heart.

[echobx]

Rafe x reader request:

In episode "Parcel 9," the group plans to cut off a house's power, but they accidentally alert the elderly resident, who defends her home with gunfire. Reader gets injured, and despite objections, they're forced to leave her behind. Later, Rafe overhears their conversation, outraged by their abandonment. Determined to make things right, he enlists Barry to rescue Reader. Rafe finds Reader injured but alive, becoming her unexpected hero, and they bond through the ordeal.

Sorry it’s so long Xx

The Cellar - Rafe Cameron × fem!reader

summary: see ask

warnings: mention of reader's leg being injured, other than that none

word count: 1k

author's note: idk why it took me so long to finish this 😭 and now the formatting is (imo) bad bc I don't have my laptop here with me but I wanted to post this anyway. it's roughly edited but not much.

“We don't have a choice,” John B yells and pulls Sarah with him, leaving you stuck under the wooden pillar.

“Sarah!” you cry out but her boyfriend has already pulled her away, out of the cellar and away from you.

You do your best to contain your sobs and cries of pain, not wanting to alert the old lady again. Time passes slowly and you feel yourself growing weaker.

Unbeknownst to you Rafe has his ears perked, listening to John B promise Sarah to go back later that night to get you, but he doesn't sound convincing. Rafe quickly pulls out his phone and texts Barry to meet him at the Crain house.

When they get there it's already getting darker, and they have to use their flashlights to see around the garden and find their way into the cellar.

“John B? JJ?” you whisper as you hear someone enter the cellar, but the voice that answers is not one you are familiar with.

“You really think those two are gonna come back to get you?” Barry laughs quietly before you can see him.

“How'd this happen?” Rafe asks, reaching over to brush over your cheek, removing your tears.

“The old witch shot at us and then this thing fell on my leg and-” You stop before you start crying again and Rafe nods.

“Gonna get you out of here, love,” he promises and turns to Barry. They lift the pillar and you manage to scoot out from under it.

Rafe picks you up and carries you out and towards his car. He saved your life and you don't even know how he knew where to find you. But most of all you wonder why he cares enough to do it.

The ride is quiet, apart from his rather aggressive taps against the steering wheel, or the fact that he's 10 mph over the speed limit.

“Why did you come and get me?” you ask quietly after he puts you down on the couch in his home.

“Because you deserve better to be left alone and all,” Rafe runs his hand over the back of his neck. You have never seen him nervous. As a matter of fact, you have never seen much of him at all, especially not on your own. But now that he's standing in front of you, you get a clear look at him; furrowed brows, lips pressed to a thin line, his hair hanging into his face.

“The doctor will be here in a bit to check on you,” Rafe pulls your attention back to the present.

“Oh, I'm fine, really,” you lie and try to get up, but he catches you just as your legs start to give out from under you.

“I can see that,” he huffs and puts you back down on the sofa.

The doctor comes and leaves rather quickly, only prescribing bed rest and a special ointment for the bruises on your leg, as well as pain medication.

“Maybe I should get you cleaned up before we start the bed rest part of this,” Rafe mumbles and picks you up to go upstairs without you being allowed to say anything about it. It's like he has taken over and you're unsure if you really want to complain about it, about giving parts of your freedom away to him.

He helps you undress with his eyes closed. It's a funny game because he really doesn't want to cross a boundary with you, but he also can't see which makes you giggle when he accidentally grabs your boob instead of your arm and then he jumps back and nearly falls over all by himself.

“I didn't mean to do that,” he apologizes but you keep laughing.

“It's okay.”

His eyes are still closed when he helps you in the bathtub, only opening them after you have confirmed that your bubble bath is covering you completely.

“You can open your eyes again,” you giggle, and he peeks one eye open before looking at you fully. “Didn't think you'd be so weird about potentially seeing some boobs.”

“I'm trying this new thing called, being respectful. Apparently, girls are into that kinda shit,” Rafe says and flashes his eyebrows at you while pulling a small stool over to sit down next to the tub.

“No way!” you fake a gasp and he smiles. “Yeah, you would be surprised how well it's working.”

“Is it?” you ask and he nods, gnawing at his bottom lip.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask and he nods. “I always thought you were worse. I mean, you're not the best, still-”

“Not my fault you hang out with assholes,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“I hang out with Sarah, and Sarah has friends who are not always as bad as you think. I know JJ would've come back to get me,” you argue.

“Did he, though?” Rafe remarks snidely.

“Eventually they would’ve.” You are sure of it, your friends had never left you behind before, surely it had been a mistake.

“I can bring you back there if you're so sure,” Rafe suggests and you shudder.

“No, thank you. The old witch had a fucking rifle.”

“See,” Rafe chuckles softly and you can't help but gaze at him, at how pretty he looks.

You keep talking, getting to know him better, really. You learn that he, just like you, doesn't have the best relationship with his dad, always trying to get approval from the parent. And you learn that he likes bikes, and only golfs to annoy the old fuckers on the course.

And after you're done bathing he gives you some clothes he found in Sarah's room and you lie down on his bed, eating pizza and watching a movie.

“It's the best because they are both doing the same thing and in the end, all their efforts go out of the window because they realize they belong together,” you sigh happily as the movie starts playing. Rafe pulls you into his side, and you let him. And although he's not a fan of rom-coms, he sits with you, more focused on your reactions to the film than the actual screen.

And while he's watching you, he can't help but thank your dumb Pogue friends for leaving you behind and giving him a chance to win you over.

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart @notdxbya

part 2

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

[pressfreedomday]

UZBEKISTAN - Round-table discussion co-hosted by OHCHR, UNESCO and the National Centre for Human Rights to celebrate World Press Freedom Day 2024.

 The 31st edition of World Press Freedom Day highlights the importance of journalism and freedom of expression in the context of the current global environmental crisis. The press, journalism, access and dissemination of information play a crucial role to ensure and secure a sustainable future that respects the rights of individuals and their diversity of voices, as well as gender equality. Sustainable development is in jeopardy. The triple planetary crisis—climate change, biodiversity loss, and air pollution—along with their connections to public health issues, the need to strengthen democracy, to tackle dis-/misinformation on digital platforms, among other issues have become major challenges for humanity. The information ecosystem has a key role to play in responding to this existential crisis. The access to reliable information and the importance of strengthening independent environmental and scientific journalism is more critical than ever. Independent journalists as well as scientists are crucial actors in helping our societies to separate facts from lies and manipulation to take informed decisions, including about environmental policies. Art. 49 of the new constitution of Uzbekistan, adopted in July 2023, lays down the constitutional right of each citizen to have the right to a favorable environment and reliable information about its condition. It also lays down the obligation for the state to take all necessary measures to improve, restore and protect the ecological system. Art. 61 of the Constitution further obliges each citizen to protect the environment. The green transition and the protection of the environment has been declared a priority of the Government.

The roundtable will provide a platform to exchange on the following questions:

1. What are the key environmental issues in Uzbekistan?

2. What are the challenges in addressing these issues, including in reporting and public discussions? (It is important for us not just to talk about environmental issues but to look at them from the angle of freedom of expression, if there are any public discussions, if there is a pressure on journalists or activists who report on those issues, etc. Maybe we need to formulate this question even clearer to explain the link to freedom of expression).

3. How can the government work more efficiently with the civil society? (it is not only media which can be vocal about environmental issues but NGOs and activists too – they all are environmental human rights defenders. If we mention media, this would be too narrow).

Contact:Bakhrom Radjabov

[zeltqz]

— rindou/fem!reader (9.3k words)

cw—virginity loss, mentions of getting together, implied sexual assault & kidnapping (not from rindou)

a/n— inspired by anon lino. Thx for the request, I switched sum stuff up tho bc it was already long as shit n I didn’t wanna make it like 15 k words 💀‼️

Your father is a force to be reckoned with.

Listed as one of Japan’s top twenty politicians, he’s already made a public figure in the eyes of the press & population.

Some hate him, others love him. You wouldn’t know though, not being let outside of your house for safety reasons. It’s lonely a lot of the time, being stuck in your big house with your siblings all day, tall men in black suits, glasses, and ear pieces watching your every move.

Though you were one of the richest families in the country, you felt trapped in a jail cell. The only difference was your cell was a huge mansion with security locks that changed every few weeks, the code only being told to trusted security.

‘It’s for your own good’ he defends his behaviour, thinking isolating his children at home instead of giving them a life for themselves outside is for your safety.

If you needed education? You were schooled online. The best mentors in the country are paid by your father to tutor you and your siblings. If you wanted to make friends? Don’t be stupid.

What do you need friends for when you’re surrounded by all this luxury?

It was lonely , isolating , and boring .

That was why when your father was at one of his meetings, late at night, you took the opportunity to sneak out, replacing a body double made from extra pillows hidden under your sheets. 

It was thrilling leaving the house alone for what felt like the first time in years. You were allowed outside of course, your father wasn’t cruel, just protective. But with your freedom came at a price, not allowed outside without the presence of a tall man—maybe two if your father felt the need for it— tailing your every move. 

Now though? You were able to walk around the streets late at night without the feeling of someone watching you from behind. You had no clue what to do though, looking around, half the stores were closed, save for that late night 7-Eleven at the end of the road. Bright green, yellow, red lights attract you towards it like a moth to a flame.

The inside is packed full with items ranging from snacks, meals, drinks. You walk around like someone who’s never shopped for themselves before. It’s quite embarrassing, you think, the loathing bitter resentment you have for your father isolating you almost your whole life stirs deep, and green inside your stomach. 

You pick out a small snack bar from the aisle and head towards the counter. You’re not that hungry, you just felt bad for walking in a store, seeing nothing you like, then leaving. It seems rude.

By the time you get to the counter, the woman pops her gum as she tells you the price, looking at you with a strange look you can’t decipher. 

“One sec—” You smile at her.

She ignores it, rolling her eyes. 

It was then you realised you’d forgotten your wallet at home, as well as your phone, the excitement from sneaking out made you lose all common sense apparently. 

“I—I don’t have any money.”

“Huh?” The cashier’s voice was high in pitch, purely shocked. “Rich girl like you has no money? What, did your daddy cut your allowance or what?”

“I—wait.” You blink at her, bewildered. “You know who I am?”

“Duh.” 

“Oh.” You swallow your nerves down, looking bashfully at the ground.

There was a feeling that your father was hated in this town, you don’t really blame the people for thinking so. Even you yourself hate your father. You know nothing about politics because you refuse to listen to your fathers lectures on it. So you can only imagine that the rest of the country, those who are directly affected by his political beliefs, might hate him too. 

A hand claps down on your shoulder, startling you. Looking up, a tall guy, slightly shorter than your bodyguards, stands behind you, holding out the right amount of change in his hand, sliding them across the counter. 

“It’s on me,” he tells the cashier, who nods her head, then jostles you with his shoulder. “Now you owe me a favour.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the smile on his face screams he’s up to something, but you don’t look into it, only happy someone was kind enough to save you from embarrassing yourself further. 

“What favour?” 

“Come with me.” He doesn’t answer your question, just leads you out of the store. His hand rests on your lower back the entire time, and you feel uneasy, but still push it down, berating yourself for being so cautious, on guard, around a man who was willing to help you out and pay for you. 

“Where—” Your voice cracks from nerves, so you clear your throat and try again. “Where are we going?”

He ignores you. 

When you try to slow your pace, the hand on your back pushes you onwards, practically forcing you to move. It was when he’s leading you to an alleyway, the nerves you forced down come back full force, a thick, heavy lump forming in the confined space of your throat.  

“I don’t think this is—” He pushes you into the alleyway; you land on the floor with a yelp.

“Is that her?” 

A voice, husky, gruff, speaks up, different from the man from before. 

You try to look up, but your vision is blurred, only seeing specs of colour you assume are people. The thick, pungent smell of cigarettes fills your nostrils, then a foot, heavy and dirty, steps on your head, not applying pressure to hurt, just keep you immobilised on the floor.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Nah, I don’t believe it. Pull out a pic or somethin’.”

You want to cough, the cigarettes making it hard to breathe. One of the men crouches down in front of you, pushing the guys foot from your face in favour of tugging you upwards by your hair roots. 

“You know why you’re here, right?” He wriggles your head in his hand like he’s rolling a dice, probably uncaring to the way your scalp feels like it’s burning on fire right now. “I asked you a question.”

“I don’t—ow, sir, man, please stop…it hurts—”

“Sir?” He spares a glance to the guy behind you, then his grin turns wolfish. “I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t do too much with her. We need her stable if we’re gunna show her daddy.”

“How much money you think she’ll be worth?”

“As long as she got all her limbs, no cuts or bruises a decent price, but if we rough her up a lil’ bit, she might be worth a bit more.”

Your body feels weak, tense, mouth dry, ears full of static as you listen to these men talk about you like you’re a slab of meat getting pawned off at a butchers, talking about you like you’re not even here.

If only you’d just stayed home tonight, stayed in the confinement of your bedroom, warm and cosy, smells like perfume and scented candles that your grandma gifts you every Christmas, instead of being here, face messy from the dirty floor, hair roots on fire, nostrils scarred with the burning scent of tobacco. 

The man lets go of your head, and it hits the floor, your head throbs painfully from the hit. 

“You think she’s a virgin?”

“Go check.”

Check? 

Your stomach churns, empty lungs short of breath when the man goes to touch your sweatpants, panic rising in your blood.

“No, please, don’t—ow!” You scream in pain when he pushes your head back down to the ground, some dirt entering your mouth. 

“ Shut up .” 

You’re kicking and screaming at this point, but it’s useless as his hands pull down your sweats. 

Cold air smacks your bare skin and you want to cry, heat burning the edges of your eyes as tears form, but no sound comes out.

“Your daddy is fuckin’ up this country, you know that, princess?” The pet-name is cold, icy, as he grits it out like it’s meant to be pleasant. 

His finger slides against your clothed folds, and your heart is racing, body limp on the floor as he continues his speech. “You probably don’t know that, huh. You rich fuckers only think about yourself.”

“I don’t,” you gasp out, weakly, hot tears stinging at your eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Agree with him. I hate him too—hate him so much,” you whimper into the ground, wet chunky tears soaking down your face. 

He lets out a hefty sigh, fingers stop touching you down there, and he stands up with a sigh, relighting another cigarette. He takes a puff, a moment to relax himself, and turns to his group. 

“What now?” He’s not talking to you, gesturing over to the other men who’ve been watching the whole ordeal with nothing but a straight face. 

“I dunno.”

“Ain’t this kinda embarrassin’?” 

The men look at the new voice that speaks up from behind them. From what you can spot with your limited vision, he has blue stripes riddled within his blonde hair, adjusting his gold glasses on his face, looking at the group with a disgusted look. 

“Fuck does this have to do with you?” The one with the cigarette breath barks out, eyebrows creased with anger. “Go on somewhere.”

The guy simply ignores them, looking straight at you. You feel your blood run cold when you meet his stare. “You alright?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer him.” The guy next to you slaps his hand over your mouth. “Don’t address her.”

“You guys really have nothin’ else to do at night than harass some innocent girl?” 

You fear for the guy defending you as he steps closer into the alley, the sound of his boots echoing in your ears as he makes his way towards you. You want to tell him to run, go somewhere, don’t get hurt because of you, but he seems awfully confident, and you couldn’t speak if you tried. 

“Innocent? Please, you know who her father is, right?”

He shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms together. “Na. Who is it?”

“That stupid fat politician scum that’s tryna fuck with our rights.”

He gives him a blank stare, hands shoving themselves into his pockets. “So…what’s that gotta do with her? Go touch up her daddy then. Or what, you scared? Can’t take on a fat man, huh.” 

The implication has the guy seething, nostrils flaring as he rips his hand away from your mouth, dropping your head back onto the floor with a smack. 

There’s another dull throbbing sting in your head doing nothing but amplifying the previous pain, and your wince catches the attention of the guy defending you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” The man gets all up in his face, practically drooling like a feral animal without a leash.

“That so? What are you waiting for then?” He smirks as he grabs onto the man’s hands, bunching them into fists and positions them by his own face. 

His confidence, his blank stare, his voice…you can’t help but gawk at him, mind hazy as you watch the scene go down. “Hit me, c’mon. I even put you in position.”

The guy spits onto the ground, wiping his nose before lifting his hand to punch him.

“Dude, back the fuck up.” His friend pulls him away, ignoring the complaints and death threats spewing from his lips. “Rin, he didn't mean to threaten you. We weren’t going to do anythin’ to the girl, I promise.”

“Rin?” He cocks his eyebrow meanly. “Are we friends? I don’t know you, don’t call me that.”

The guy slams his mouth shut so quick and fast, his teeth clamp against each other. “S-sorry, Rindou. But I mean it—we really weren’t gonna do anythin’ bad to her! We just wanted to scare her daddy into givin’ us some money. That’s all! I promise…”

“Promise? You really expect me to believe that shit?” Rindou stares at the man who shakes his head in fear. He looks down at you, and your blood runs cold once more. “Did they touch you?”

“He—well, he touched me down there.” You look down at your private area. 

The guy guilty of it scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “It was barely even a touch.”

You glare at him from where you’re sitting, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you now that Rindou is here keeping them at bay. “You still touched me, asshole.”

“I’ll fuckin’ do worse if you keep runnin’ that slutty mouth of yours,” he snarls.

Rindou clicks his tongue, unimpressed, lifting you from the floor easily, hoisting you onto his shoulder. 

It’s impressive to you how effortless the action was, butterflies flancing around in your stomach when his arm holds your waist to support you. 

“You guys better pray my brother doesn’t find out about this.”

“Fuck you and your weak ass brother.” 

That guy has some serious anger problems, because even his own friends are gawking at him like he’s a lunatic for spitting those words out. 

Probably some unspoken code in these streets to not insult the ‘brothers’.

Now you’re curious. 

“Yeah?” Rindou only chuckles, says nothing more, pulling out his phone from his back-pocket. You lay on his shoulder as he dials who you assume is his brother. 

The silence in the alley is deafening, you can practically hear the group's hearts beating out of their chest as the line rings. 

“Yo?”

“Bro, guess what?” 

“What?”

Rindou walks over to the dude who thinks he’s all that. “Found this guy that thinks he can beat you up, thinks you’re weak ‘n shit. And actually, he said he could kill you.”

There’s a snort over the line. “What’s his name?”

Rindou nods over at him. “What’s your name?” 

When he refuses to respond, there’s a beat of silence, then Rindou kicks the guy in the knee, sending him dropping to the floor without a beat. 

You’re almost certain you heard a cracking noise, then the guy is screaming in pain. You can’t see due to your position on his shoulder, only looking at his friends who stare at him with a sense of pity, but refuse to speak up themselves. 

Rindou drops to his level, bringing you down with him. “I said, what’s your name?” 

For the sake of it, Rindou digs his hand on his probably—no, definitely broken knee the same way he stepped on your head, applying pressure each second the guy fails to cough up his name.

“It’s Yamajiki Kenzo! Stop—argh, it hurts! Fuck—” He splutters out, desperately trying to push Rindou off. 

Rindou clicks his tongue, standing upright, and brings the phone back to his ear. “Didja get that, Ran?”

Ran says with a yawn, “we can find him tomorrow, no biggie.”

“Actually—ah man, looks like I broke his knee. My bad.” Rindou sends him an unapologetic smile, and the guy looks like he’s three seconds away from jumping at him.

He hangs up the phone, tugging it back inside his pocket, turning to face the group. 

“Anyway, I’m taking the girl now, or—” he jostles you on his shoulder, catching your attention. “Want me to fuck them up for you?”

“Wha—”

“Did they hurt you?”

“I mean, yeah—but—” You look around. Half of them are scared half to death right now, it won’t do you any justice seeing them beat up on the floor. Part of you wants to be the ones to hit them though, get revenge for yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Say what? You want me to let ‘em go?”

“I don’t care…I just wanna go home…”

“How’s this,” he jostles you one more time, “I take you home and tomorrow I’ll fuck ‘em up for you.”

“Home? No, no. You can’t take me home—my dad he—he doesn’t know I’m out right now. I have to—”

“I can sneak you in. It’s no biggie, I’ve done it before.”

“Okay…”

“Great.” He turns to face the group. “Just wait till tomorrow. Oh and you might wanna bandage that up. Gonna look fuckin’ nasty in the morning.” He gestures to the guy on the floor with a broken knee, his face burning with sheer rage, eyes narrow, and sharp. 

“Whatever.”

Rindou puts you back on the ground outside the alleyway, watching you dust yourself off. A hot flush spreads across your cheeks and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Thanks, Rindou. I really appreciate it.”

“‘S no big deal.” His phone vibrates in his pocket so he goes to check it. “Ah, I gotta go. Somethin’ came up.” He folds it shut. “You okay goin’ back home alone?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay, stay safe.” 

“Bye…” Your words trail off when he heads the opposite direction. You watch him leave, heart twitching a little in disappointment because you wanted to know more about him. You’re unsure you’ll ever be able to see him again unless you get yourself into more trouble, but then again, he’s not Spiderman, showing up at any signs of danger. 

Today was merely a coincidence.

You wish you’d bought your phone. 

The walk home was rough. Your face and jaw aches like hell, your legs were sore from being pushed onto the ground without a care. Your heart still hasn’t slowed down, could feel it roaring in your ears with every beat. 

You managed to sneak back inside your house without getting caught. Everyone was asleep, minus the family dog, rummaging through the kitchen trash. The security were asleep on their posts, and they’d most definitely be fired if your dad caught them.

You flop back onto your bed with a long, exasperated sigh, staring up at the ceiling, reminiscing over today’s events. You search your pockets quickly, frowning when the snack bar the guy bought you wasn’t there. It probably fell on the floor. 

Well that’s a bummer. 

You find your phone deep inside your drawers, unlock it, and start researching. Crime in Roppongi has gotten so high over the last couple months, mainly due to the fact those in power are money hungry, only caring for themselves, raising the prices for everybody that can’t afford things. Your dad is a part of that group, and no wonder everybody hates his guts so much. 

Everything gets paid for you, which is why you didn’t see this as a big deal at first, thinking money was something that came easy to people. But the sheer rage on those guys’ faces made you realise some have it way harder than others, and greedy folks like your dad and his party are only out there caring for themselves.

Though it was a traumatic experience, you learnt a lot from it. 

It’s no wonder why gang activity in the area has been rising steadily. Stealing food and money to survive, dropping out of schools because they can’t afford it anymore.

You fell asleep with your phone on. Your father enters your room in the morning, a little bit confused you had some dirt on your face. He taps you awake. You stir, but don’t fully wake up yet, too tired and exhausted from yesterday's events.

“What is that…” he questions, shifting your body upright to see your face better.

The side of your face had signs of minimal bruising, obvious dirt on your face, staining your skin mud brown, your lip has a slight cut on the upper lip, and your eye was slightly bruised.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” He’s shaking you awake by force this time, and your eyes shoot open, startled, springing up from your bed and wiping your eyes.

“What? Daddy, why’re you here?”

“ Your face .” He reaches out to cup your cheek. You blink at him, utterly confused, brain hazy and muddled from sleep. “What happened to you?”

A quick peek in the side mirror across your room reveals your damaged face. 

So last night wasn’t a dream? Maybe you should’ve figured since it was clearly obvious that in real life you did not have sex with dream Rindou. It was so amazing, despite being a virgin, the sensations were completely up to the imagination. He was touching you down there with those big hands of his, fucking you with that cock of his. 

You were in the midst of riding him before your stupid father decided to shake you awake, breaking your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. 

Wiping the crust from your eyes, you glared at your dad. “Just leave me alone. I wanna go back to sleep.”

You shove his hand off your face, mood sour, sinking back between your sheets. 

“Why is there dirt and bruises on your face? Who did this to you?”

“It was nobody! Okay? I just fell. Go. Away.”

Your dad sighs, rubbing a hand on your shoulder to attempt at soothing you. It only makes you groan, wanting to push him away further, preferably out of your room forever. 

“I know you’re lying to me, but I can tell you’re upset about something. So I’ll talk to you later.”

“Whatever.”

By the time he’s gone, you try to head back to sleep, try to force your brain to return to that delicious dream you were having, but all fails. You can’t even get back to sleep, yet alone dream that exact scenario again. 

Later that night, after you’ve fixed makeup on your bruises, you sneak out one more time, this time with a mission and a purpose. Phone and wallet in your back pocket, you came prepared. 

It seems the name Rindou holds quite a name in the town, asking the people around led you to his current location, what seemed to be a nightclub. You’ve never been inside one before, having seen them all in the movies. It was almost exactly the same, yet more overwhelming, crowds and crowds of people dressed in suits, mini dresses, long dresses, short skirts—you were most certainly underdressed, now realising that now that you left the house in a simple black tank top, paired with a matching black zip up hoodie, and a fresh, clean pair of sweatpants. 

You look like you were heading out to a sleepover, rather than a private nightclub, and you instantly regret your outfit choice. 

Rindou, on his way down the steps, spots you looking around as if searching for someone, and he can’t help but feel sorry for you. God, you’re so stupid, walking into a place you clearly don’t belong. From your outfit, down to the way you were being pushed around by everybody in the thick crowd. 

He sighs, making his way towards you, muttering excuse me’s to everybody he’s shoving past to reach you. His hand latches onto your elbow, making you yelp since your back was turned, and you turn around to punch the dude, only to soften when you see him. 

“Rindo—” He’s yanking you through the crowd before you could even finish his name, and you’re trying to push him off you, screaming at him to let him go. “Get off me!”

He’s ignoring you, dragging you out of the main room, into the hallway with all the bathrooms. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” You open your mouth to speak when he cuts you off. “And don’t say to party, because you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

You swallow your words down, chin lowering towards your chest, avoiding eye contact. 

How on earth are you supposed to explain that you were here on behalf of a dream you had the night before and want to re-enact it in real life without coming off as desperate ?

“I—I just wanted to see what a nightclub was like…that’s it.”

“Wearing that?”

“Ok. Rude.” You spot dried blood on the side of Rindou’s face, underneath his glasses. You take a step forward, he takes one back, confused when you keep walking forward, eyes trained on his face.

“What? What are you doing?” He’s backed up against a wall when you reach out to touch his face, thumb wiping over the blood from his face. It’s stained, so you frown, digging around your pocket for some tissues “Why are you touching my face?”

“Because there’s blood on it. What happened? Did those boys from yesterday hurt you? Oh my god, I told you not to go after them! I said I would handle it and now you’re hurt because of me—”

“Relax? Jeez, this ain’t because of you, or from them. It’s somethin’ else.”

“What then?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs your hands away from his face, putting them back down at your sides. “Now, are you gonna tell me why someone like you is out here at a club like this at night?”

“I—it’s embarrassing…”

“Now I gotta know. C’mon, tell me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, the action pressing your tits together, cleavage exposed from your shirt. Rindou’s eyes not-so-subtly drop downwards, eyeing the crevice between your breasts. You feel fuzzy when you notice it, hoping he finds you as attractive as you find him. 

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh. At all, ‘kay?”

“Sure, c’mon what is it?”

“I…want you…to have s-sex with me.” It felt like a weight has been lifted off your chest, body feeling ten times lighter once the words got out. The initial feeling of anxiety lingers at the bottom of your stomach as you wait for his response.

He says nothing, unblinking deep-set purple eyes stare at you, bewilderedly. His brain works 100mph to figure out how to respond to that. He’s had sex before, a couple one-night stands in the past with different girls, had a girlfriend for a couple months who he had regular sex with until they broke up. It’s not often he has girls asking him for sex, they normally initiate it themselves, pulling him in for a kiss, touching his shoulders, thighs, suggestively. 

To have you in front of him like this, asking for it…he’s not sure how to respond to that. “You what?”

“I want you to have sex with me. I had a, uh, dream last night about it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I want you to have sex with me. Only if you want to, though I would appreciate it if you said yes.” 

You wriggle your hands beneath your shirt, fiddling clumsily with your fingers, watching the bewilderment play out on his face. 

He even scratches his head, contemplating your answer. 

“I mean, sure? But—”

“Really?!” Your voice pitches higher with joy, then clears your throat to bring it back. “I mean, really?”

“Yeah I guess.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, heading towards the back door of the club. “You comin’?”

“Wha—what, now? You mean now?!” You jog up to him, crossing the distance quickly! He opens the door, you follow behind him mindlessly as he makes his way to his car. 

“Yeah, ain’t that…what you wanted?”

“Yeah! Sorry I was just—”

He grunts, rubbing an exhausted hand over his forehead. “Stop talkin’, c’mon already.”

You snap your lips shut, nodding silently as you enter the front seat of his car. The entire ride to his place has you shifting nervously in your seat, seat belt digging uncomfortably tight against your chest. 

The view outside is calming, the streetlights flashing against your face as you stare out the window makes you feel like you’re in a movie. 

“Alright, get your ass on the bed.” Rindou nods at his bed, beginning to shed his shirt off. You blink at the sight of his bare chest, thick black ink covering the right side of his chest. It’s distracting, but attractive, mouth salivating at the sight. When you do nothing but stand there, he cocks his eyebrow at you. “Did you hear me?”

“No—I was just…wow.” 

He looks confused for a second, following your fixated gaze towards his chest. “Oh, this?”

“Yeah…it’s—so cool.” He snorts, moving towards his bed, dragging you down with him. “Did it hurt?”

“I don’t feel pain.” He’s half paying attention to your words, tugging you onto his lap, hands eagerly untying your sweatpants strings.

“Ooh, edgy—hey! Calm down—” you yelp when he drags your hips forward fiercely, struggling to undo the knot.

“How many times did you loop this shit? What the fuck.” 

“I dunno—I just do it.”

He finally unties it, lifting your hips up to tug your pants down your legs. 

Your hands hold onto his shoulders, fingers digging tight into his skin as his hands wander your body. It managed to feel better than the dream, which was expected, his warm, moist, calloused palms gripping onto your waist.

He kicks off his pants to the floor, setting you back down flat on his lap. Something feels hard between your legs, pressing into the flesh of your bare thighs and it takes you a minute to realise what it is. 

“Is—” you gulp down your words, fighting reality. “Is it meant to be that hard?”

“My dick? Uh, yeah. What, you’ve never touched one before?”

You shake your head anxiously, stomach burning weakly, biting restlessly at your lips as his brows lift, stunned, and bowled over at the fact that he’s about to take your virginity. 

“Oh.” He looks down at your hips, white-hot fingers grazing delicately down the curve of your hips. “That’s—wow. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

In contrast to before, you nod your head quickly, and with an indescribably hunger you grab onto his hands on your hips, boldly shifting them backwards to cup your ass. 

“I want this, and I won’t regret it. Promise.”

“Even if this was the worst lay of your life?” He says it as a joke, lips curving into a playful smirk as he shamelessly gropes your behind. 

“I wouldn’t have anything to compare it to anyway.” You shift a little closer, hands creeping to hold behind his head, itching your fingers in the soft streaks of his hair.

His eloquent eyes drop down to your lips suggestively, soaking in the glossy sight of them. Your body is stiff as you stare at him, blinking rapidly at what’s to come. He doesn’t say anything, just looks back up at you, asking you with his eyes. 

Your eyes slip shut mindlessly when he leans forward. His lips are soft, just like his hair, sensually moving them against yours. He’s patient as you learn the ropes, sometimes moving your lips at the wrong time, catching them in an awkward position. He tilts his head to create a new angle, your body stiffens still when the angle makes the kiss deeper.

“Relax,” he pulls away to whisper the words along your lips, kissing down the curve of your jaw sultrily. “You’re too stiff.”

His hands slide up the slope of your back in an attempt to soothe you, hugging your body tight to his. The feeling of his hands holding you is strangely affectionate, the feeling of your heart buzzing in your chest gives you the newfound confidence to lean forward again, capturing your lips together.

It’s quicker this time, more generous and warm, lips sliding against each other, and he drinks up the sounds of your soft moans. Your hands move to grip onto the side of his face, replicating the image you had created in your dreams. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, looking up at you with those eyes of his that never fail to drive you crazy. 

“Take off your shirt.”

It’s getting real now, you realise. His voice is seductively low, slightly breathy and you fidget backwards, spine straightening, hands sliding under your shirt to reach behind you, unhooking your bra.

You drag it down and under, unsure of what to do with it, choosing to hand it to him. The second it's in his hand, he tosses it away in favour of lifting your shirt up and over your head.

He reaches under your shirt , both hands cup your soft tit, palming, kneading it. He uses the side of his head to nudge you back into a kiss. 

As if now muscle memory, you hold the sides of his face as he presses firm kisses against your lips, one hand pulling at your nipples, rolling, flicking his thumb against the sensitive beaked bud, other hand gripping the size of it in his big hands, occasionally squeezing at it when a soft noise escapes your lips whenever he does something with his tongue, licking into your mouth with fervour, biting at the swell of your lips. 

Your thumbs brush against his cheek bones, tilting his head to the side as you scoot yourself closer on his lap, wanting him as close to you as possible. 

“So what made you agree to this, Rindou?” you ask questionably, and he breaks the kiss to look up at you. 

“I mean, you’re hot, that’s for one.” He lifts your shirt up, but doesn’t take it off, putting his head under and starts to suck your nipple. 

You wish you could see his face, only looking at a budge moving around through your shirt. The feeling of his wet tongue gliding across your nipple is extra sensitive, and you bite at your lip to control your moans.

“S-so you find me hot?” You feel warm and fuzzy inside when he nods his head through your shirt. “W-what else?” you ask through a shuddered breath, groaning, eyes slipping shut as your head lifts to the ceiling when his teeth tug at your nipple. 

“I dunno,” he grasps both breasts in his hands, squeezing them together, groaning at the sight. “You ask a lotta questions, though.”

“...sorry.”

“What’re you apologisin’ for? It’s cool.” His tongue kitten licks at your nipple a couple times, and you shudder when he sucks it back into his mouth. 

“I’m not sure….I always just apologise, I guess.”

He hums in acknowledgement—you think— raising your arms as he’s shrugging your shirt off your body, throwing it across the room. He picks you up from his lap, laying you flat against his bed, propping up his pillows as you snuggle into it.

“It’s comfy,” you say with an awkward smile, unsure what to say now. 

Are you supposed to kiss him again? Didn’t you do enough kissing already? Or was it too little? Do you hop right into the sex? Maybe you should’ve watched some porn before this, gotten a little comfy with the setting before jumping straight into losing your virginity. 

He laughs as if he could read your racing thoughts, and you look up at him through beaded eyes, but in reality, he’s laughing at your awkward smile. It’s cute, clumsy, and innocent. 

“You’re so cute,” he says, leaning forward, propping his arms beside your head, taking in the sight of your face, blinking up at him daringly, lips pursed and parted.

He bends down to kiss you slowly, shifting to fit himself back between your spread legs as they lock around his waist, keeping him in place. 

Before you could fully melt into the kiss, he’s pulling back, bracing himself on his knees before your legs, big palms spreading them out further. 

You feel exposed, hands covering your face, wincing when he rubs the palm of his hand up and down your clothed pussy, fingers grazing your clit delicately through the fabric of your panties. 

“Oh—oh wait, that feels good—” 

You’re bucking your hips up into the feeling, trying to feel it again. His finger brushes it again, and your lips fall open in a soft moan. “Oh my god, wait—”

“I’ve barely even touched you yet,” he chuckles, amused, and you swear you feel your thighs tense up when he drops down to the bed, face inches away from your pussy. 

His hands grip onto your thighs as he stalks forward, tongue darting out to lick a long strip from the top of your pussy to the bottom, and up and down, up, down again and again through the fabric of your now soaked panties. 

Shaky hands wind themselves in his hair, holding the strands in a makeshift ponytail as your back bows off the bed with each lick, every nimble stroke of his tongue.

“Can you—uh, wait—” You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him between your legs. “Can you remove the panties? Please?”

“Yeah, hold-on.” He peels your soaked panties away, bound by your slick, and his saliva, that he eagerly laps up, eyes closed, groaning between your legs at the taste of you. 

You can’t bear to watch him eat you out, closing your eyes, head hitting the pillows as your hands reach for his hair again. He’s mumbling something under his breath, burying his face deeper between your legs.

He doesn’t let you catch a breath, tongue scribbling ruthless patterns against your drenched folds that have you squealing, tugging at his hair desperately.

Rindou normally doesn’t do oral, rather have someone else go down on him, but just the thought of making you suck his dick makes him feel bad. There’s a hidden array of feelings concealed by his lust for you that makes him want to just pleasure you tonight, hence why he’s leaving his own comfort zone to make you feel good.

He can’t seem to get enough, unsure if it’s meant to feel this good for him despite not being the one being touched.Maybe it’s the way you pull at his hair whenever he sucks with a certain amount of pressure on your clit. His fingers dig more profoundly into your thighs as his tongue flicks and sucks along your clit, up and down, repeating that same motion over and over and over, drinking up your slick in a way that drives you crazy, tugging almost painfully at his hair that it's pleasurable.

Your hips start jolting away from him, trying to run from the feeling of his tongue spreading your puffy lips, tearing you apart piece by piece, lick by lick, stroke by stroke. It’s too much. Too much for you to handle in one sitting, muscles tightening as it chases your climax, goosebumps rising to the surface of your sweaty skin.

“Rindou—ah! F-fuck! I’m—” Your bite your lip so hard it aches, adding to the throbbing pleasure as you cum, hips jerking against his face to spread your juices along his chin as he groans at the feeling, strong hands holding you in place as his tongue continues slurping at your pussy.

You forcefully try to rip him off you, body unable to take the pleasure, your mind hazy, like you’re floating in another dimension. It feels like you aren’t in control anymore, unable to moan loudly as you squirt on his face, whimpering as your shaky legs begin to slow down. 

Rindou pulls away, bottom half of his face now soaked as he lifts himself up from the bed, wiping at it with his forearm. When you open your eyes, the corner of your mouth turns downwards when you see the sight of his bedsheets, soaked in your mess. 

You don’t mean to feel embarrassed, after all, he was the one that drove you to that point, but your shoulders hunch together and you pout regardless. “I’m sorry—”

“Sorry for what? That was so hot.”

“Really?”

He nods his head, gently pushing you back down to the bed. 

“Yeah, it was,” he breathes as shuffles forward, spreading your legs more to get another good view of your pussy. “You look so good—” he dubiously strokes his finger against your slit, dipping it inside, loving the way your back arches upwards. Your reactions are so cute. “—so wet, you’re so hot, fuck—”

“Rindou—” You’ve never been filled, never had anything up there before, so the feeling was new territory, and uncomfortable but as he picks up the speed, your cunt drips more, soaking his long finger, giving it the momentum it needs to continue fucking in and out, in and out. 

“How’s that feel?” He presses a finger upwards, brushing your g-spot, and it’s like something inside you switched, a sudden heat prickling inside you has your body jolting forwards with a loud moan that has him biting his lips, pinpointing that spot with his finger effortlessly.

Your body can’t handle another orgasm, and at this rate you’ll be cumming in no time. Your body tries to pull away from him, thigh muscles contracting, toes curling, as his finger fucks you deeper.

His eyes are focused on your body; the pain-laced pleasurable look on your face is his motivation to keep going, slipping in a second finger to watch you go crazy, moans rising in volume, hips jerking from his touch.

“You close?” He asks despite knowing the answer, wetting his lips as he’s watching you attentively, revelling in the way your walls clamp around the girth of both fingers, sucking him in each time he dares to pull out.

“I—I think, yeah—ah—” Your moans sound gargled at this point with how hard your shoving your head into the pillow to silence them. 

To hear how noisy you’re being is embarrassing; sinking into the pillow is half to conceal your blaring screams, half to sink into the softness in shame. Despite the burning heat in your face, the unwavering, direct gaze on Rindou’s face as his thumb rubs speedy circles on your clit is enough to push you over the edge, tip you towards your climax for a second time, body convulsing and twitching as a second round of fluids leave your body.

It’s less than last time, having squirted it all out before like a leakage, but it’s powerful enough for your eyes to roll, lips parting in another silent scream as your legs try to desperately push him away.

His fingers still inside you as his eyes survey the damage done to your body and his sheets. 

It’s equally messy on both ends, your chest inflating and deflating with every heavy pant, the area on your thighs closest to your pussy now soaked with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. His sheets are ruffled, practically pulled away from their neat placing, wet patches splattered the clean shirts dirty. 

When you finally catch your breath, you can’t even find your voice, scared to talk incase of another voice crack, so you stay silent, brows furrowing at the dull ache in your thighs that grow progressively hotter when you try to sit up.

“You good?” 

You peek an eye open to stare at Rindou. From his POV, you’re unsure what you might look like: drained, bushed, spent…the list goes on, you think. “I’m fine.”

Your legs are limp, like the small energy you had left in them fizzed away after your second orgasm. It’s not until you hear him unbuckling your pants, you remember you’re not done yet.

 There’s still one more little thing left…oh—oh, it’s not little at all. 

You’re speechless when he pulls his cock out from his briefs, shrugging them down his legs, onto the floor. He holds it like it’s nothing, like your mind isn’t shaken up, like you’re not goggle-eyed. 

Your blinking dumbly, half scared, half still processing stuff out when his hand wraps around the base of it, slowly stroking himself up and down, twisting his wrist when he reaches the tip. 

He’s telling you something, but you can’t hear him, not with the way blood is racing towards your ears, blurring out the sound of anything and everything. 

“Hey,” he jostles your leg to catch your attention, and it’s like your ears pop, free of static. “I asked you to reach in the dresser. Pass me a condom.”

“Oh—oh, yeah okay.” You gulp down your anxieties, reaching over to his dresser. 

You grab a condom packet and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, putting the edge of it into his mouth, holding it with his teeth as he spreads your legs for the third time today, fitting himself between them. 

It’s hard fighting the urge not to fidget beneath him, tell him you’re not ready and storm out the house, limp over back to your house with your half working legs. But you’re not a bitch—you say weakly in your mind, completely lacking the confidence to say that aloud. 

He rips the condom packet open, and for a second you’re puzzled with how that tiny thing could possibly fit around the length of his cock. It’s long, but not huge, not thick either, on the thinner side with a slight curve to it. That curve is already making your insides scream, wondering if you’ll be able to feel that inside you.

Is that a good or bad thing? To feel it in you? Will it add to the pleasure, or just make you bleed?

Your questions go unanswered as you watch with pure focus as he rolls it down his cock, like a veil, and it fits perfectly.

“Alright, I’ma push in now,” he says, leaning forward,  strong arms braced at your sides. “If it hurts, squeeze me, ‘kay?” 

You nod dumbly, blinking up at him as he rolls his hips against yours, the tip of his cock running over your weeping hole, all wet and ready for him to slip inside. 

You can feel your walls stretch open when he shifts forward, engulfing the tip inside your pussy inch by inch. 

“Oh—” you choke out, not liking the way the stretch feels.This is far worse than the feeling of his fingers, his tip being three times the size of that. 

It feels like forever with the pace he’s going at, ever so slowly pushing himself inside. When he’s around halfway, that’s when the stretch turns into a burn, a heavy, unsettling prickling sensation around your abdomen that has your nerves igniting in a state of panic.

Your fingers fly to his shoulders, digging them almost painfully into his muscles, letting out a shattered breath when Rindou keeps pushing. 

“I know, I know—it’ll feel good in a bit,” his lips brush against your temple soothingly, giving your forehead a gentle kiss, fighting the urge to groan at the pain stinging in his shoulders. 

When his hips are close to yours, the final inch of his cock left to be pushed inside, your hands fly around his neck, almost cutting off his blood circulation with how hard you’re holding him. 

You both let out a satisfied sigh when his hips are pressed flush against yours, his sigh mainly due to pleasure, the heat of your warm cunt is enough to make him spiral; your sigh mainly due to thanking the heavens you didn’t get ripped in two pieces. There’s an agonising ache gnawing in your legs the longer his cock stays nestled inside your pussy. 

With what limited space he has, he pulls out slowly, till the tip is left, and you feel so empty for a short moment, before he’s slowly pushing back in, getting your body used to the ministrations. 

He repeats this over , and over, until your hold on his shoulders loosen, until your moans are reduced to whimpers, then he picks up the pace just a little, slamming back inside you enough to hit deeper and your back arches off the bed. Your hands get stripped away from his shoulders, bunched up at the wrists, and pinned above your head as he fucks into you raggedly, rolling his hips in a way that hits deeper than your g-spot. 

“Rind—Rindou—I wanna t-touch you—stop—” you beg breathlessly, wriggling your wrists from underneath his grasp. “Please.”

The attempt is useless, his grip as strong as his brutal thrusts. You’re sure your body won’t recover after today, you’ll be bedridden for days, weeks even. 

He shuts you up with a long kiss, your sweaty chest pressed flush against his own. 

He holds your chin up with his spare hand, tongue flicking into your open mouth, tangling with yours. Your hands curl in on themselves, desperately trying to touch any part of him, hold his hand before he pulls away, breathing heavily as his spare hand moves between your legs, spreading you out further, pushing himself deeper. The new angle is relentless, finally feeling the curve of his dick hit your g-spot repeatedly. You see stars behind closed eyes, fingers scratching desperately at his wrists to let you go. 

His hips begin to stutter, his pace falling off when your walls spasm and contract around his cock. The condom does nothing to stop the tight squeeze of your pussy holding him in place.

He groans by your ear, the audible and deep noise sets your nerves ablaze, unintentionally clenching around him, ripping another groan from his lips.

Letting go of your hands, he sits up on his knees, both hands gripping the fat of your thighs unceremoniously, digging his nails into the flesh. The pain added to the pleasure going on between your legs, body happily welcoming the sting of his nails. 

“H-holy shit—” he grits out, eyes trained on the sight of his cock pushing in and out of your overstimulated pussy. 

“W—what?”  You dare to lift yourself onto your shaky elbows, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

There’s a ring of white cum being shoved into your pussy, and back out again with each thrust, covering the see-through condom cloudy. 

“What i—is—ah—that? Is that bad?” 

It looks bad…is that supposed to happen? Why is it that texture? Did you get an infection? All these thoughts race through your mind at rapid speed. 

“No, it’s not bad. It jus—just means you—fuck—” He can barely get a sentence out, not with the way your pussy spasms around his cock, the way your pussy squelches audibly each time his hungry cock ruts into you. “T-touch your tits, make yourself feel good.”

“Okay.” You reach down, grasping your tits in both hands, squeezing them the way he did before. It doesn’t feel good, you think, unsure if you’re doing it right.

“Your nipples,” he laughs at your confused face, “touch ‘em.”

Your fingers play with your nipples, rolling them between your fingers as his hands slide upwards to your hips. You yelp when he lifts your lower body up from the bed, angling your body in a  way that makes his cock hit your spot easier. The sensation from your nipples, paired with the shockwaves of his hips slapping against your ass, blur your vision completely, hitting your peak. Your gut tightens, body dissolving into a feverish pleasure, nipples tender with each rapid flick of your fingers. You think you black out, moaning in a silent scream as you come undone on his cock, crying out his name when his hips stutter, gritting out fuck as a warning he’s about to cum. 

You feel empty when he pulls out quickly, tugging the condom off and jerks himself off, shuffling up the bed to kneel beside your body, tugging his cock till cum splatters on your bare chest. It feels warm on your skin, your hands quickly reaching out to scoop it up on your fingers, experimentally tasting it. 

It tastes salty, earthy, on your tongue, and he watches as you scoop it up a second time, sucking it from your fingertips.

“Fuck, stop doin’ that, drivin’ me crazy.” He shudders, cock twitching when you look up at him, smirking deviously as you lick up another scoop, making a show of your tongue wrapping around your fingertips.

He’s reaching over into his dresser, grabbing some wipes to help you clean up.

“It didn’t taste like how I expected it to,” you say, laying flat on your back as he drags the cold wipes along your chest. 

“That a good or bad thing?”

You shrug, eyes following him as he lays down next to you. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I can walk right now.” You curl up next to his body, seeking his warmth as he grabs the covers, pulling them over your body. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“‘M not laughin’,” he lies straight through his teeth, a throaty silly chuckle leaving his lips as you dig your fingers in his chest, trying to push him away, fake pouting as a light laugh pours from your throat as-well.

“You literally are! Stop—” He catches your hand when you try to swat at him, placing it back down by your side. 

“Thanks for the ego-boost,” he smirks down at you, wiping the sweat from your forehead away. 

You shift closer, hand brushing his hair away from his face, gently taking his glasses off, tucking them neatly on the side. You sit up on your elbow, bending down to kiss him. His heart rate skips a beat when your lips, soft, warm, brush his own. His hands slide down to your hips, holding you in place when your tongue traces the edge of his own. You moan when he sucks the length of your tongue sensually, soft whimpers leaving your lips when he sits up, switching the position, laying you flat on the bed as he fits himself between your legs. Your hands skim across his hair, digging them into his scalp as he bites at your lip, swirling your tongue around his. 

It’s quite possibly the most intimate kiss he’s ever had, drinking up every inch of you, rolling his hips against yours when your legs wrap around his waist. 

He knows he needs to stop—you know you need to stop too, but the way your heart flutters when he groans into your mouth has you kissing him harder, grabbing his hand to squeeze at your breasts. 

You pull away first, wiping the saliva from your mouth. “I—I think I should go home now.”

“Can you walk home?” He asks genuinely, but there’s a hint of a playful smirk on his face that has you punching his chest softly. “Stay the night, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

“But my dad—”

“Who cares? What’s he gonna do?” He dips his head down to your neck, and you pull him closer as he sucks bruises onto your skin.

“He’s strict and protective. He’ll notice I’m gone—”

“He’ll notice you can’t walk straight either. There’s no difference.” When you still look unconvinced, he pleads, hand sliding down to cup your ass, relishing in the way you gasp out. “C’mon, stay please?”

You bite your lip as you think. He has a point; your legs are so sore right now you doubt you could even stand on two feet to head to the door, yet walk through your house without your dad noticing something is up. He’s already suspicious about the bruises on your face that you still need to think of a better explanation for, this will just make him confirm whatever suspicions he’s thought of.

“Ok. I’ll stay.”

Time passes quickly, steady. Months of you sneaking out successfully to meet Rindou at his house, months of you losing yourself in his sheets, tugging his hair as he spreads you open with his fingers, eating you out till your legs shake and cum on his face each time, kissing you like he loves you, riding him like a woman starved, sucking the salty thick cum from his cock, smiling deviously up at him as you swallow it.

Months and months of you learning everything about Rindōu, meeting his family, his friends, creating some sort of social life for yourself. 

“So when can I meet your dad?” Rindou asks, catching the ball he’s been throwing repeatedly at the ceiling. 

“Never. He’d hate your guts, Rin.”

“So? The feelings are mutual, then.” 

You look at him, unimpressed, rolling on the flat of your stomach on his bed. “I’m serious. He’s gonna be weird about it, hate on you, your background, your family, your tattoos—” 

“Oi,” he nudges you gently with his feet. “What’s wrong with my tattoos?”

“Nothing!” You sit up, crawling towards him on the bed, lifting the hem of his shirt up, revealing the slightest glimpse of the thick black ink you love so much. “Love it so much, Rin.” 

“Yeah?” His lips twitch up to a grin, resting a hand behind his head, “show me.”

You peek at him through your lashes, fluttering them chastely, grinning cunningly, leaning down to kiss down his chest. 

His muscles contract and flex with each light kiss, rucking his shirt upwards as you make your way further up his chest.

You kiss up to his lips, shuffling yourself on his lap, sucking sweetly along the swell of his lips. 

You pull away with a sigh, sitting back on your knees. 

“But on a real note—” you cover his mouth with your palm when he tries to kiss you back, ignoring his ticked-off brow. “—you cannot meet him. At least not yet.”

He says something muffled beneath your hand. You remove it, and he repeats himself. “You’re scared I’ll say somethin’ outta pocket, ain’t you?” 

He grins at your eye-roll, wiping some hair from your face as he takes a moment to admire you. You barely notice the love-struck look on his face, too busy ranting about how your dad absolutely cannot find out about your secret relationship.

“I know you’ll say something out of pocket, Rindou. But it’s too early now…and he’ll probably ground me for life for sneaking out all the time to see you and I can’t risk not seeing you anymore. It’s not worth it,” you take his hand, squeeze it gently, reassuringly. “You understand that, right?”

He cradles your body in his lap, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. In truth, you are, he’s never been happier since he’s met you. His brother noticed, his mother noticed, his friends noticed. Even he finds himself thinking about you more than he should; you creep into his dreams at night with that voice of yours, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, creeping your way into his head whenever he zones out.

“Yeah—yeah, I get it.” He pulls you in for a tight, warm hug, nestling your head in the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Ballet dancer reader x khonshu who tries to be his mysterious scary self and the reader just WHIPS her leg up to uppercut his head and crack his skull. Khonshu grabs her leg at the last second and he’s VERY surprised as she looks him DEAD in the eye, “I will FUCK you up. My ballet teacher has been a Russian matriarch since I was 5. You can’t scare me, bitch”. And khonshu’s just “Well mark me down as nervous AND horny!!”

I fucking cackled at this it's so fucking gorgeous

I changed it up a bit for comedic effect but asfghhkkll

Old Birds and New Tricks

Khonshu x Fem!Dancer!Reader

TW/CW: Attempted mugging, reader is a badass, Khonshu pops a boner for the first time in like ever, but nothing explicit happens :)

A/N: I figured you'd get a kick outta this one @drinkingwithkhonshu @juneknight because I'm on the floor with it lmao

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You were walking home after a long practice session, your toes and legs ached from straining to stay on your tippy toes for so long, your arms cried for relief from the strain of holding the bar, performing so many sweeps and graceful flares alongside your troupe and mentor.

Your mentor, Katja Ivanov was a good teacher and a harsh mentor. She was a hulk of a woman, roped with muscles built over her long period of performing dance (you yourself thought she must have been in prison at some point, too but when you shot the question as a joke she merely laughed; but didn't deny it).

Katja was a woman who took no shit from rude people, and she instilled that in all of you, her dancers, her "baby birds" she called you. She made sure that all of you knew that just because you were dancers, people couldn't take you for granted.

So, after "official" dance practice had ended... Katja taught all of you how to use your strength and flexibility to defend yourselves as well as perform graceful maneuvers.

And it came in handy. Really, really handy.

London was dangerous after dark, the empty streets crawling with bad things in the shadows, like an infection beneath the skin.

That was how you found yourself in an alley, a large drunk man between you and freedom.

You were no quitter, no coward, and instantly, like a computer scanning a file, your brain recollected each one of Katja's lessons and put them into action.

Your body flushed with fresh adrenaline, your heart hammering within the confines of your chest as you whipped around on one foot, your other flying out to kick your assailant in his gut, knocking him back and making him dry heave with the strain.

"I told you, asshole." You hissed, bringing your fists up to guard your face.

"All I got in my bag is my gear. Now piss off before I break your jaw."

"Fuckin'... bitch." The man wheezed as he stumbled out of the alleyway, leaving you behind and feeling the high of victory.

You pick up your bag where you dropped it and slipped the strap back over your chest, the band squishing a bit between your breasts as you tightened it.

"Amusing." A deep, raspy voice mused.

You whipped around, trying in vain to locate the source of the voice. It came from nowhere, but at the same time... it came from everywhere.

"I was merely passing through when I thought to aid you, human." It spoke again, your very bones trembling as the voice bored into your very brain.

"But you seem to have been able to handle that threat on your own."

You pressed your ears hard beneath your hands, gritting your teeth at the invasive feeling the voice left as it crawled in and out of you.

"God! Just--get out of my head!" You say through your gnashed teeth.

You hear an exasperated sigh, and you feel the air shift around you as you lift your gaze, your eyes trailing the body of someone who just appeared in front of you.

He looked like a cliché monster from one of The Mummy movies, draped in linen and flowy robes and everything. The freakin' bird skull completed the freaky visage.

"The hell--" You sputter, dropping your hands from around your ears, taking a step back from the... the thing in front of you.

"Seeing you handle an opponent so large was amusing." He--and you were most certain that he was a he--chuckled grimly. "A tiny little waif like you."

Okay, you didn't care how big and imposing this otherworldly bastard was, the fact he was jabbing at your stature and visual "weaknesses" irked you. You could swear you heard Katja's voice from over your shoulder.

"Kick his ass, да, маленький?" She would jeer.

"You... think I'm... small?" You say slowly, your eyes narrowing to a dangerous glint as he leans in, the smell of the spices clinging to his body wafting into your nose, heat radiating from his lithe body as he bent to your level.

You were giving him a chance to walk it back, maybe apologize for being a judgmental prick, so you wouldn't have to prove once again that you were just the opposite.

He did not.

"You are not as weak as you appear... Little one." He huffed, his head moving in a slight jerking motion, indicating his amusement.

Yeah, no. You had enough of big assholes thinking you were easy pickin's tonight.

You smiled sweetly up at him, your expression completely devoid of any innocence behind the mask of charm. You could see his shoulders drop and head tilt in confusion, but he was given not another moment longer to ponder why you would be smiling.

He expected you to retort, to snap, to--his thoughts were immediately cut off, as you moved in a blur.

Because you effortlessly raised your leg with lightning speed brought on by years of practice, and curled your foot in the classic ballerina's stance and kicked him in his stupid ass beak.

When your shoe made contact, you swore you heard the dry bones crunch as he stumbled back, almost falling flat on his ass before he caught himself with his staff, a grunt coming away from him.

Your hands gripped your bag strap as you looked down at him indignantly, a sense of smug superiority washing over you.

"Not as weak as you thought, now, huh?" You huffed victoriously, before turning on your heels and storming out of the alley.

Khonshu, the god of the Moon, dispenser of Justice and protector of those in the night...

...was just kicked in the face by a tiny woman.

And she actually did manage to crack his bones. They healed almost instantly, of course, thanks to his divinity.

But what didn't heal was his pride as he kneeled in the dirty alley, leaning on his staff for support as he watched you leave.

The look in your eyes, the power behind your legs... It was like the sun came up early and rose with your kick, to wash out the cool light of his moon with the harsh burning rays of daylight.

And it left him stunned. Stunned in a way no mortal has ever been able to.

And, frankly, he found his body responding in... other ways, too. Ways he hadn't indulged in what felt like... eons.

He was a god, yes, but divinity doesn't automatically grant piousness; and he found himself imagining you using your legs in a different way.

Had Khonshu a human mouth, he would be smiling.

He needed to see you again.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

да (pronounced da) = Yes

маленький (pronounced malen'kiy) = Little One

(Forgive me if it's butchered, I used Google translate for it asdfghjkl)

[thezombieprostitute]

Sir Everett

A continuation of this post. But I'm hoping this could be read on its own.

Summary: Curtis wins the right to marry you and you are happy to be his.

Word Count: ~2.1k

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors given.

Warnings: Implied violence, Loss of virginity, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!

The tournament has been won and your heart soars as Sir Everett kneels before you to receive the winner's crown. You even kiss the top of his head as you place the crown, an appropriate signal to him that you are happy for his victory. His own heart flutters at your touch, he breathes easier at the thought that you are happy to be his.

As a lesser member of the royal family you were never given much privilege but what you did receive was a little more freedom. Free to study less traditional topics for royal women, free to have a say in your marriage options. You had been afraid of losing that freedom to marriage but with Sir Everett's victory, you were afraid no more. The cheers of the peasants echoed your own joy. He was their champion as well, after all.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity. You weren't allowed to be alone with Sir Everett and you were restricted in topics of discussion when others were around. But what words you were able to exchange reaffirmed your wish to be his wife.

There was one oddity, though. Sir Everett said there would be two weddings. The one for the royals, the expected political wedding party. But there would be a second in his own lands, performed in the traditions of his people. Your wedding night would be celebrated after the second one. It was an unusual request but you had no reason to protest.

Everything went as expected for the royal wedding. You were relieved to be looking forward to your marriage. So few women had such a privilege. The entire ceremony your eyes never leave him. He is a man of few words but his face is ever expressive. You can read the sincerity in his features as he vows to always protect and defend you. He looks lovingly at you as you, in turn, vow to be faithful but there's a small tic when you make your promise to be obedient.

When you are allowed to kiss, you're feeling timid but Sir Everett gently pulls you so you're pressed to his chest and kisses you in an almost possessive manner. He prays that the kiss conveys his sincerity and want of you. It makes your knees weak and you lean into him for support that he happily provides.

The rest of the party goes as expected. Sir Everett is always touching you in some form or another. Usually holding your hand, other times touching your lower back, or your arm. He loves that you don't shy from his touch, that you don't wince or pull away from him. You are truly his angel and he hasn't been so happy in such a long time.

That night he takes you to your room but, remembering his request for a second wedding, you are not as nervous as you might be. Sir Everett, your husband, pulls you in for another kiss, more gentle and loving than your first with him. He holds you close and lets himself simply enjoy the feel of you in his arms.

“My Lord,” you whisper. “My Lord, we should rest for tomorrow's journey.”

He gently pulls away from you, “Curtis, sweet angel. When it is just the two of us or when we are in my lands, please call me by name.”

Your smile grows, “happily, Curtis.” His heart flutters at hearing his name fall from your lips. “But we should still rest.”

He nods, “with your permission I will sleep at the foot of your bed.”

“You would ask permission from your wife?”

His eyes are full of conviction when he replies, “you are my wife, not my property. Permission must still be asked for.”

“Must you sleep at the foot of the bed? Would you be willing to hold me through the night, that I may be more familiar with your touch?”

His breath hitches, “it would be my honor to hold you, sweet angel.”

The journey to his lands is quick and uneventful. You're able to ride alongside him during the days and enjoy the feeling of being wrapped in his arms at night. True to his word, he did not do anything more than kisses and cuddles, waiting for the second wedding amongst his people.

You would forever be grateful to him for this, letting you become accustomed to his touch before the marriage was consummated. There had been too many stories of a newlywed husband simply taking his bride to bed and not caring for her comfort. Not caring about her tears of pain and fear. Some had even come to you soon after for your healing expertise. So to have your husband show such patience and care actually made you excited for the wedding night.

Your party gets to his lands early in the morning and his people are already working on getting everything ready for the ceremony and subsequent feast. Several of the ladies whisk you away, chuckling at how Curtis looks so lonely without you. He warned you this was likely to happen, that his most trusted people would take care of you and set you up with the dress and accessories for the ceremony.

Tanya, the woman in charge of everything, talks you through the steps of the hand-fasting ceremony, what will be expected of you, as well as some of the superstitions the locals have about things to do that will confirm a happy marriage. You make sure to pay attention and she seems to appreciate that you're following and asking questions. She also makes note of how friendly you are with everyone, confirming for herself that your reputation is well deserved.

While the first ceremony required you to wear the traditional white dress, evoking purity, the dress they gave you was green with flowers sewn into it, evoking fertility. Some of the flowers are freshly picked, others pressed and preserved. Tanya tells you it's important to have flowers from every season to symbolize your love being able to grow and survive in all conditions.

The vows are also very different from the first ceremony. As you and Curtis stand together, hands tied by intricate knots, you make the same promise to each other to love, honor, respect and care for one another. There is no mention of obedience or subservience.

Your kiss at the end of the ceremony causes cheers to erupt from the crowd and the celebration begins. There's dancing, feasting, cheer and merriment in contrast to the whispers and plotting of your first ceremony. You are encouraged to eat and drink your fill, as opposed to your first ceremony where it was thought improper for a new bride to eat. The wedding is truly better than you could have ever dreamed.

When you enter his rooms that night, you're shy but eager. Curtis asks permission before undressing you, making your heart flutter. He takes great pains to be gentle with you after you give him permission, helping you step out of the dress before taking the time to appreciate your beauty.

“My angelic wife,” he rasps. Heat rushes to your face and you try to cover yourself with your arms but he stops you. “Please, my love, please let me see you.” His voice is hoarse with need and it has you pressing your thighs together, seeking some kind of friction.

You keep your arms down and he guides you to the bed, laying you on your back. He plants kisses all over you, taking time to lavish attention on each of your nipples. You can feel your arousal growing and moan appreciatively at his affection. Your moans, in turn, set Curtis off and he lets himself get more intense, paying attention to your reactions.

His mouth is still on your breast as he moves a hand to your slit, groaning as he feels how wet you are. You gasp as he gathers up your slick and rubs your pearl. You've played with yourself before but his strong, calloused hands are somehow more satisfying. He makes circles with your clit and you feel the tension building in your core, along with a need to be filled that you've never felt before.

“Please, please,” you start begging, unsure of what exactly you're asking for. Curtis seems to know and moves his hand so that his wrist can still press against your pearl as he sticks moves one of his large fingers in and out of your glistening pussy. The sensations he's creating are new but not unpleasant. You find your legs instinctively spreading further apart, your back arches, and when the building coil finally snaps, you cry out Curtis's name and let yourself fall into the pleasure of your orgasm.

Curtis stills as you catch your breath, “how are you feeling?”

It takes a moment for his words to register. “That was heavenly,” you confess.

He nods at your response. “Promise me you will say something if I am hurting you.”

“It's supposed to hurt the first time, my husband.”

He moves to hover over you, hands on either side of your head. “Only selfish or naive men let it hurt the first time. I would do better for my wife.” His eyes soften as he takes in your confusion. “Please promise me, angel.”

“I promise, my husband,” you whisper.

He gives you a deep kiss before pulling away to undress. You've never seen naked man before and you bite your lip in anticipation and nervousness. As expected he is well muscled with many scars. Part of you wants to run your fingers through the hair on his chest. As you look lower you see his thick, fully erect manhood and your breathing becomes shallow in anticipation.

As he crawls back up the bed, he stops to apply his mouth to your clit, pushing his finger back inside you. You let out a truly lascivious moan and he adds a second finger, causing you to roll your hips. He gets you worked up again but before you can let go, he pulls his fingers out, making you whine at the loss. You watch as puts his fingers in his mouth and moans at the taste of you.

He kisses his way up your body, making you moan and roll your hips wantonly. He slides his erection along your slit, covering himself in your juices before he lines himself up with your entrance. “Remember to tell me if it hurts,” he reiterates before slowly pushing himself into you.

There is a mild burning, stretching sensation but not necessarily painful. In fact, it feels kind of good. Curtis kisses along your neck as he keeps pushing and you moan your encouragement. He's shaking with effort as forces himself to go slow and carefully, letting your body adjust to him.

When he's fully sheathed he takes a breath to steady himself. “Are you alright?” He searches your face for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“My lord, Curtis, it feels...different, but good.”

“May I move? Are you ready for that?”

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, gratitude causing the emotions of the day to overwhelm you.

“Yes, please, Curtis,” you croak. “Please move. Need you to move.”

Curtis carefully starts rolling his hips, entranced by your reactions to his every move. He swears he'll never get enough of you. Unsure of how much longer he'll last, he moves his hand between your bodies and plays with your clit again, making you clench around him even more. Ever mindful of your reactions he starts moving faster, stronger and is rewarded more of those beautiful noises only he will ever hear. Another orgasm hits you and start babbling incoherently, lost in the waves of pleasure. Curtis comes with a ragged groan, spilling his seed into you.

After a few minutes of cuddles, letting you both catch your breath and mentally process, he starts pulling out of you, making sure to pay attention to your reactions. The soft hiss you let out gets his attention but you quickly reassure him. When he's fully pulled out he immediately checks for blood, silently thankful when there's no evidence he's hurt you. You whimper softly as he cleans up the mess he's left between your legs and he makes sure to leave soft kisses wherever he can on your body.

He holds you tight as he did all those nights on the road and you feel so safe, loved and cherished that you fall asleep almost instantly.

Tagging @alicedopey; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

And @brandycranby, where can I pick up my bagels? 😆

[m-ayo-o]

time swap

18+ smutty // Riftan is your modern day boyfriend ~ you go back in time together to experience life as his princess wc 590 selfshiptember; 25

who else can easily self insert with maxi...

Being dragged back in time to an era filled with knights, dragons and wizards is just about mind boggling enough– let alone trying to remember all of the rules and etiquette that have suddenly been imposed upon you.

As a woman of the modern world, you’re used to doing whatever you want, whenever you want. You have freedoms and rights and can follow your own will and whimsy. It helps that you’re confident and have the ability to defend yourself in dangerous situations. But you’re used to being undeniably independent. And strong.

Now, after following your boyfriend back to his era, you’ve found yourself surrounded by maids, servants, assistants, cooks, butlers– endless people babying you.

They tend to your every need, from the moment you wake, getting you dressed in the ridiculous corsets and gowns, to eating, drinking, bathing, sleeping– you can barely breathe on your own.

And that’s just the castle personnel.

Now you’re here, you can see where Riftan’s ‘old fashioned’ tendencies stem from.

Here, his possessive nature is spiralling out of control. You understand that he’s your knight, your husband, sworn to protect and serve, but he doesn’t forgo any of the formalities. 

And he’s become ever so strict.

He chastises you for wanting to leave the castle by yourself like it’s some kind of crazy idea.

“No. That’s dangerous. And you can’t go out like that.” He eyes the simple frock you’re wearing as you look down over yourself.

He has the maids dress you then finally allows you to leave with your arm wrapped around his, escorting you through the busy streets.

He seems even more agitated during functions and parties that are filled with royals, noblemen and knights.

Even if you open your mouth to speak to the wrong person, he’s tugging you away and keeping you to himself. He won’t leave your side all night.

Those are some of the more suffocating behaviours that have come to light– but there are others that you could get used to.

When disembarking a carriage, for example, he will not allow you to step off by yourself. He opens the door, takes your hand and guides you down the steps. If the weather is bad he won’t even permit you to set foot on the damp, muddy ground. You will be carried.

But what really gets you is the way he greets you.

It’s the same in public, in private, wherever you are and whoever you’re with.

He lowers his head in a bow, muttering ‘my princess’ and brushing feather light kisses over your fingers.

And if he’s missed you it gets even better.

He kneels before you.

He presses his head into your tummy while you stroke his hair, nervously looking round at all the servants dashing away and sparing fleeting glances at the two of you.

“Riftan,” you tilt his chin up, “don’t you think this is– ah, too much?”

“No,” he grumbles and gives you a stern look, finally standing and taking your hand, pulling you up the stairs to your private wing.

He may be the perfect gentleman during the day, however, when he gets you behind your bedroom door that is soon to change.

His chivalrous behaviour falls away with your clothes, leaving you exposed but finally able to breathe. 

He covers your body in kisses, showing his true nature when he sinks his teeth into your soft skin.

He dips his head lower, all of his rules to keep you safe and protected being cast aside when he finally hears you moan.

selfshiptember 25!

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

It ain't over 'til the Old Crow sings.

This is the concluding story to go along with the Two Ravens at the Writing Desk blog event! Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were submitted after the period of acceptance and/or disregarded other event rules.)

Does Two of us make a Murder of Crows? … Or an Unkindness of Ravens?

The Newspaper Club's office was a hub of activity. When its door was cracked open, the smell of fresh paper and ink would greet visitors. The murmurs of concentration and furious keyboard clacking of its members, the organization's calling card.

Raven was fond of it.

She tended to skitter on the outskirts of the club, observing as students drifted in and out, sometimes lugging supplies or equipment with them. Too shy to ask if she could pitch in, too scandalized at the thought of the boys staring at her if she entered.

And so she remained, watching.

Raven peered around her secretive corner. Today, there was a cluster of club members outside the office, caught up in a heated debate. One of them--the leader?--had a thick packet in hand and a frown on his face.

"We can't print this," he was saying, waving the papers around.

"If we don't, he'll be on our asses," protested another member. "Let's just suck it up and send it into the printing press."

"Where's your journalistic integrity, man?!" a third demanded.

"We've put out crappier stuff before," a fourth shrugged. "Remember that article about the seven greatest unsolved mysteries on NRC campus? As if most of us don't already know."

"It's not the same thing," the leader shot back. "That was one piece. This is an entire issue. You really want to flush down our rep?!"

Oh dear, it looks like they've run into some sort of trouble. I wonder what's wrong...? Raven leaned a little closer, cupping an ear.

"What are we going to do" The club leader worriedly paced around. "We don't have much time before the deadline comes up on us... Oh, hmm?"

He cocked his head, noticing a flicker of movement around the corner. "Is that...?"

Raven startled. I've been spotted!

"Excuse me!" To her horror, the club leader approached and called out to her. "You are... the headmaster's something-or-other, right? Someone who can speak to him on our behalf."

"Er, yes. I-I suppose that's true." She tried to control her nerves by smoothing out her skirt, but found herself anxiously wringing the hem of it.

"Great! See, the headmaster proposed running a special edition in the campuswide newspaper. In honor of NRC's founding month, he said," the club leader explained. "Front to back, the whole works. The only problem is... well, see for yourself."

He offered his packet. It was about the width of a modest novel and bulged with additional sticky notes and photographs shoved inside of the stack.

One glimpse at the cover page, and Raven instantly understood what was happening.

Oh, Uncle. You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?

"You wanted the school newspaper to have a Crowley-themed edition for March... Have you gone mad?!"

"I thought it would be an earnest and approachable way for the student body to get to know their headmaster," Crowley faintly defended himself. "And you did tell me to pen some writing by my own hand. Does it not make sense to publish those works in a publicly accessible source?"

Raven held her head in her hands. A migraine was coming on, steady but piercing.

"Please do not impose your agenda on a student-run organization. It is meant to be a forum that promotes freedom of expression, not for personal vanity projects!!

"There are other avenues you could use for publications if you want an 'earnest and approachable' image. For example..." She produced her phone, pulling up Magicam via an app. Personal blogs, social media accounts... There are many other places.

"Oh." Crowley cupped his chin. "I was not aware."

"Many students are on Magicam, so if you want to be relatable this may be a good starting point. Perhaps it's not the best for posting written works, but surely you could take pictures of your daily activities and briefly caption them."

"Well, why didn't you say so sooner? Nothing could be simpler, my dear niece!" The headmaster beamed, displaying his pointed, pearly canines.

“I wish you’d explored these options first,” she sighed. “Then we could have avoided this almost-disaster altogether.”

Her guardian was already preoccupied with his own phone now. Typing in information, fishing up the most photogenic pictures from his album to slap on. A few minutes into setting up his account, Crowley paused. He eyed his child the same way a hawk might eye a scurrying field mouse.

“… What is it now?” Raven asked, dreading the worst.

“Oh, I was just thinking about what my first post should be. Something that says a lot about me and where my values lie. I know exactly what to use: a family photo!"

She raised a brow.

Crowley shoved the rejected proposal packet back into his niece's hands. He then shuffled next to her, holding his phone out--the camera, flipped--and made a peace sign with the other.

A bolt of panicked realization raced through her. "Uncle... you don't mean--"

"Fufufu. Say 'cheese', Raven-kun!"

CLICK!

The headmaster's first post would go up around midnight. Under the picture of a jovial crow and a befuddled raven was a very telling statement.

So glad to have such bright young minds steering the way to the future~ Proud to be the headmaster of NRC 🐦‍⬛