#lady is worse than woman is worse than girl and are all wrong.

[ispyspookymansion]

got called young lady 4 days ago and im still cringing about it

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

[virgincels]

NYMPHOMANIA !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. daddy-daughter incest, femcel reader :3, reader wants to get raped so she talks about that, dub-con for like a paragraph, suicidal thoughts, awful thoughts in general, tiny bit of somno, threats, spanking, slapping

note. HAII :3 back on my femcel shit… god i rewrote this like 15 times and restarted over and over so i hate this 😭 it’s clunky so ignore any mistakes!!! feedback n rbs always so appreciated <3 was thinking of og4 leon but.. honestly idk atp !! anyway sorry again for the slow decrease in quality in this .. title has nothing to do w the fic ack ok bye :3

tumblr removes fics that use, for example, tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

There are two things you want to get off your chest.

You are not, under any circumstances, ugly. Your face just takes getting used to. (This is a cope.)

You have a crush on your dad. No excuse for this one. Cupid is a conniving bastard. That’s that.

These might not seem like related issues, but they most certainly are because being ugly is hard, and having a crush on your dad is equally as hard.

You’re a sweet girl, you didn’t choose to come out ugly, it’s not your fault you turned out this way. It’s unfair, but ultimately no one meant for it to happen

(Well, you hope no one meant for it to happen unless someone had a vendetta against your mother and cursed her firstborn. She’s an irritating lady, you can see why someone would do so.)

You won’t even be the kind of below-average woman who marries a mediocre man to have mediocre sex to make mediocre kids to live in caustic mediocrity. You have one friend, she’s an online friend, and she might be a lonely old man. To be entirely honest you would prefer that. ‘Cause that would mean someone out there wants to creep on you.

If you weren’t ugly, having a crush on your dad would be socially acceptable. That’s why daddy-daughter porn spans pages and pages and pages of Pornhub. Everyone loves to watch a busty, blonde slut on her dad’s dick. If you didn’t have a crush on your dad, being ugly would be perfectly fine— No, that’s wrong.

Being ugly is never fine. Being ugly is on the same level as being a rapist. Being ugly in the presence of people who are objectively not ugly is, like, worse than being a rapist. ‘Cause all the dudes in high school were rapists in the making. Ted Bundy-style shit.

Grope an ugly bitch in the bathrooms and she wouldn’t speak up, and if she did— She just wouldn’t actually. Would be burnt at the stake Salem style. Hung. Crucifixion perhaps. Ugly girls aren’t good enough to die like martyrs did, however. Especially not ugly girls who cry wolf.

Why on God’s green earth would a hot guy go out of his way to slap a freaky-looking girl’s ass, right? Got girls lined up down the halls waiting for him to sign their perky tits, he doesn’t need to rape. It must be wishful thinking on her part, right? A wet dream she took as reality.

Why would you say that? Do you want to throw what he’s worked for down the drain? Accusations like this, they’re not jokes, y’know that? He’s got a scholarship, college wouldn’t take something like this so lightly.

Aw, you miss her. This goth chick in senior year. Your sorta friend. When it all went down and she had nowhere else to go, you invited her over because you’re a nice girl with no nefarious intentions. None at all. When she lay beside you at night, and she opened up, and she thanked you for believing her, you totally did not have your hand in your panties. And you totally did not rub yourself raw while she spoke about it in excruciating detail. You did not treat her rape case as erotica.

The dude got away with it of course. He was on TV the other day in fact. NFL. Baltimore Ravens. Still stupid hot. God, you wish it was you he picked - wouldn’t have told a single soul. Would’ve sucked the sweat from his jockstrap without complaint.

You’re too repulsive to be touched or raped, and you’ve learnt to live with that. Passing out in alleyways would result in rapists who frequent the area to avoid those very alleyways. Only your hand knows the cushiony softness of your tits, the wetness between your legs, how great your mouth feels— Only your dildo knows that, but you can imagine it’s good. You’re a total catch. A nympho. Men love nymphos when they’re pretty, which you are not. So you’re a nympho without the sex appeal. So in other words you are a pervert. A degenerate. A fucking freak.

It’s time to start sticking your fingers down your throat. ‘Cause that’s what gorgeous girls do to achieve that grave-robbed look. Heroin chic. Modelesque. It’s all the same type of beautiful. Emaciated and sickly. Dead girls are the sexiest ‘cause they can’t say yes or no and if there’s no no then it’s a yes. A nymphetic loophole of sorts. Men love dead girls that double as nymphos. Unfortunately, you are well and alive. Walking into traffic seems like fun, but you would be classed as roadkill, and it wouldn’t be tragically beautiful, just embarrassing to get scraped off the concrete like that. Even in death, you would be ugly because you are ugly to your very core. Your bone marrow is so ugly no scientist would want to make stem cells out of it, polynucleotides so deformed— You’re ugly. No need to wax poetic about it. Nothing poetic about being ugly.

Dad is the closest a human being can get to perfection. A divine image. Michelangelo is, like, dead and gone. David should've died alongside him. Dad deserves to take his place in the Accademia Gallery. With the way people gawk at him, he might as well be art. You’re surprised he doesn’t sell tickets to merely exist in his presence. He’s hot like a Calvin Klein model, and mom is hot like a regular model. Due to how you’ve turned out, you have a few qualms with your mother.

Like, what the fuck happened to you in her womb? Did someone take a mallet to one side of her belly to ensure her child came out as asymmetrical as one can be? A lack of nutrients maybe? Was she dieting during the pregnancy? Did dad fuck her too hard? Busted her womb up or some shit.

It simply might be that two rights make a wrong.

Or you were a tester before she popped your siblings out. Little ichor-filled putto. They were child models, scouted in their diapers, and you would stand behind your mother and the cameraman so hurt you couldn’t even feel jealous. Now they’re all grown up, fully-fledged erotes, and they’re working and doing all this shit you still haven’t managed to get a grasp on. Navigating the world as an ugly bitch is terribly hard.

Rape kinks are developed, dads get crushed on - awful, terrible things happen when girls are ugly and alone and unable to leave the comfort of their bedrooms.

Pretty girls have daddy issues that are dealt with in standard pretty girl fashion - finding emotionally unavailable, salt-and-pepper-haired men to fill every hole, including the one in their doll hearts. The thing is pretty girls don’t go for their dads. ‘Cause a lot of the time dads are gross. Dads do not look like your dad does. And to be fair you don’t exactly have daddy issues. Your dad is present and he doesn’t hit or shout or do anything out of the norm. Maybe this is a you issue.

It is a you issue, not even an ugly girl issue or an any type of girl issue. It’s your issue and yours alone.

It is your issue that when Leon asks what you want for dinner you almost ask for his hand around your throat or his hand in marriage. Either would be fine. Both would be preferred.

Severing your relationship would be even better. Goddamn, girls with absent fathers are lucky. You wish he was anything but your dad— It’s just that if you weren’t his daughter, dad wouldn’t ever look your way, he would pass by you like every man does.

Dad is a busy guy, and he’s a strange guy in the sense that he’s never really bothered with you. He loves your sister, and he loves your brother. But everyone loves those two. You don’t think he likes you very much, you can deal with that. Doesn’t mean you have daddy issues ‘cause no one likes you very much. So it’s a you issue and you should try harder.

Leon’s home early today. He’s collapsed on the couch, withered into himself like he always is after business trips. Mom said not to disturb him. You don’t. Then you do. This is like crack to you. Dad.

More specifically, dad without mom hovering over him. Dad’s sleeping so your brain is not stewed by his intense gaze. It only ever lingers on you for merely a second, but your stomach flips like you’ve got appendicitis and your legs spread involuntarily.

He’s a light sleeper, you’re well aware. He’s also a living, breathing Ken doll so you don’t put much thought into it when you reach out to ghost your fingers along the bridge of his nose. So pointy it could pierce your clit. Your clit. His nose. Oh, it could work so well, you want to grind yourself to mush against it.

Until dad shifts, he’s so beautiful up close you almost forget he’s real, not a wax figure. You trace the straight edge of his jaw, then thumb his petal lips, dragging your pointer finger over the fuller bottom one to push the tip into his wet mouth. Your dad is a slut. ‘Cause he sucks for a good second or two. Heat licks at your insides. You might vomit. His spit glistens like cobwebs when you take it back. That hand is shoved down your pants. That finger finds your clit, uses what spit is left to get it nice and wet. Which is totally unneeded, you’ve been soaked since god knows when, your pussy doesn’t know when to quit.

Feels good knowing that a part of dad is in you, his spit pushed into your hole. You’ll give him something back, it’s only fair, you smear your slick on the spot you traced. His tongue pokes out, likely to combat dry mouth, it swipes along his bottom lip— He tastes you. Heat engulfs you, chars your body from the inside out, the scent of rotting meat is in your nostrils.

Dad tasted you.

Holy fuck. You sit there with a trembling smile, staring down at him and he does not rouse. Shit, you’re creepy and you know it, but you’re not stupid. What other chance do you have? You unzip his old shearling jacket, underneath is that compression shirt that fits him too well. You map out the ridges of his abs, the slight dip between his pecs, every hard line that makes up his body. He smells so sexy, lavender and leather, must be some sorta pheromone ‘cause all you want to do is drop your face into his tits to bathe in that scent, to have it stick to your skin. Shit. Holy fucking shit. You’ve got a sex doll instead of a dad. That explains the distantness. He’s made of silicone.

The door clicks the moment you find it in yourself to click open his belt.

“What're you doing?” Mom ruins everything. She’s had it out for you the moment you formed in her womb. “He’s sleeping, don’t disturb him.” She says tersely, placing her Coach Tabby on the coffee table.

“He was cold.” That’s why his nipples are peaking, piercing the fabric of that shirt. Should be illegal to wear that in public. He’s asking for it.

“Yeah?” She asks, unconvinced, bending down to unclasp her heels.

“Yeah.” You stand up, dad’s indirect kiss on your cunt, shoot her a nasty sneer before you scuttle away to your bedroom for the rest of the day.

There are stairs that creak and stairs that don’t. You hang around down here at midnight often so you know the right path to take as to not alert your parents of your presence. They’re speaking about you.

“—be careful around her.” Truly, you hate your mother.

“What is there to be careful about?” Right? You tell her dad.

“Just, just be careful. She doesn’t y’know.”

“She doesn’t what?”

“She doesn’t get off her ass, she doesn’t talk to anyone but, well, I don’t know actually, she doesn’t talk to anyone at all.” You could pretend and say it hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing insulting about the truth.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re a guy, she doesn't talk to guys.”

“We don’t talk much either.” Dad is too stiff to make conversation, and you collapse anytime he breathes in your general direction.

“Yeah, but, Leon.” Mom sounds exasperated, but she’s not getting her point across well. She should know better, dad’s skull is thicker than cement. “I’m worried.”

“What, for me or her?”

“Her, obviously, I don’t want her to… I want her to get out, like, I want her to do stuff,” mom sniffles, she is so putting this on to make dad feel guilty. “It’s so hard to watch your adult daughter just sit in a room and do nothing all day, Leon, she’s like a big fucking baby, why is she like that?”

“Babe,” he coos, and your knees buckle.

“Go talk to her.”

“What?”

“Go talk to her about it,” Mom repeats, voice shaking. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

They go back and forth for a few minutes, and then dad sighs and says fine. You make haste back to your hovel that doubles as a bedroom, crawl into bed and try to look natural.

Leon clears his throat before he knocks, when you don’t answer he pokes his head in. He says your name and you stir, sheets taut to your body as you peek up at him.

“You should open a window in here.”

When you don’t respond, he sits at the foot of your bed, looks around and nods. His gaze is scathing. Not purposefully. You just take it that way.

“Dinner’s ready,” he lies, then he leaves. His perfume lingers, and you touch the space he was sitting in, his warmth remains.

The day after that, you’re in the living room, tuckered out after mom forced you to help her with the groceries. You’re not cut out for this sort of life. The living sort of life. You were made to rot.

“Door wasn’t locked,” Leon says when he steps in, he puts his keys down, shucks his jacket off, tracks mud halfway down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Your shoes, Leon,” Mom groans, “she came in last.”

“Oh, sorry,” you say absentmindedly. If it doesn’t include tits or dicks or pussy it is none of your business. You have enough energy to keep up with one thing and that is your porn addiction. Groceries really took it out of you.

“You should be careful, rapists might come in, murderers or some shit.” Leon is speaking to your mother. Not you because he has seen your face and he knows very well that an ugly girl like you would survive out of sheer ugliness.

Mom snorts, “I think you’re the scariest thing that could walk through that door, honey.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

You’d like to know what that means too. Well, you get the gist, ‘cause you’ve heard all those stories. Dad and his wandering hands.

“You know what that means.” The sound of lips smacking is enough to have you feeling sick, dizzy as you cling to the walls and make your escape. “Did she leave— Quit it, Leon— Hands off, can you go talk to her, please? Properly this time.”

He forgets to knock this time, or he can’t bother to knock. Dad sits in that same spot, he opens his mouth and closes it about five times.

“Mom’s worried about you,” Leon says robotically. “You good?”

“I’m great.” Your tone is unconvincing, but he clearly doesn’t care enough because you're his dirty little secret. Not in a sex way. You would do anything for it to be in the sex way. Dirty little secret as in the ugly kid he chooses to ignore purely because you’re ugly. Dad doesn’t like ugly girls, you know that. He doesn’t think they’re worth a second glance, even a first glance is too much. Dad is superficial and his love is plastic.

These are all things you’re making up in your head based on assumptions. This is how all attractive men think. Ugly girls aren’t worth rape, dirtying your dick in ugly pussy sounds like a hassle. If you were pretty, you wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy. Even as a self-proclaimed ugly girl, you still wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy ‘cause they’re gross, and it’s not like they want you. Ugly guys shoot high and aim for pretty girls. Duh.

So you get it. Honestly. Whatever. Dad doesn’t like you. That’s okay, you don’t like him as a dad anyway. You love him like an obsessive lover. A hallway crush that stars in your late-night rape fantasies. And you’re fine like this. You’re so fine.

“Can I… Can I actually have a hug, dad?” You muster up what is left in your hollow heart to ask him that. It’s a big deal.

Leon blinks at you, levels you with his blank stare. He’s so handsome you want to blow your brains out, it’s an easy feat because you’re always looking for reasons to blow your brains out. Every straw is your last and yet you’re still here.

“Sure, sweetheart.” Dad opens his arms, and you crawl towards him, head on his shoulder as his arms loop around your waist. Oh, god, you will your heart into giving out. Dying right here in dad’s arms is ideal.

He holds you so gently it’s brutal. He crushes you with the weight of his loveless love. Dad’s so good at pretending you almost think he cares.

“Can you… I want to stay like this.”

“Uh, sure, sweetheart,” Leon calls everyone sweetheart. Sweetheart is his default. Sweetheart ranges from Auntie Ashley to babysitters to lifeguards and retail workers who aren’t getting paid enough to deal with some old man making eyes at them. Not that anyone minds dad’s attention. It’s fucking unfair. Mom is babe, and your sister is baby, and your brother is buddy or sport or tiger or whatever shit he pulls out of his ass. And you’re sweetheart because you’re not important to him. His firstborn daughter is not important to him ‘cause she’s ugly. More of a specimen than a human.

You would do anything to keep him here.

“Dad?” You whisper into his neck.

“…Yeah?”

“I want you to…” Your lack of life flashes in front of your eyes. Bedroom. Bedroom. Porn. Bedroom. Porn. Porn. Dad. Not much. What have you got to lose? “I want to— I want to fuck you.”

Dad is silent. Then: “Oh.” He never makes the move to pull away, so you sit snugly in his grip for a few seconds longer.

“I— Dad, I touch myself thinkin’ about you.” Your stomach ties itself into a Gordian knot.

“Yeah, okay, why don’t we— Yeah, fuck, I see what she meant, okay. Wow, that’s a lot. Sweetheart, why… Listen.” Dad says a whole lot of nothing as he takes your hands off him.

“Please… I love you, dad. I really like you— I know it’s weird, dad, I do, seriously, I know, but please I just… I just like you.” There is no explanation for it. “Dad… Daddy.”

He full-on winces. It’s like you’re being flayed. Something inside of you just— Just shatters. Not your heart ‘cause it’s pumping more blood than it ever has. Fragments of your sanity splinter into even smaller segments until there is nothing left but nauseating levels of mental disturbance.

“If you don’t…”

“You seriously trying that right now?” Leon scoffs, and he’s so cocky you get hot under the collar.

(Between your thighs too, but that’s a different story.)

“Yeah, I’m serious— If you don’t… If you don’t do it- do it with me, I’ll tell mom you… I’ll tell her you raped me.” In actuality, you would never tell mom if daddy raped you. You would treasure it, keep it in a heart-shaped locket and think about it when you get off twelve times a day. Getting your pussy reamed by dad’s cock would fix you right up.

“Don’t— Are you okay?” Leon smacks your hand away, his tone is even.

“You do it too— I know you’ve done it, I know how you and mom met.”

His face drains, pallor yellowish. “That don’t… That’s different.”

“How is that any different?” Different ‘cause he’s hot and mom is hot. Leon passed it off as a drunken mistake and they end up getting together. It’s not rape if the perpetrator is a hottie. You agree, but still— It’s not fucking fair.

“‘Cause I didn’t do this.” Leon gestures abstractly.

You kiss him, hands braced on each of his tits, digging your fingers into the meat to feel him tense and harden like he’s wearing a chest plate. “You’re so hot dad,” you whine into his mouth, and Leon is quick to push you off, your wrists in his hands. Makeshift handcuffs.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Dad is using his dad voice. It’s like porn to you, only makes you wetter. “I don’t like hitting girls, but you’re givin’ me a damn good reason.”

“You can hit me, daddy.” You offer your face to him, stretching your neck forward, closing your eyes as you wait for the impact. It lands firm on your cheek, his fingertips catching the tip of your nose. Fuck that felt good. Shit. You think you’ve creamed your panties. “Again, dad, hit me again—“ He does. Harder than the last time. Your head knocks backwards, and your brain must have a dent in it.

Dad puts you over his lap and you’re so sure you’ve entered the pearly gates. Or the innermost circle of hell. Probably that ‘cause Jesus Christ are you steaming.

“I hate stupid little sluts that try it out on me,” Leon drags your sweats over the swell of your ass, “Do you have a dick?”

“What, dad— No!” You tell him, more mortified at his question than you are by your bare ass under his palm. Fuck— You’re so wet it’s disgusting, dripping down your thighs and surely staining his lap. Thick like treacle.

“No? Were you gonna rape dad with this stupid cunt?” Oh, you hope he spanks your pussy. Porn makes it look delicious. “You look like you might have a dick with that face of yours.” He traces the seam of your cunt through your panties. “Or is your pussy just fat?”

Good fucking lord.

“Dad…” You arch into him, only to have a hand come down on your left ass cheek. One. Two. Three. They all hurt bad as each other. Four. “Ouch!” That one hurt real bad. Five. You feel like a naughty child. This is not as hot as you thought it would be. More dull and embarrassing. Not even the good kind of embarrassing.

Leon puts you on your knees, the hand wrapped around your jaw forces your lips into a pout, and you think he is going to kiss you— God, you close your eyes and wait for it, lean into him, shit you’d pop your leg if you were standing up. He spits in your face and it trickles down the bridge of your nose.

“Got me dirty with that filthy pussy.” Dad speaks offhandedly, he speaks to you like you’re dog shit. Not dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Just dog shit on the side of the road. Like the sort that bothers you enough to complain about it, but it doesn’t ignite any real anger.

His hand remains tight on your jaw, then he drops it to fish his fat cock from his pants to slap the drippy head on your cheek. The sound ricochets off the walls. Hits you like a bullet. Holy fuck. Dad really just did that. You giggle, batting your lashes up at him as pretty as an ugly girl can, and he grimaces so it can’t be pretty.

“Christ, you nasty fuck,” Leon snickers at the look on your face, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Daddy,” you whimper, nosing the tip of his dick, he smells so good you want him in your mouth, “I jus’ love you lots.”

“God, I hate ugly little freaks like you.” He said that already, no need to rub it in. Another slap of his cock on your face. Your heart beats for him and him alone. “You know what I think?” Dad guides his cock into your warm mouth. “Shit, that’s good— I think your mom is a liar.”

His dick is all you’ve ever wanted. It’s heavy on your tongue, though the longer you suckle on the tip, the weightier it gets, and he’s wet. Dripping all over the place. You must get that gene from your dad.

“‘Cause I don’t think,” he grunts, palm resting on your forehead to push you off his shaft, “I don’t think I could make a kid this ugly.”

“No,” you say breathlessly, “No, you’re my dad, my daddy.” Crouched down below him, you lave over his balls, putting more effort into this than you have done with anything else in your life. Gargling dad’s balls is your best work. Nothing else you have to be proud of.

Your pussy is pulsing, shit has its own heartbeat, you drop your hand down to soothe your poor cunt, rubbing figure eights into the bulge of your clit over your panties. It’s not enough, you push them to the side, your fingers slip a couple times, not enough, only dad’s fingers are enough, only his cock will plug up your leaking hole.

“Get off me,” dad instructs, and you might be glued to him, but you detach yourself immediately. “C’mon, stand up.” You use his thighs as leverage, standing on shaky legs that threaten to give out at any second. He takes your shirt off. “Cute tits gone to waste,” dad sighs like it’s heartbreaking. “We could've done something about it, y’know? Could fix your face right up, just had to ask daddy.”

“Really, dad? I want to be pretty, daddy, I want to be pretty for you, you never call me pretty— Daddy, I want to be pretty, please.” You clasp his shirt, and he brings you into his lap once more, raising your legs to slide your panties down so you’re free bleeding on his lap. Free bleeding without the blood. Just good old pussy.

“Messin’ with you, sweetheart, can’t fix that dog face,” dad coos to you tenderly, and the plain-as-day insult flies right over you. Dad could get you to sell both your kidneys if he keeps talking to you like that. “Just gotta live with it.”

You have. You have lived with it. That’s what you do. Live with your ugly face. You could die, that’s an option, but you choose to wait it out. ‘Cause dying is pretty scary no matter how much you want it. And Leon’s dick is hard beneath your pussy so there are things to live for. The world isn’t all cruel.

“Up,” he taps your lower back, you raise your hips and he presses his cock to your stretched hole. Toy after toy after toy. All to ready yourself for dad. When you sink down on him, your body convulses. It’s the sweet release of death. Or an orgasm. Fuck. Dying on dad’s cock is— You haven’t died on his dick, he fucks you through your high, feet planted firmly on the ground as he thrusts upwards, dick angled just right.

Heroin is meant to be good. You’ve seen Trainspotting. Better than any cock— You don’t believe that for a minute. Unless he’s leaking smack straight into your pussy, numbing your walls. Could be that ‘cause god— You’re not really thinking, not that you think much, when you decide to shove your fingers into his mouth.

“Daddy, can you taste me?” You ask him, giving a languid grind of your hips down onto his cock, you regret it immediately ‘cause it’s so good your cunt squelches loudly. “Do you taste me, dad? Dad—“

“Yeah,” Dad says, muffled, “Shoving your fingers down my fuckin’ throat, you little psycho, ‘course I taste it.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Daddy looks so pretty with his lips wrapped around your fingers, you fuck them in and out of his pink mouth, his tongue runs along the length of your fingers like he’s sucking a nice cock. Treating your fingers better than you did his dick.

Daddy’s splitting you in two. He fucks you without a care in the world. ‘Cause he doesn’t care about you. One-time-use pussy. You’re disposable like the gloves you get with box dye. Like a plastic spork. His cock is so deep he might as well tear open your middle and fuck your guts. Leon grabs your hips, forces you up and drops you down. The air in your lungs has no time to build up— You grasp at his shirt, bouncing in his lap like you’re a fleshlight, and you would be so happy with that title. Dad’s personal fleshlight. It makes you giddy.

Leon’s cock twitches inside of you, when he lifts you off of him, your pussy clings to the tip, holding on for dear life, insistent on milking daddy’s dick, taking every drop of his cum.

“Daddy…” Your head drops to his shoulder. “Please, daddy, am I pretty? Can you call me pretty?”

His hips stutter, and you don’t have to see his face to know he hesitates. It’s a struggle to call a girl like you pretty. “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” Then he dumps his load so deep— So deep, you warm to the thought of having your daddy’s baby. You already fucked so why not go the extra mile?

Dad doesn’t kiss you, but he lays you down and tucks you in like he never has before. “Your mom’s worried.” He goes back to the topic at hand and you groan, covering your face with a pillow. “Hey, we can, uh…” Leon scratches his head. “We can y’know…” He shrugs, glances down at you. “Can do that if you try pulling your weight a little.”

The promise of your dad’s cock is enough to have you applying for every job in a thirty-mile radius. Dad’s cock is a fix for an ugly girl like you. You’ve got a pussy only your daddy could love, and you think you’re more than okay with that.

[ystrike1]

Betrayal of Dignity - By KIMPA (8.5/10)

Sometimes, bad men make great Kings. This particular Duke is absolutely a yandere, but he's also after the throne. He's also one of the few obsessive male characters I can actually imagine in power. He knows how to plan ahead. He's horrible. She's a good and forthright woman. The drama is killer.

Two sisters.

The pretty pink one and the disabled one.

What do you think their relationship is like?

You're wrong.

Chloe is disabled, yes, but she is a capable older sister. Her father, servants, and her sister all treat her with respect. Even when those who discriminate do not.

Alice is a romantic girl, with no brains in her skull. She's supposed to save her family from debt by wedding a wealthy Count....but she cheats on him. Her lover impregnates her, and they run away together...happily? Yes, Alice was never cut out for life as a noble wife. Her husband treats her well. They're passionately in love. Chloe loves her too much to force her to do anything. Their father feels the same.

The spoiled, beautiful daughter leaves the picture.

What about the debt?

There's only one child left. Chloe. She is respected in the walls of her mansion, but nowhere else.

No sane man would marry a woman with a crippled leg.

(This setting is painfully realistic. A couple hundred years ago disabled people had little to no rights. Chloe is a rare exception as a noble daughter who is loved and protected by her father.)

Chloe has no idea, but she does have an admirer.

His name is Duke Daimien Thisse. He fell in love with her three years ago, but she has no clue. He bullied her. He called her naive. Arrogant. He ripped her cane from her hands to show her how weak she was. She naturally assumed he's just another man who dislikes disabled people.

She met the Duke when he was at war. His men camped in her forest, behind her home. She nursed some of his fghters back to health.

Naive Chloe was unaware. As she treated the men they ridiculed her, and they tossed more inappropriate comments on top. They did not deserve her help, but she gave it.

Duke Thisse stole her cane because he was frustrated. He hated watching her care for the boorish men in his army, who whispered behind her back. So, he insulted her to her face to test her true character.

Chloe was too perfect. He suspected she was acting, as an excuse to get close to him and seduce him. He does know about her monetary situation after all.

She rejects him and proves that kindness isn't a weakness. She didn’t know the men were insulting her, but it doesn’t matter to her. They were protecting her country. Her land. She felt obligated to help, as an upstanding noble lady.

Duke Thisse is smitten.

He does get worse though. This guy is every single red flag. His fascination with Chloe stays a secret. A real one. Nobody knows he loves her. Chloe thinks he's marrying her to weaken his position on purpose, because he wants the Crown Prince to look stronger. She thinks she's a tool and she's half right. Marrying Chloe does give the Duke camouflage. He looks like a loyal dog...but he's been planning this marriage and a rebellion for three years.

Chloe won't be his Duchess.

She will be his Queen.

Daimien is also the most jealous and vindictive man on earth. He does bully and plot against his own wife when she pays attention to other men. He's un-fucking-unbearable. He threatens to kill her and her family more than once. She thinks it's because of his honor or something but no. He just does that when she mentions another man too many times.

He even throws a hissy fit when she tries to visit her own father.

This handsome servant, Gillies, figures out how twisted the Duke is. He's purely in love with his kind lady, and the persistent hero actually succeeds in exposing the rot.

Chloe finds out how deep the corruption goes far too late.

Duke Thisse doesn't tell Chloe anything. This mistress??? Fake. She's a royal spy and he feels nothing for her, but he uses this fake lover to torment Chloe. To test her and embarrass her. To see her pure true self once more. Chloe maintains her dignity, even when she must invite said mistress to a tea party.

Duke Thisse uses the death of this fake mistress to trick Chloe into loving him. He frames Chloe. He makes it look like she murdered the other woman out of jealousy, and then he saves her from life in jail.

That "selfless deed" earns her love.

Chloe earnestly lavishes love on the monster that has been tormenting her for years.

Even the Crown Prince is a pawn.

Duke Thisse needs him to to die at the right time, in the right place.

The mad prince realizes that Daimien married Chloe for love, and he gets more suspicious.

His feelings mess with the plan.

The rebellion will come regardless.

Romance begins to blossom when the Duke actually says I love you. It's not cheesy. It makes perfect sense. Chloe doesn't want money or promises. She wants to know if he saved her from a murder charge out of love.

(If only she knew)

He says yes.

It would have been so romantic if we, the readers, didn't know what was going on in his head.

By the way they don't consumate their marriage until they confirm their love. The Duke gets some points with that. He only wanted to lay with her if she felt the same way. He avoided all intimacy until that day. Now she does reciprocate....but he's been planting those feelings for almost four years.

Their love blossoms into something beautiful.

Chloe is pregnant and they all live happily...

The Crown Prince is a mentally deranged maniac. The people are turning against him.

The Duke wants more than love.

He wants to protect the nation he fought for in war.

He wants power. He wants to be King, and he has chosen a Queen.

Side note he only wants Chloe to have one baby, because he's familiar with the dangers of childbirth. I'll give him points for that one...again. He sucks but he's not the worst husband to have.

They don't live happily ever after.

Duke Thisse has more goals to strive for beyond happiness, and that's awesome. He's not a nice man, but he's obsessive and he's not bland. He's not boring on screen. That's for sure.

Chloe is an extremely cool woman, without superpowers. There is no secret ingredient. She's just a hard worker. One of her legs doesn't freaking work, and she's still more imposing than most.

Lots of people hate this one.

I think they need to read the fine print. Maybe one or two more times. On the surface this is a tale of abuse and manipulation...but remember there's no magic. Chloe never wanted to marry for love. She has no lover waiting for her.

Being the wife of a Duke isn't supposed to be easy. It's extra hard if he's ambitious.

That's conveyed very well.

[yallemagne]

why does sleepwalking women and gothic horror go hand in hand

You asking me?

The answer is voyeurism.

Here's the thing about gendered horror: the goddamn eroticism. You can't escape it, people want to get their rocks off even when they're terrified-- especially when they're terrified! It's such popular imagery because of the intimacy of a woman with all her hair let down in only a white nightgown highlighted by the pale moonlight. A nightgown is very innocent in its intimacy, there's nothing inherently sexual about it, but that just gets people even more horny! No structured garments underneath-- she's wearing breeches obviously but shhh no she's totally naked save for some sheer billowing fabric.

EDIT: oh my god blah blah blah "breeches! actually she wouldn't be wearing those!! oh my god, they got it wrong, just shoot them in the streets, your honour!" FINE SHE'S NOT WEARING ANY PANTIES UNDER THERE, GOOD FOR YOU YOU GOT ME.

Gasp! Unprotected purity! I sure hope no dastardly villain tarnishes this woman! (they do. they do hope for that actually)

This isn't a very fun answer, is it? But it's worth saying. Horror explicitly involving women tends to be very visual with plenty of (arguably) sexual imagery. Men get the mindboggling horrors inconceivable to the human psyche while women are limited to being eye candy who faint before their minds can even be boggled (no that isn't a euphemism). Even when the women in question previously had a larger role in the story than "sexy lamp", pop culture will be quick to reframe it in the way that has the most sex appeal.

But like... let's take the woman's perspective: you're in a state of undress and completely unaware of your surroundings. It's dark and anyone lurking around at this time might very well have bad intentions, and they might turn those bad intentions on you. And you'll be blamed for being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong dress. Terrifying. And people don't really appreciate the terror of it because... it's pretty, isn't it?

But then Lucy is weeping in her sleep, and Mina is covering her feet in mud for propriety. Because who knows what a man will do to them if he sees her naked feet? They're both cowering in fear hoping a drunken man doesn't take notice of them. Because who knows what he'll do to them if he sees two young ladies out at night? They're sweating from not just exertion but stress, and their messy hair clings to their frightened faces. They cannot tell anyone. Because who knows what toll this night might take on their good reputations?

It's not pretty. There's no see-through dresses (seriously their nightgowns are made of fucking linen, not organza), no flowing locks, no full faces of makeup, just pure society-ingrained horror.

But cis men don't typically understand that horror because they aren't usually victim to it. It honestly makes me sad and angry that the imagery is so prominent (and in such a watered-down and bland "sexy" way) because it reduces the actual horror these two protagonists face to nothing more than an audience's voyeuristic fantasy in which the women are only objects to be gawked at. The danger is reframed as tantalizing and enticing "ooo good girls (unknowingly) being bad in their sleep!" rather than... they could have fucking died. Or worse.

... But I still want to draw my girls (Jonathan, Mina, and Lucy) in cute nightgowns, so I'll bite my tongue.

[bananntoo]

getting jealous

sanji x reader

sanji is constantly swooning over other women, leaving his girlfriend forgotten

dating sanji was amazing- constant compliments, never going hungry, having you’re own little maid do everything for you, but it came with a constant worry of other women. you weren’t insecure about yourself in any way, but the fact that sanji swooned over every girl he saw hurt a little. you knew he couldn’t help it and that he loved you more than any woman, but it still hurt.

it was the party at water7 to celebrate the straw hats return from ennies lobby. you had wanted to enjoy the party with your boyfriend but he told you he was busy with the kitchen and for you to enjoy your own time. that was until half a hour later you saw him practically drooling over a group of girls not leaving their sides. was he serious? he had turned you down- HIS GIRLFRIEND- to hang out with a group of women he didn’t even know? you were so done. not even having the urge to party anymore you left and decided to stroll around the empty town.

the walk was a lot. you tried thinking of anything and everything to get your mind off of sanji, but nothing worked. you felt stupid. did you really think he wouldn’t left your side the second he saw another girl?

-

sanji had noticed your absence from the party now. he walked over to nami asking if she had seen her. she told him you had left and went on a stroll through the town.

why would she leave? is she okay? it’s dangerous for such a pretty lady to be walking alone at night! she should’ve asked me to come with her. his angry thoughts soon turned into happy ones once he saw your figure in-front of him. your back was turned as you were still walking away from him, not yet noticing his presence.

“Y/N-SWANNN” you heard him rushing towards you.

“i missed you so much! i was wondering where you were-“ he had stopped when he heard your stuttered breathing. you thought you were doing fine. you thought you could hold it in, but you were wrong. the second you heard his voice you broke down. did he really not know what was wrong?

“y/n are you okay?” that hurt. suddenly instead of just stuttered breaths it all came rushing out. tears were flowing almost so hard you couldn’t breathe. he was still facing your back. you didn’t want him to see you like this. so defenseless and weak. your legs couldn’t support you anymore so you dropped to the ground, curled up in a ball, with your head in your knees, arms wrapped around your head.

sanji didn’t know what to do. should he support you? should he leave you alone? should he apologize? he didn’t even know what was wrong.

you couldn’t blame him. he was a gentleman. telling him to stop would be like changing the thing you loved most about him. you just had to get over it and dust yourself off. but why was it so hard?

sanji had come to your front now, trying to pry your hand away from your face in order to console you but you held your grip.

“please leave me alone sanji” you had said through broken breaths.

“you know i cannot” he replied. with his worried voice you felt even worse. instead of dealing with your emotions alone, you had now worried sanji. this was the one thing you didn’t want.

a/n : slight scrap. its been sitting in my drafts for a while and i don’t know how to continue it. pls lmk if there’s anything you want me to add

[absurduty]

UNDER HIS SKIN [AMD.T X READER]

PART I.

summary: Aemond loves his big sister, so unfairly married to another. So unfairly away from him for seven cruel years. So when his sweet sister returns to King's Landing again, he is determined to show her he is not a child anymore.

warnings: none? Correct me if I'm wrong please 🫶🩷

a/n: smut is in the second part 🫶 not this one since it is mostly childhood focused my loves 🫶

Aemond had never gone a day without thinking of you. How could he when you were in his life? His half-sister. His beautiful y/n, his beautiful wife-to-be.

Just after Aemma, and right before Alicent, King Viserys the Peaceful married your mother, Myria Martell of Dorne. In that short time before her death, the olive-skinned woman managed to bear you, her exquisitely beautiful daughter.

A girl possessing both Dornish and Valyrian beauty? The Realm roamed with anticipation. You had the dark skin and olive skin of a Dornishwoman, combined with the features and eyes of a Valyrian beauty.

From his first breath, you were his virtue. You were five years old, holding Alicentʼs third-born. Your big blue eyes shone with adoration, and you could swear his little hands reached out for you.

If Alicent had trouble managing Helaena as a babe, Aemond had to be ten times worse. He cried out your name so often, that his mother would be forced to plead for your help. Every cry of your name was accompanied by a bitter feeling in your absence.

Like the sweet girl you were, you had no objections to helping your stepmother take care of her third child. You doted on Aemond, and you could not contain your excitement when he ultimately, at a year old, took his first steps into your arms. You kissed his forehead as he relished the feeling of your warm touch.

You would spend your free time playing with him and Helaena, his head on your lap and Helaena showing you her bugs.

And as you grew into a ravishing young woman, Aemond continued to follow behind you, his small frame glaring at any Knight or nobleman who looked at you too long.

You had been content to read with him, kissing his cheek every night before you tucked the eight-year-old into bed. Aemond couldnʼt imagine a good night without your kiss. He wouldn't.

One day, you'd be his wife. His and his alone. If his lady-mother betrothed Helaena to Aegon, it is only fair that you and him do the same thing. Once he is of age to marry, he will convince Mother Alicent to keep the bloodline pure.

His annoyance at not being able to obtain a dragon had never been directed at you. Never.

The door creaked open to your chambers, like most nights. The small sound causes you to stir awake. You weren't a deep sleeper.

“Valonqar,” you smile tiredly, scooting over “What is wrong?”

Aemond said nothing, just sighed as he crawled into your arms.

Your hair was unkempt and your eyes were half closed. So adorable.

“Cuddle me, rōva mandia,” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His arms resorted to wrapping around your waist, and his soft sighs sent his breath tickling your neck. “I haven't a dragon yet.”

You sighed softly, taking his face in your hands and beckoning him to look you in the eye.

“Aemond, look at me.” you requested softly, to which he, with slight reluctance, looked you in the eyes. he loved the way you looked at him. how your face softened when your eyes landed on him. “You will get a dragon. How could a dragon not like you? You are everything good.”

Those words did it for him. they made his heart flutter like none could. he took a good look at her face and took some moments to admire her beauty. your sun-kissed skin looked heavenly in the moonlight shining on the sheets and her face, making her eyes shine brighter than they usually did.

At that moment, all the prince could think about was how he’d marry you someday. No matter what people say he could do.

With that thought, his body drifted off to slumber, holding you close to him. His head on your chest and a small smile gracing his face.

So imagine his turmoil when you were announced to be betrothed to a lord of house Lannister the very next evening.

He begged, begged, begged Alicent to discuss this with Father and reconsider.

“Betroth her to me once I am of age.” he urged his mother, his frustration rising as his efforts seemed futile. His lady-motherʼs decision was as if it was set in stone.

The night before your departure, he visited you one last time and slept cuddling you. At a given point, his eyes fluttered open and he stared up at the ceiling.

“Fools. All of them.” he quietly spoke up, his tears dried on his cheek. “At least they didn’t betroth you to that bastard.”

“Aemond,” you spoke up softly, brushing his hair out of his face. “You mustn't call him that. He is our nephew.”

“Be that as it may, his father is still a Strong,” he replies coldly, leaning into your touch. he turned his head so that his lips brushed against your cheek. You’re lucky he loves you enough not to stress your mind with the image of those Strong boys.

You sighed, deciding it was best to drop this matter. Perhaps his childhood crush, along with his disdain for your nephews would fade. You pulled him closer like two cats keeping each other warm. Perhaps his interest would fade once you married a lord of Casterly Rock.

The next day had come by rather quickly, and you had bid goodbye to each relative with a kiss on the cheek.

However, Aemond felt as if the kiss you planted on his cheek meant so much more than the ones you planted on the others.

And off you had gone, married to a man of House Lannister.

7 years of marriage had gone by, and you had sired 4 healthy boys. Your husband treated you better than most Lords and you could not be happier. You continued being the sweet and well-spoken young woman and you couldn't be happier in the presence of your dear sons.

So it was only natural when your sons came with you as you visited Kingʼs Landing again. You kept your sons at your hip as you exited the carriage, greeted by the sight of your dear brother.

Once your eyes landed on him, it seemed you were unable to tear them away. He grew. When he used to be half your size, he grew to be almost as tall as your step-grandsire. His lean and muscled figure stood tall and gracious. His gorgeous sharp features were accompanied by a grin on his face. You were almost envious of his shiny hair.

“Mandia.” he grins, taking your soft palm in his, pressing a kiss on your index finger. “It pleases me so to see you again.”

He had to refrain himself from pouncing on you, reminded of your sons at your side. All he wanted now was to shower you with kisses. Seven, he’d take you in that carriage if he could.

“Valonqar,” you smile, holding your four-year-old in your arms. gods, he grew to hate when you called him that. why must you still refer to him as little? “I hope you have been doing well.”

He wasn't stupid. He knew she was referring to Driftmark. He kept the letters you wrote to him, reassuring him that he was still handsome despite the lost eye.

“I have,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, too close to your jaw. “And who are these little Lords?”

“Vahaemor, Vigor, Vador, and Vahaegon.” you beam with the most radiant smile he’s seen, the youngest asleep in your arms.

“Motherhood soothes you, mandia.” he coos, cupping one cheek with his left hand. you had to refrain from breaking out into a smile at his affectionate albeit slightly inappropriate gesture.

His eyes flickered to your sons, patting their little heads and smiling down at them. Your oldest son Vahaemor stood proudly, trying his best to imitate Aemondʼs posture.

“And I suppose each one of you will make a fine swordsman?” Aemond teases, to which your boys break out in talk and laughter.

“I'm already better than Vahaemor!” your second-born, Vigor speaks up, causing Vahaemor to grow irritated.

“You could not even beat an infant with a wooden sword!” Vahaemor retorts, lightly shoving Vigor.

“Mother!” Vigor whines, hitting your oldest-bornʼs arm.

“Look what you have caused, Aemond.” you tease playfully, rocking your youngest in your arms as your third-born, Vador, waddles over to Aemond to hug his leg.

“Tʼwas merely a compliment.” Aemond grins, looking down at Vador before taking him in his arms. gods, he should have been their father. he has not inquired yet about your Lord-husband, however, he was certain he could treat you better in any and every way. no doubt that if your husband were out of the picture, he would have had you. he would give your sons silver-haired siblings.

“Mhm,” you sigh softly, smiling up at him. what he wouldn't do to make you smile like that every day. “Let us enter the Keep. I wish to have my youngest sleep on a bed instead of me.”

[iluvmissmaximoff]

I’m confused about us?

Inspired by this mood board I made 🩷

This is basically just ooc Billy and literally doesn’t fit into the show’s storyline at all but I love me a good cowboy so I had to write about him.

Tags: Dom!Billy Sub!Reader punishments are given, spanking, smut, oral (m) lemme know if I missed any!

It’s 18 something (?? I have no clue when the show is set in) and you’re 19 when your parents decide drop you off with a man you barely know. William H Booney. They said “he’s a the son of some good friends of ours and they said he’ll straighten you right out” I don’t need straightening. You think. Geez you steel one truck and a bottle of liquor and suddenly everyone thinks your a problem. When you were first introduced you thought “hey maybe this won’t be so bad” You. Were. Wrong. Within the first 30 minutes your parents had left you, you couldn’t stand him. He came and sat down in front of your spot on his couch, Ok listen here little girl. He said, You frowned. Little girl? You thought. These are my rules. Follow them and you and me will be just fine. He smiled. No.1 please don’t steal no trucks or anything I have enough trouble with the neighbors around here I don’t need you making that worse for me. 2 Dont back talk me. There is nothing I hate more than an undisciplined girl. Your frown deeper. Though.. I guess that’s why your here isn’t it? He laughed like it was funny. You scoffed. No I’m here because my parents expect me to stay home and clean or embroider. You laugh, And that’s not something I can do every day. Oh? Speaking of that. You’re not gonna be goin out for the first two weeks. WHAT?! You said shocked. Yes mam I think it’s exactly what you need. He said patting your thigh. I need to not go outside? You asked rudely. No you need to realize you only get what given to you. Now I want you to understand if you break any of my rules you gon be goin over my knee that minute young lady. You understand? He asked. You turned red, w-what? You said hoping you misheard him. Yes mam I don’t know about y’all city people but right here when you misbehave you don’t like what happens to ya. N-no you don’t understand, my parents would never let a strange man do that to me. S-so call my daddy and he’ll tell you you’re not allowed to do that to me. You said almost confidently. Sorry sweetheart your folks were real clear I should do whatever need be to make you behave. Tears came to your eyes, but as long as you’re good you’ll be fine. You can do that right? You said to yourself.

No. No you can not.

Less than 24 hours later you found yourself over his lap, it happened because you saw some boys going on a trail ride through the window, you saw one of them had a flask. You thought how bad do I need that, you had been up since 5am thinking about Billy, how blue his eyes were how commanding his voice was (how good he’d fuck you) but that he’d probably never want you. He apparently he saw you as a little girl. Ugh I don’t like older men anyway (wrongg) you thought. As you tried to quietly sneak down the stairs and out the front door. You saw it was locked with a padlock. Shit you thought. Your eyes darted to the window. You smirked, I don’t know what he was thinking I can fit out of these windows easy. As you were lifting the window up all you saw was two hands towing over you and pushing the window back down. Your heart almost stopped. He leaned down to your ear and said. Now what do you think you’re doing little girl? He asked darkly. Uhhhh. before you could come up with an answer. He had picked you up and put you over his shoulder. You squeaked Ah! You yelled. Put me down!- he did in fact put you down… just over his lap. No! You yelled. Oh hush. No need for a tantrum now. I’m not having a tantrum! I’m a grown woman and you can’t do this t- you were cut off by him putting his hand over your mouth. You tried to wiggle your way out but he easily lifted up your skirt. And you felt a warm hand on your bottom. His hand rose, and fell quickly, alternating cheeks. If there was anyone else in the house they would have definitely heard the loud smacks! Billy was giving you. And your muffled cursing. After about 4 minutes of him doing this you were about to cry. You tried to get away but to no avail. He easily pulled you back to position and gave you two extra hard slaps. And kept going. He finished soon after you started crying. Your bottom stung. Nobody had ever done this to you before. It didn’t hurt that bad but the humiliation hurt He brought you back up and sat you on his lap, you quickly adverted your eyes down as to not make eye contact. But he harshly grabbed your face smooshing your cheeks together, listen, he said dominantly like he was scolding a child. This or worse is gon happen every time you disobey me , you let out a light sob just thinking about it. So I’ll let you decide whether or not you want this kind of stuff to keep happening.

No I really do not you thought.

It was two days later when you ended up in this position again. Billy had jokingly bought you an embroidery kit. And you had not so jokingly told him to fuck off. So he threatened to wash your mouth out with soap… what ? You said. I said you better watch your tongue or I’m gon have to wash your mouth out. He said dominantly. You suddenly felt very wet.. and figured what’s the worst that could happen? There are other things of yours I’d like in my mouth more sir. You said in a lustful tone, while looking up at him from your spot on the bed. Literally two seconds later he was unzipping his pants, he used your mouth roughly holding your hair in a ponytail. After he had came in your mouth and regained himself. You stood up and grabbed his shoulders, pressing yourself against him your body asking him for more- huh? You thought as he quickly sat and pulled you down and back over his knee. W-wait Billy- you tried to protest as he cut he off. Hush. Was all you heard before your skirt was lifted and smacks rained down on your poor bottom. “Luckily” for you it was a lighter one than your first but you were still confused. He was spanking you like a disobedient child. Not like a woman that had just sucked him off. “I’m confused about us” you thought.

This is it for today I’m totally planning on making this a series so request anything that would make sense in the story line once I get a few I’ll write part two so the more yall request the faster I’ll write. Also if you guys want to make any mood boards more this id love it! Also my request have been a bit wonky lately so if it doesn’t seem to be working just dm me please! Thanks for reading!

[igotanidea]

Backyard : Jason Todd x stripper!reader

The plan was simple.

Get inside the strip club, gather some intel on the newest and yet already one of the most influential crime lord in Gotham and get the f out.

The last part got a bit more complicated, when Jason figured out that on this particular day, in this particular club a bachelor’s party was taking place.

Shit was not enough of a word to describe the situation he found himself in.

Should have gone dressed in his Red Hood gear instead of civilian mode.

Should have never let Dick accompany him.

Two hot guys in the club full of horny men and girl strippers trying to lead a mission.

One dying inside, the other going with the flow.

What could possibly go wrong, right?

Well while Dick was having the time of his life, Jason actually tried to focus on the task and uncovering the identity of the guy who was recently raging terror on Gotham. Tried being the key word here. Instead of pursuing the wild game he found himself being a prey rather than a hunter. A bunch of unknown girls tried to grope him, seduce him, damn, even give him a lap dance, all that making Jason’s hair stand on his head as he struggled to reach the back door and break free.

What was a torture to him, seemed to be a lot of fun to his adopted brother though.

And what was even worse, was the fact that Dick, with his charming smile and  ladies-swooning attitude, would probably end up knowing more than him and it made Jason grit his teeth and clench his fists.

“You look like you need  a smoke.”

“What I need is five minute alone”

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you pea brain, but this-” the girl, who judged by the outfit was another stripper, waved her hand around the backyard of the club “-is as close to alone as you can get here.”

Right.

As if the couple making out against a wall, going way to close to public sex, a homeless man sleeping next to the dumpster and a few shabby wild cats, tearing with their teeth something that was definitely not suitable for eating, even by animals, could be described with that word.

Jason sighed half in frustration, half in relief.

“Fuck.”

“Mhm. Yeah, close enough.” the girl agreed as her eyes landed on the man who was now drilling the woman against the wall, apparently causing her enough pleasure to let out a breathless moans.

“You’re enjoying exhibitionism?” Jason raised an eyebrow at girl’s unamused gaze.

“I’m learning new techniques.” She spit out.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again, pea brain.”

“Hey!”

“What? If you believed it, you truly deserve the nickname. I’m a stripper not a prostitute.”

“Is she one?” Jason pointed towards the other woman and reached to his pocket in search of a lighter and cigarettes “Fuck!’

“Nah, she’s just faking for the hell of it. Touch starved one, if you ask my opinion. Would settle for what she can get at a club like this. ”

“Do you have a fag?” Jason couldn’t care less about the answer, more focused on getting his own high and calming nerves, that was something he needed at the moment.

“I’m not sharing with a stranger.” She chuckled “seems way too intimate to me.”

“So what, you only give the guy a pipe on a third date?”

“No one got that far.”

“So you’re a stripper with a high standards?” Jason smirked

“Well. As the movies show, there are only three reason of why a girl is a stripper.”

“Don’t tell me you are a sucker for Pretty woman or another bullshit like this.”

“Nah. I’m just a working girl who has to raise a three year old illegitimate child and has no real qualifications for other job.” She send him an innocent feigned smile and tossed a pack of cigarettes his way.

“Three year old kid huh?” he caught it mid-air and lighted one up immediately exhaling deeply, when the familiar scent and flavour of nicotine filled his lungs “How old are you?”

“Rude.” She leaned on the railing “And you only proving my point.”

“Which is?”

“Pea brain.”

“Made you believe I believed that bullshit story, didn’t I?” another  cloud of smoke flew into the air, quickly joined by the other once the girl started to enjoy her own cigarette.

“Congratulations. A guy from a good house just tricked a stripper in the club. Great job, buddy.”

“What makes you think I am a guy from a good house? Maybe I’m a pervert who –“ he stopped for  a second as the sound of woman and man coming chimed into the sentence “maybe I’m a guy like this?”

The unnamed girl only smiled and shook her head causing her hair to flow around her face.

“If you were a guy like that you would just stay inside letting Candy or Chastity give you a lap dance.”

“Are those real names?”

“Pea brain.”

“Right. Sorry.” Jason chuckled involuntarily, much to his own disbelief. “What’s yours then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Pretty much why I asked.”

“Pretty much why you run away from the inside and found yourself here.”

“How do you even get clients? You’re insufferable.”

“And I got big mouth. Comes in handy sometimes.”

Before he could stop himself he chuckled again.

Jason Peter Todd, Red Hood, adopted son of Bruce Wayne was smoking outside the strip club, with a working girl, having more fun than he ever had in his entire life.

“It’s not comedy central, stop laughing.”

“You could be a stand upper for sure.”

“Well – if you think about it, I am kind of a stand upper…”

This time Jason fully laughed and the girl couldn’t help a tiny smile on her own face.

“Jerk.” She threw his direction biting on the inside of her cheek, focusing on the cigarette rather than on the guy next to her.

“Bitch.” Jason’s reaction was immediate and completely instinctive.

Any other girl would probably take that as an offence but she was familiar with the fandom and popculture classic.

“What demon are you after, Winchester?”

“Too many of my own to go looking for more.” He sighed

“Yeah tell me about it.” She did the same and for a moment they just stood in undisturbed silence. Even the cats seemed to sense something was going on and went completely quiet.

“What’s your name?” Jason finally asked “for real, not the stripper one and not the fake one you’re probably thinking about giving me.”

“You first.”

“Oh no. I’m a gentleman. Ladies comes first.”

“Idiot.”

“Moose.”

“Stop it!” she laughed at another TV series reference

“Tell me your name.”

“Yy/n” she said finally “Happy now?”

“Rapturous.”

“Splendid. You owe me  a cigarette, now you know what girl to give it back to.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me on a second date.”

Before she got a chance to come up with some quick respond, another working girl came out the club clearly searching for y/n, giving her just one warning look before her eyes travelled to Jason and then back to y/n.

“Fine!” Y/N rolled her eyes in frustration “god damn it, there’s something like a break for fuck’s sake! What the hell is happening now? I swear one day I will burn this hell hole -” the rest of the sentence died behind the door along with the walking away girl.

Jason was finally left alone.

Truly alone.

But it felt oddly dissatisfying to smoke by himself in the dingy backyard, that suddenly became grey and empty.

Y/N.

A girl who seemed to have all the answers.

Infuriating and keeping a man on his toes since the first minute from the meeting.

And who called him pea brain.

Jason smirked to himself, while still smoking the borrowed cigarette in the empty backyard of the strip club.

Letting himself forget the mission for a moment.

don't worry people we'll get "there" ...

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Foresight (Daemon Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: The only time modern reader actually uses her intuition and hits the nail right on the head. 

Warnings: I barely know by now. Smut. Fingering.  Oral sex (F receiving) Non-con/ Dub con. I mean, reader consents, but you have read this series. Pregnancy. 

A/N: And… It’s a wrap, folks! My first series. Think of this as the epilogue. As always, you can shout at me in my asks. 

Previous parts here.

There is a certain irony in this, you think. You were once someone of no importance in a world filled with millions of people. Then, you were a servant in the Middle Ages. Now, you are a Lady of a noble house, married to a Prince. 

Yet, it’s the first time you are held in such a way. A slightly longer chain than the one for your wrists connects your ankles together. Despite being in one of the highest positions a woman could be in these times, you have never had less freedom.  

Now it’s a new girl, delivering your food. No matter how hard you try, she never answers your questions about Mina or what is happening outside your rooms. You discover it is because she doesn’t have a tongue. And she is terrified of even looking at you, too. You wonder what Daemon has done to her. 

Was she born like that? Did another Lord punish her? Or worse. Did Daemon take her tongue? Trying to guess what happened to her is good entertainment. Unfortunately, you soon realize it frightens her too much when you speak to her. You wouldn’t want to cause her a heart attack, and so, you have to quit it. 

You feel like an asshole. But you are desperate for company, to get someone to speak to you. The hopelessness you first felt has started to feel much like realization. You are not leaving. You are stuck with Daemon. 

To keep your mind occupied, you try to remember as many details of the time you are living in. You start with the cutting of tongues as your inspiration. Someone did something similar in the show. You didn’t pay as much attention to the story as you would have if you had known it was going to become your life.  

But someone had. Surely. What was it, with Westeros, and the forceful taking of the organs? They cut hands, tongues, fingers, eyes. God. 

If you remembered something else, it could be useful. Unfortunately for you, you had been too fixated on how hot some people looked to follow subplots. The exercise is useless, but you start writing what you can remember on parchments and hiding them from your captor. 

You feel like you are going insane. The only thing you do is pace and read, pace and read, all day. Something is wrong with you. You feel strange, like you are wearing clothes a size too small. Uncomfortable. Cranky. Sensitive. Lonely. 

You read once, that human beings have more needs than just eat, sleep and shelter. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. People need to own things, they need friends and intimacy, they need purpose. Otherwise, bad things happen. 

Oh, but what? Could all your symptoms be explained by it? If you had a phone, you could look it up. Hell, even if it was the sixties, you could search it in a book. Not in the Middle Ages. Or well, Westeros. 

You long for Daemon’s company. He comes every afternoon and sits near the fireplace. You talk to him because there is nothing else to do. From time to time, you repeat that you are not a dreamer. He laughs. 

“You wouldn’t be this perfect for me if you weren’t.”

He is very cultured, and interesting. It's something you are desperately attracted to. It’s not only that you are now in what it’s effectively solitary confinement, no. Deeper than that. Just like Rhea, Daemon is one of the few people in the Runestone that can read. His mind is more open, he is less superstitious. Talking to him makes you less lonely. 

There is no way you can rationalize it, though. What you are doing is wrong. It’s a betrayal to Rhea, to someone you loved more than you could ever love him. But you are weak, too broken down by grief and fear to oppose him.  

You need someone to tell you everything will be alright. And Daemon makes sure he is available for the job. He fights off your loneliness when you ask him to. 

Sometimes, Daemon sits next to you on the bed and talks about Valyrian history or traditions. His tone is soft, and calming. His face lights up when you show an interest in the topic or ask questions that prove you are following his monologue. It’s like seeing an entirely different man. 

Before, you would have resented being babied in the way you are. Daemon treats you as if you were a little girl, one he entertains with tales and praises when she is good. Now, you crave the comfort of it. 

You still bathe together. Daemon never touches you, though. Not after the night you tried to escape. Sometimes, he just looks at you. You sit there, basking on the freedom of being able to move without the cuffs. You are no longer embarrassed of your nakedness. 

The chains frightened you, at first. You are not stupid. You are married to him, in chains and in a room bare except for the bed. What else would you think, if not rape? But Daemon was smarter than that. Insidious. Slowly, he had been coaxing you to let him touch you. At first, you squirmed like your pants were on fire when his hands were on your skin. Then, you had slowly come to accept it as part of your routine. And lately, to crave it. 

He had been conditioning into it, you are sure. First, the offers to tend to your wounds, then, massages to your sore ankles and wrists. It was a merely chemical thing, you tried reassuring yourself. Your brain had come to associate endorphins with his touch, and so, like an addict, you sought more. 

But you knew, it was no long now before you weren’t able to resist him. It was not a thing of physical strength. He wasn’t going to grab you and force you down. No. It was more complex than that. 

Daemon had acquired himself a dreamer, according to him. He was not keen on alienating you, but seducing you. He intended for you to be the one to come to him. Worst thing? You were so touch starved, and so lonely, it was working. Stockholm syndrome, surely. 

The next chain would be a child. It was the obvious thing to do, to keep control over the Vale and you. You would never leave if you were pregnant. What would you do, in your world, with a child that could potentially tame dragons and whose legal existence you couldn’t prove? It would surely be too late for abortion, and most probably, time would have passed. How to explain your disappearance? 

And of course, there is the fact that your body is rioting against your brain. No matter the phase of your cycle, you are perpetually horny. The smallest of touches or looks make your mind spiral, you daydream about sex and feel the urge to jump Daemon’s bones almost daily. 

Maybe there is some truth to whatever they are serving you. The milk and wine are always laced with spices, to make you more agreeable to his advances. At first, you thought it was silly, but by your current state, they seem to be working. You are desperate to be able to masturbate. But bound hands are not particularly useful. Besides, you have an inkling that’s not really what you want. 

Every night before bed, Daemon takes the cuffs off and lets you walk around your room. You make small laps around the room, sometimes he tries teaching you the dances people do at feasts. Then, he gets you ready for bed. 

Daemon rubs salve into your wrists and ankles. You don't ask him, but you know it has to have some aphrodisiacs on it. When his hands touch your skin, it feels electric. You knew aphrodisiacs existed in your world, even if they were fickle and old wives tales. But in a world where there is magic and dragons? Why not? 

Even if not, the whole thing is an assault on your senses. The room filled with incense and candles, the baths, the soft silky clothes. The silence. Usually, when people are not busy enough, they get horny, right?

Perhaps it's the mirror. There is one placed in your room for baths, once you are not on suicide watch. You see yourself for the first time in months, and nearly don’t recognize your reflection. Your hair is longer, falling messily down your back. The sheer shifts you wear, specially tailored for you, make you look put together and sensual.

Collarbones exposed, accentuated hips, bare arms. Botticelli’s Venus comes to life. The image arouses you. You feel naughty in all the right ways, sexy, desirable. 

Each night, Daemon’s hands rub the salve slightly higher. You find yourself yearning for his touch, anticipating the moments you will get with him. He massages your calves. Your forearms. He kisses your shoulders. You mewl, desperate. But Daemon doesn't do anything. 

You share secrets like they are oozing out of your pores. Aemond's birth. Criston Cole and Rhaenyra fucked. Lucerys. Joffrey. Harwin Strong. Alicent and the rat looking man. Daemon dutifully repeats them to Viserys. 

Were you meant to feel this way? You had never expected it, not in a million years. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff. Any second now, and you could plummet down. But what a fall it would be. 

Tonight, he is on his knees. Despite being in a dominant position, sitting on the edge of the bed, you don't feel powerful. Daemon has a way of entering a room and just making anyone else fade into the background. He overpowers anyone easily, by sheer presence alone. 

Daemon grabs your ankle and gently rubs at it, spreading the salve. He has said he doesn't want you to scar, or hurt. But your newest cuffs have padded interiors, making this whole act pointless. Neither of you voices it. 

You shiver. His hands massage your calves. 

“Daemon.” The first mistake. You have never, not once, called out his name before. It comes out soft and whiny, in a sweet whisper. 

“Should I stop, dreamer?” He gives you a coy look, as his fingers go higher and higher. Ankle, calf, back of the knee. His hands are warm against your skin. Daemon seems to have a fascination with touching you. He cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tries. 

You say nothing. Daemon kisses your ankle, then your leg. He mouths along your knee. You feel so aroused, you think you are about to pass out. You shouldn’t give in, you know, you know. But it’s the sweetest torture. 

He stops right above your knee, looking at you with mischievous eyes. You pant, looking at him like you are about to murder him if he dares deny you now. 

“My poor little dreamer, have I neglected you so?” Daemon smirks, and parts your legs, making room for himself. “Don’t worry, we will fix this right away.” 

“Stop it.” You mutter, but before you can start explaining to him why this is a bad idea, you feel a sharp sting on your thigh. You moan, feeling utterly confused. In your aroused state, the sting of the bite feels almost pleasant. 

“It doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” Daemon soothes the hurt with his tongue. He looks hungry, pupils blown and hair mussed just so. “Besides, I have been very patient with you, have I not?” His fingers dig in more harshly. He is right, of course. He could have fucked you already if he wanted to. It's not like anyone would come to your defense. 

“You have.” You agree, shakily. His tongue draws little ribbons over your inner thigh. You cannot stop moaning, for some reason. And you are no stranger to sex, not as Daemon thinks. You were not a virgin when you got here. Despite knowing this screams of consent issues and that he is trying to manipulate you, you cannot help it. 

You wonder how Rhaenyra and Laena ever stood a chance, being mere girls when they met him. If everyone told you this was wrong, but the first time he touched you felt this pleasurable, would you believe it? 

No. You are more than enough proof of it. 

“I will make it good for you, little one.” He kisses higher, this time. Along the juncture where your leg meets your hip. “It's a kindness most wives don't get.” 

“I know, but…” You stop talking and melt into a sight when he rubs a finger over your labia, spreading the wetness there. You know if you keep talking, he will be able to hear exactly how much his touch is affecting you. 

“I just want to look at you. And kiss you a little.” Daemon says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. His hands rub soothingly along the outside of your thigh. “I won’t take your maidenhead… Yet.” 

Maidenhead. What’s that supposed to mean? You try to remember, certain that you have heard it before. Rhea mentioned it? Or was it the girls? Maidens. They called maidens women who were virgins. God. He thinks you are still a virgin. 

He won’t fuck you, tonight. You hope that his plans for just touching and kissing include an orgasm because you feel like you will go mad if you don’t come tonight. 

You could tell him the truth. But what would you gain? Daemon only believes what pleases him. You have told him time and time again that you are not a dreamer. You even tried telling him you were from the future. His words still ring in your ears. 

“A world where men and women are equal? And there are no Kings? Oh, my poor confused little thing. You have been reading too much again.” 

So telling him would be no use. He might believe it another attempt at getting him to let you go. Or he might actually believe you and try to eviscerate any previous lover of yours. Or gauge their eyes out. Perhaps cut a hand. That’s who Daemon is at his core. 

No, it’s better this way. Playing along will get him to be gentler, and he won’t even be able to tell the difference. 

“Won’t it hurt?” You ask, and it comes out just the right amount of shy to be believable. It’s easy, leaning on the lingering fear of the fact that this is Daemon you will be going to bed with. Your body reacts to him like it has never reacted to another lover before, yet you shouldn’t be doing this. He is skilled at it. Whoever he was fucking before, she has trained him well. 

But now that you have allowed yourself to think, your hesitance takes hold. This is wrong, in so many ways. You shouldn’t be doing this. Yet, you want him so much, you feel like you might burst into flames if you don’t get him right now. 

The lure of the forbidden, in all its glory. 

“Not tonight.” He kisses your inner thigh, open-mouthed. You tense in anticipation. Daemon can be giving when he wants to be. 

“I don’t want it to hurt.” You close your legs, trapping his hand between them. Your lower lip lightly sticks out, playing the part of the disgruntled little girl. 

 Daemon chuckles. One of his fingers rubs teasingly over your clit. Being a brat always seems to rile him up, and you feel smug at knowing him so well. 

Oh, god. What are you even doing? Are you seriously contemplating ways of manipulating him during sex? You shouldn't even be thinking of fucking him. It's disgusting. 

It’s not. Not when Daemon’s hands are on your thighs, not when his lips are on your skin. You are just too needy for it. Too many nights have passed since the last time you had been touched in such a way. 

His hands knead into your thighs. The touch is greedy, possessive. He makes a tsking sound, and rubs a tight little circle over your clit. 

“I’ll warm you up to it. Don’t worry.” 

“I don’t… We really shouldn’t…” You plead, weakly. You are trying hard not to succumb to the pleasure. 

“Why not?” He asks, pressing his finger over your hole and making you nearly sob in pure neediness. He is not entering, just threatening with it. Both holding you in place and feeling you flutter around him. 

Daemon waits for your response, but when you don’t answer as quickly as he hoped, he starts sucking a bruise on your inner thigh.

“Because it’s wrong! You killed Rhea. You have no morals. And… Besides, it’s not me. I don’t want it.” You try to scramble away, suddenly regaining your senses. It must be the oils. Or the food. Or whatever he puts into your wine. 

“Oh?” Daemon presses your hips down with an arm, and rubs around your clit again. He makes a show of taking his fingers away from you and admiring them in the light. Your arousal shines on them, sticky wet. “If you don’t want it, why are you dripping all over the bed? What is it, if not arousal?” 

“The oils! The incense!” You complain. His hand, soaked in your juices, comes to cup your face. 

“Oh, sweetling, no.” Daemon laughs. He presses his thumb on your lower lip. Despite your best judgment, you open up and taste yourself. “They are not meant to warm your blood. This is all you.” 

Your whole body feels hot with embarrassment. He has to be lying. It can't be. You can’t be this… This… No. No. He has to be lying. 

Daemon laughs even more at the face you make. He kisses your neck, then your collarbone. He pushes at the strands of your shift, kissing all over your breast. You feel too ashamed, still reeling at the realization that this is, in fact, all you, to push him off. You are the crazy woman who is begging to have sex with a killer. 

He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. You moan, arching your back to offer more skin to kiss. Daemon does so, greedily. 

He kisses your sternum, then your belly. He bites at the curve of your waist, making you squeal. His lips go lower, kissing over your womb. Then, your mound. And finally, your labia. 

Daemon pulls your lips apart and gently nips your clit, taking it between his teeth. Despite how gentle he is being, you jolt. It’s too much stimulation at once, and it’s bordering on the painful. Yet, he shows he can read your body well, because he quickly recovers and chooses to kiss your clitoral hood instead.

You moan again, all high-pitched. The vibrations of his laughter feel very pleasant against your sex. 

“That's it. Melt into it, little dreamer.” Daemon says, before going back to eating you out. This time, he sucks slightly harder. You tense in his arms. You can feel the pleasure rising and rising. Never has a partner driven you this fast towards an orgasm. 

It's too much and too little. 

“I… More, please.” You plead, petting his hair. 

He gets up, and kisses you, for the first time in months. You sigh into his mouth. It's then that he pushes his finger inside of you. Immediately, you tighten and tense around him, all sense of embarrassment gone. 

“This was just what you needed, wasn’t it?” Daemon whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe before speaking again. You buck your hips, trying to get him to move his finger. He complies, making a come and hither motion. His other hand rubs circles on your clit. “Yes, you needed someone to show you who you really were. My needy little dragon.” 

You try to swallow down your scream, muffling it with your hand. The praise, mixed in with the raspy, hungry tone it's delivered in, makes your head swim. 

“Come on, don’t fight it.” Daemon encourages, and bends down to take your nipple inside his mouth. It's enough to send you over the edge. This time, you actually scream, tensing under him. White, hot, blinding pleasure. And he strokes you through it, making everything more intense. 

As you pant there, coming down from your high, it occurs to you to return the favor.  It had been one of the best orgasms of your life, you wouldn't mind pleasing him in exchange. Your mouth watered at the thought of what else he could do. 

You place a shaky hand on his thigh, but Daemon pushes it away, gently. 

“You will learn to please me too, Wife. In time. But not tonight.” Daemon kisses your cheek, sweetly. 

“When?”

“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out.” It’s then when it sinks in. Daemon is never planning to let you go. You start to cry. What have you done? 

Daemon sighs. He starts rubbing soothing circles on your back, as if you were a child.  That night, he stays. You fall asleep in his arms, warm and relaxed. For the first time in weeks, you do not dream of Rhea. 

A few months go by. The season changes, from warm summer to harsh winter. And just as the season changes, so do you. 

You wake in your chambers, the bed next to you cold. Your ankles hurt. 

You put on a light dress, and go in search for your husband. As you pass the servants and guards, they give you respectful nods and greetings. 

Daemon sits on the Iron Throne. Viserys’s health has been worsening, lately. He looks up at you, taking his eyes from the parchment he is reading. His eyes greedily trace your figure. 

“I swear you get more beautiful every day.” He says, as you let your dress pool at your ankles. 

“Everyday I look rounder, more like it.” You complain. At the door, the guards discretely look away. If you want to parade around naked, so be it. It’s up to them to avert their eyes, if they don’t want to lose them, Daemon has instructed. 

No one dares oppose him. Not anymore, with you by his side. Viserys’s reign might just go down as one of the bloodiest in history, with how hard the two of them have been working to rid the realm of any future enemy of Rhaenyra. 

He laughs. 

“You do not. You look like my dreamer.” 

You roll your eyes at him, cradling your belly. His breathing hitches, minutely. There is arousal in his expression, once again. The more obvious your pregnancy becomes, the more he wants you. Daemon likes how your body has changed, how there are stretch marks on previously smooth skin, how your breasts are fuller. 

“My ankles hurt. Make it better?” 

What was life before him? You can barely remember how you functioned before, having to make all the decisions and thinking. Trusting him is easier. Daemon loves you. He wants the best for you. 

You don't hate him as much as you thought. You might even love him back. No. You love the pleasure he gives you, you are hooked to it. You need him like a heroin addict needs her next fix. 

Before, you used to be a good person. You cared about others. Now, you care about yourself, the baby and him. In that order. 

You had plans. You had a future, a career. Now, you live the day. If you think too hard about tomorrow, you feel like you can't breathe. So you don't. It's easier, this way. 

Daemon likes you more like this. Not a little girl anymore, but a woman. One he molded into his perfect partner.  Strong, but never stronger than him. Smart, but not enough to escape him. And a little broken. Still with a bit of fire, still a little rebellious. But never trying to get away. 

He says you are more of a goddess than a woman. Special. Holy.  Before, your courses aligned with the moon, your pregnancy timed just right. The baby should be here just when spring turns to summer. What could you be, if not a little goddess? 

The mysteries of womanhood fascinate him. It’s made even worse with your knowledge of the future.  He seems to think all you know about pregnancy is part of your powers as a dreamer. Once, you made the mistake of telling him the baby could hear him. Daemon has never skipped a day of talking to them since. 

You barely think of Rhea, these days. Daemon keeps you away from Runestone and occupied with other matters. Matters that are much more pleasurable to think about than your past. 

“Come, Lady Wife.” 

And you do. 

You wear other kinds of chains now. 

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

👑The girl in the silver dress👑New version

Aemond x reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theselection

Cool devider credits: firefly graphics

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead.

🔷Author's note: Based on the books by Kiera Cass, but reading them is not required.

🔷Wordcount :5393

🔷Warnings: It is not a very dark or triggering fic. If you found something that upsets you, however let me know ill change the warnings

The life you had before the palace was as a child’s coloring book before growing up. You didn't bother about crossing over the lines, no one told you to stop adding hats to the animals you coloured in, or to stop using so much pink and glitters. There was no line you could cross, no scissors wrapped in papers who could cut you open without you realizing.

All of that changed for better or worse when you were selected for the Selection of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon or as he would soon be known under his ruling name, King Jacaerys Velyaron. 

You never thought you would be selected. There are strict laws that only noble ladies from the minor houses can join the month-to-a-year-long competition where the Seven Kingdoms are introduced to his future bride. 

It is more than a beauty pageant. The skills of each bride are tested. The selection does not require mere Valyrian blood or beauty alone anymore. It has become a deadly game full of manipulation, lies, tricks, schemes and plots. Things you know nothing of.

Your house is not as grand as Baratheon, or as rich as Lannister, your house…It has always been decent. Your parents sheltered you from court life and tried giving you a normal life, as normal as one could have with your titles. And now, it all would change

You sit in the dining room of the royal castle, known as the Red Keep. The castle has survived multiple wars, sieges, treasons and deaths long before any of its current inhabitants graced this world, and many more would follow before you all are bones.

In front of you is a silver plate with a spoon, a fork, a knife and a glass. You never knew you cutted your food wrong or that you lean that much with your elbows on a table until your princess training began. 

It is all so terribly confusing. There are 35 girls here, and they want the same as you do. They want to be the one for Prince Jacaerys. They want to sit next to him at official functions and parties, they want one day to be his love, to continue his legacy and perhaps more than Jace, they want this glamorous life. 

You tell yourself that this uneasy feeling, that you don’t quite belong here, will fade. It has to. These girls are all from higher noble houses and used to courtly manners and training. Of course you will be a bit out of place at first. 

A gorgeous black-haired girl with a clear stag necklace with diamonds speaks up, rising from her chair as if she is already proclaimed queen. She turns to the woman who is tasked with guiding and teaching you all how to behave accordingly as the consort of the king. That lady is called Lady Aemma Arryn, yet you may refer to her as Lady Aemma or Lady Arryn. 

The girl’s voice has a slight accent from the Stormlands. ‘’When will we meet the royal family?’’ You believe her name is Floris, but you are not sure. You become slightly worried by her question, as you are in no state of preparation to meet anyone or anything royal at all.

Your teacher sighs, annoyed by this question. ‘’Patience, girls. I won’t introduce you to any royal. Some of you can curtsy but others would fall flat on their faces.’’ She doesn't even glance in your direction. So why do you feel as if she speaks directly about you?

Floris nods to that with a sweet smile, her eyes blinking rapidly. ‘’That would be embarrassing.’’ She says, eying the girls around the table, including you. You pretend to be too busy with your glass to notice.

Lady Aemma smiles. ‘’Yes it would.’’ She says, with a thinly veiled laugh. ‘’For you it would be.’’ She adds with a charming smile.

A few girls giggle delighted by this spectacle and amazing comeback. Floris becomes furious and you fear that for now, Lady Aemma has made an enemy. ‘’Ladies, focus. Remember: You are always one step away from a scandal.’’ The grand doors of the dining room open.

35 heads turn at the same time, taking in the mysterious visitors. It is two young adult males, both dressed in black, with each a motorcycle helmet under their arms. One is slightly taller yet the smaller one stands out the most thanks to his cheekish, boyish and almost taunting grin. 

Nervous chatter erupts among most girls, as they already seem to know who these two men are. You wonder if one of these two men is Jacaerys. The smaller one speaks, and despite the distance between you and him he speaks as if he is sitting right next to you, almost purring in your ear and sending shivers down your spine. ‘’I didn’t know the royal harem had been invited already.’’ 

You are offended by his comment and frown. The selection is not a harem. One girl will be chosen. One. This is nothing like a harem. The taller man remains silent, his expression unreadable as a book in a foreign language you only heard in a dream.

Lady Aemma smiles and for a moment you believe her. You believe she is happy to see both. Until the corners of her mouth slightly begin to hang in displeasure or perhaps pure disgust when she greets the man.

‘’Prince Aegon.’’ You slowly lift your elbows again from the table, quickly sitting straight. ‘’Forgive me, you nor your brother were expected back so quickly.’’ Aegon, or rather prince Aegon approaches the long table with 35 young women that stare at him as if he is a statue that has come to life.

Aegon takes no offense. ‘’It is no matter, Lady Aemma.’’ He makes sure to put a little extra effort on the lady word. ‘’You are getting old, after all.’’ Lady Aemma turns her head so he can’t see her scowl, very subtly before looking at the selected girls again.

She speaks to you all. ‘’Girls, this is Prince Aegon, and Prince Aemond. Please stand up for them, and make a curtsy as is custom.’’ You all stand up before following her orders, making a curtsy or a bow.

Aegon seems to enjoy the attention when his brother remains in the background, unaware of your gaze slowly shifting from Aegon's eyes to his own. When he finally notices your gaze, he scowls. Your smile dies and you turn your gaze to the glass in front of you. Aemond and Aegon leave soon after that, having caused quite the uproar among the selected.

The girl a few chairs away from you speaks, her blue and gorgeous dress reveals she is from either the Arryn, or perhaps a Velyaron. ‘’Is Jace just as pretty as them?’’ She wonders, her voice a little sigh of a girl slowly falling in love.

Lady Aemma scowls at her, before insulting the girl. ‘’Prince Jacaerys to you, and have some self-respect and decorum.’’ A few girls giggle, but you don’t join this time as you take in the sad smile of the girl, clearly embarrassed. 

Two months in the selection and you feel less like a failure every passing day. One day, when you are busy practicing the dance of the dragons, Lady Aemma returns from her walk. Several girls who have been practicing break up their dances, but you and your partner keep engaged in the dance. The girl was shy at first, keeping her movements stiff and ungracious, but after your encouraging smile and jokes about how you look like a parrot when you dance, she has loosened up and dances as if she is the most free and spirited girl out there. Her name is Maris. You and Maris smoothly glide over the dance floor, leaving jealous eyes behind. Not jealousy aimed at you, but at Maris or the bond you two have. Lady Aemma quietly walks over, her hands folded in front of her blue dress when she takes in the movements you and Maris make, faithful to the waltz.

She smiles, nodding in slight approval. You are shocked and you can tell that Maris is too. ‘’Good, especially you, Lady Baratheon. You are a natural.’’ To you, she does not utter a word but gives you a warning glare before turning her head to the other girls. You and Maris finally break up your dance so you can listen to what Lady Aemma has to say.

She sighs, deeply and very unbecoming of a lady, before speaking. ‘’Ladies, it is with great displeasure and my greatest fear that I must admit to myself, and you all, as adults, that you are finally ready to meet what could become your future family in law, as well his royal highness, prince Jacaerys Velyaron.’’ You hear Maris gasp, as well as other girls who giggle and mutter excitedly. Lady Aemma glares at one girl who lets out an excited cheer. ‘’Do not make me regret this.’’ She warns the girl in particular. 

That evening, you are prepared to meet the royal family. You are put in a silver coloured dress with transparent sleeves,  befitting your house colors. The other girls are dressed as well, each in another dress with a different model. When the selection started you all were giving a tailor, a handmaiden, a team of make-up artists and dressmakers. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the royal family. They have a reputation for being intense people. They dislike outsiders joining their royal private circle, and for centuries banned people for even joining theirs. Now the rules have changed, and you are prepared for your meeting, hearing other girls talk with their teams.

Lady Floris Baratheon wears a dark black with gold gown, sleeveless with a huge diamond choker. Again, it would be a lie if you wouldn’t admit she wears it very well. She orders her maids to tighten her corset even more, before her small feet glide into her dark black heels.

You hear sniffs beside you, and turn your head to a gorgeous blonde crying girl in a red gown. Her make-up artist sighs. ‘’I can’t work like this. The girl keeps crying and it ruins the eyeliner I put on her.’’ Is he heartless? You feel conflicted as you take in her big puffy red eyes. She is upset.

The dressmaker does her best to comfort the girl, but fails miserably because of her annoyed glare and her tight pressed lips. ‘’You are ruining everything we worked so hard for with your tears.’’ She warns the girl. 

That only makes the girl feel even more terrible. ‘’I don’t know. What if he hates this? What if he hates me?’’  Your chest tightens as you become worried about that too.

A woman with her gorgeous silver locks high up on a knot in the Valyrian style, approaches the girl, gently taking her hands into her own. ‘’He doesn’t know you, he can’t hate you yet.’’ She tells the girl, who slowly calms down because of this act of sincere genuine kindness. That is all she needed.

The girl continues giving her advice as you listen in on them, feeling terrible that you do so. ‘’Jacaerys is very kind, and takes his role and the selection very seriously. He will have a small talk with all of us. Just be yourself, Jace likes that the most.’’ She finally notices you listening in. Instead of glaring or snapping at you, she smiles. ‘’You look beautiful. Silver is your color.’’

You are speechless. The girl she helped, is not. ‘’Thank you, Lady Baela. You’re always very kind to me.’’ She sniffs. ‘’If my face wasn’t full of snot and ruined make-up, I’d hug you.’’ 

Lady Baela smiles, yet beams at the compliment before taking the girl’s hand. After Baela has cleaned her face for her, and put on a fresh layer of much less expressive make-up, she takes the girl by her hand. ‘’I’m simply speaking my truth, lady Dyana. Come, we’ll go in together. I met the royal family before. They are actually very nice.’’

Floris snaps her head to Baela, taking in her dark blue puffy gown as she scoffs, clearly hating the seahorses that are embroidered on it. ‘’Where the hell would a girl like you met the royals before?’’ She asks, her voice clearly jealous.

Baela smiles, sweetly. ‘’Be careful, Lady Floris. Green clashes with black.’’ She walks with Dyana to the people by the doors, to let them know they are ready. You smile, faintly until you notice Floris approaching you.

She takes in your plain silver dress. ‘’You’re the nameless girl.’’ That is one way to greet you.

You shrug. ‘’What if I am?’’

Floris sighs, deeply as if you are just stupid before giving you some friendly advice meant as a threat. ‘’Just don’t bother, dear. A prince like Jace wants a girl with a house, banners, and good men to fight his wars.’’

You might suck at dancing, at court manners, public speaking, but the history and the books? That is something you excel at. You turn your head. ‘’Lady Floris. Perhaps if you spent as much time with your nose in a book as you did making others feel miserable, you would know that the last time the Seven Kingdoms had a war was hundreds of years ago. I suggest you spent more time reading, no man likes a girl that can’t keep up with him.’’ A few girls overhear and giggle among themselves, as Floris becomes a dark shade of red. You let her be, before telling the crew you are ready as well.

You are let in at the same time as Dyana. You take a moment to take in the grand chandelier, dangling from the ceiling, the polished marble tiles and the buffet tables with delicious sweets and glasses of champagne. The curtains that cover the tall windows are in a red color with dark black details, and you hear a faint orchestra play an upbeat tune as the selected are paraded to the royal family. 

You feel like you don’t belong here at all, suddenly. You and Dyana both approach the royal family. You will curtsy to every member, and when he has the time, Prince Jacaerys will formally meet his selected, making a conversation of about 3 minutes with every girl. You feel nervous, so you wonder how Lady Dyana  is feeling. She must feel even worse. She is close to crying again. You wait for her to catch your glance. She finally looks at you, a little nervous and worried.

You wink at her, causing her to giggle loudly. The royals snap their heads in her direction, but Jace’s lips curl into an approving smile, before grinning back. Dyana makes a deep, beautiful curtsy for Jacaerys. He speaks to her, smiling as well, before likely asking what she was laughing about. Dyana nods to your direction and Jace follows her gaze to you. Jace nods as if he thanks you, before taking off with Dyana.

Your hand is grabbed and you are tugged out of the line by Lady Aemma. You smell her intense parfum as you are dragged to the side. ‘’I had hoped you learned by now.’’ She sighs, almost disappointed in you. She turns her body so she can look at you.

You blink, confused. ‘’Had learned what, Lady Aemma?’’ You ask, your voice soft. ‘’Dyana seemed nervous-’’

She grabs your shoulders, breaking protocol. ‘’These girls are not your friends, Y/N. They would throw you from the towers so they can hold Jace’s hand when he takes in your corpse. Every girl is here for herself. You should be too.’’ She warns you, but you are not angry. Just upset.  Deep down, you know very well she is right. ‘’You are a sweet, genuine girl with a kind, gentle heart. It won’t lead you anywhere with this family. Take it from me. Kind girls, finish last.’’ She looks at King Viserys when speaking. ‘’If they reach the finish at all, that is.’’ You heard Floris once tell a story that Lady Aemma was a Queen once, but that Viserys degraded her because she could not deliver him a healthy child. Others say that Alicent used her dark magic on the king, breaking their relationship. So you don’t really know if there is truth to those rumors, and if so, how much truth.

‘’Come, Jacaerys is occupied, but the other members of the family must be greeted.’’ She takes you with her, walking you to the other members of the very well dressed royal family. ‘’May I present, Lady Y/N?’’ Princess Regent Rhaenyra is the first to address you.

Her dress takes your breath away, it is a dark black gown with red and golden details, but on her back are dragon wings. You drop in a low respectful curtsy before lowering your gaze. The princess smiles, approvingly before telling you to rise with a nod. ‘’My. Your dress is by far the simplest, but still the most beautiful out here. You must share your tailor with me.’’ She rambles excitedly. ‘’I love the little sparkles.’’ She seems like a sweet kind woman. You don’t understand why the media calls her cruel. ‘’And I saw what you did for your fellow selected. You have taken my interest, I don’t doubt you’ll hold Jacaerys soon as well.’’

You are brought before the king next, King Viserys. Aemma does not speak a single word, but you drop into another curtsy. The king speaks, and you worry for madness coming out. But it is far from madness. It is plain, true, as clear as a piece of well forged glass. ‘’It is a wonderful day, seeing a common girl grace the halls with the posture and decorum of a true born royal. Your kindness with the girl did not go unnoticed.’’ He speaks very kindly and you almost feel as if you are back at home again. He nods to Dyana who is now dancing with Jacaerys, in the waltz you practiced, not a care in the world. ‘’A ruler must have a kind heart, that beats for her people.’’

You are shocked and honored by his compliments. ‘’Y-your majesty, King Viserys. Your words honor me.’’ You speak, your voice touched by his kindness. 

A sharp but elegant voice cuts in, interrupting you, protocol and the reality is brought back in. ‘’May I cut in?’’ A beautiful red haired woman in a dark green gown with sharp spikes smiles at you, and you know she is Queen Alicent.

Viserys nods, smiling as you gulp silently. ‘’Of course, dear. This is her majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower.’’ You make another deep curtsy, and you can’t understand why she is called a witch or worse in the media sometimes.

Alicent smiles at Aemma. Aemma smiles back, unchallenged. You can read rivalry and hatred in both their eyes. Until Alicent speaks. ‘’Surely your flock needs help? I’ll take over for you. She only needs to meet my sons and the little princes.’’ The flock, being selected girls. You feel insulted and a little frightened when Alicent takes you with her, not giving Aemma a chance to save you. She walks you to the two young adult men, no longer in leather and jeans, but in suit and tie. They look extraordinarily handsome, for sure. But you are not here for them.

Prince Aegon sighs, muttering to his brother how bored he is. Prince Aemond does not even respond, having his hands folded on the back of his suit jacket, and his good eye is aimed at you, and you alone as a bee in trance of a blooming flower. Aegon even waves his hand in front of Aemond’s good working eye, before Aemond snaps at him, likely telling him to behave. You find it wondrous how he is the youngest, yet act as the eldest.

Alicent presents you to her sons. ‘’Aemond, Aegon…’’ She glares at the latter, warning him with that. ‘’This is Lady Y/n.’’ You dip in another curtsy, smiling at both royals who do nothing to even acknowledge your existence. 

The silence is painfully awkward as Alicent leaves. You speak, your voice soft and sincere. ‘’I am honored.’’

The eldest prince scoffs, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. ‘’I imagine you would be.’’ You try to find your tongue, to say something sharp and witty but all that comes out is a very soft:

‘’Pardon?’’

Aegon laughs, gesturing around him. ‘’We are royalty, you are like a peasant. We are the lions, you are our gazelle.’’ You feel nauseous at that description, as if he can rip you to shreds. 

You turn your head to the other prince who remains silent. The prince follows your gaze. ‘’Don’t talk to my brother, he is not very talkative. Unless you like to talk about ancient Dornish statues, or banter on endless debates about historic battles.’’ You would much rather be getting a drink, then to be in the crossfire between those two.

Aemond hisses, clearly a bit embarrassed in his rough voice. ‘’Aegon.’’

You see an opening. And so you take it. ‘’I quite like Dornish statues. My father is the patron of art conversionship in Sunspear.’’ Aegon bristles, scoffing when sipping his drink when Aemond looks at you as if he only sees you now for the first time. He sees the real you, for the first time.  ‘’You do? You don’t…’’ He clears his throat. ‘’Find it boring?’’

Your father has been patron of persevering Dornish and other foreign cultural works, protecting it from greedy graverobbers and folks who think other people’s cultures belong in their own house. He makes sure the local museums display it, earn money from it and profit from it but most of all: That Dornish aritfacts remain in Dorne. Your dad does admirable work, some would call it boring, perhaps. But how else can you learn from history, if you don’t cherish and protect it?

Your words come blurting out, before you can stop them, quoting your father. ‘’Only a soul with little imagination would find history boring.’’ Aegon stops sipping his drink, looking at you with newfound interest. But Aemond has become absolutely silent, a smile on his pink soft lips.

You forgot yourself for a brief moment. These men are above you. ‘’I-..’’

The younger prince talks, his rough but soft voice leaving his mouth. ‘’I concur.’’ He nods, even. ‘’What is your favorite piece?’’ He brings his champagne glass to his lips before taking a sip.

You watch, before answering the question. ‘’It’s a cliche, but Nymeria’s statues, the ones that have been constructed by her family.’’ You tell him, with a dismissive little laugh.

The prince does not agree with you. ‘’Is it a cliche, or is it a classic?’’ You are dumbstruck at that comment, feeling all your wit leave your body. He smiles, reassuring that he does not find your interests stupid. And that is something no one else did before. He in fact, takes the bait and asks you things. ‘’The one’s at Sunspear or the one’s at Dornegarden? Of course, a lot of smaller statues have been build all over Dorne to honor her.’’ You are impressed by his knowledge.

You nod. Dornegarden is on your bucket list. ‘’Dornegarden’s are my favorite. The statues are so immensely huge, as if she is a goddess looking down at you.’’ You describe it the way your father described it to you.

Beyond his shyness you can see a small smile appearing, gentle as a first snowflake in november. ‘’Ah, I can see why you like her. She was clever, fierce and beautiful too.’’ You blush, unintended. 

You know it is polite to ask, but part of you is dying to know. ‘’And yours?’’ Aemond opens his mouth but sadly, the pig that is his brother interrupts, ruining this precious moment and shutting Aemond up.

Aegon grins. ‘’He has a fascination for everything depressing, doomed and disastrous.’’ You try to think of a specific name that comes to mind. Isn’t all history depressing, dooming and disastrous, in certain ways? 

‘’Oryn.’’ Aemond mumbles, quietly.

You hear it perfectly. If he were in a crowd of thousand screaming men, you would hear it just as clear. ‘’Oryn?’’ You find that an interesting intriguing choice.

Aemond nods, his silver hair going up and down.‘’Yeah.’’

‘’I like his statues.’’ You tell him. His temple was destroyed by his usurper, the king’s brother, when Oryn was cut in pieces. The foul king took Oryn’s wife as well.

The prince takes a bigger sip of his champagne, his body language suddenly tense and clearly distressed. ‘’You don’t have to lie to me. I know no one really gives a fuck about him.’’ He mutters as if he hates himself for caring as much as he does.

You step closer to the prince before speaking your truth. ‘’I’m not lying, his story is a tragedy but it doesn’t mean that the story isn’t worth telling. It has betrayal, brotherly love, devotion and romance. How can you not love it?’’ You bring out your smartphone from your handbag, showing Aemond a few photo’s your father sent on his recent travels. ‘’They found his grave recently. My dad was there when they cut the rock open.’’ Aemond’s mood changes back from sullen to excited, to impressed, yet still reserved.

‘’No way.’’ He murmurs, looking at the little screen as if it’s a diamond. ‘’Your father leads the expedition?’’ He sounds impressed, and you blush.

You know the Dornish would never. Too long, Westerosi grave robbers from the Crownlands have taken Dornish artifacts. ‘’No, the Dornish lead it themselves. Father simply is invited, because he protects the art faithfully. The Dornish have closed him in their hearts.’’ 

Aemond understands that, still his eyes are glued to your phone, taking in every detail on the dark photo. ‘’Oh, yes, of course.’’

He mutters to himself.‘’Where did they even find this?’’

You tell what your father told you. ‘’A farmer found it. Apparently his son was playing and saw a crack in a rock. They rolled the rock away, revealing a cave. Inside the cave, there was his tomb.’’ The rest of the world seems to fade when you and Aemond talk, the worries and fears of not fitting in miles away.

He grins, smiling, letting out a little chuckle. ‘’I love that. I doubt his brother knew of it. His supporters must have made it, after Oryn was slain.’’ His brother would be Prince Razar, the brother of Prince Oryn, and Princess Farya.

He is an Oryn supporter, so perhaps he likes to hear this as well. ‘’Dad says they found traces of Queen Farya. Flowers were left. They withered, but they are testing the remains. They think they already know it are Dornish daisies.’’ You tell him.

The simple grin he lets out does something to your heart. ‘’Her favorite, according to many poems out of that time.’’ 

You nod. ‘’Yes, exactly.’’

Aemond becomes a little more serious, still rambling on, happy to finally have found someone, anyone that listens. ‘’Do you think that she was even allowed to visit her brother’s grave? Or out of the palace?’’

You think deeply before speaking. You avoid his gaze. ‘’Perhaps in secret? When people are meant to be together…’’

He answers without missing a moment. ‘’They will find a way.’’ You smile at one another, both lost in each other’s eyes.

He breaks eye-contact, nodding to the phone. ‘’This is certainly amazing. Thank you for showing me this.’’

You take back your phone, putting it in the handbag. ‘’Have you ever been in Dorne, my Prince?’’ You wonder. Aemond seems to slightly blush.

He nods. ‘’Yes, many times. I go as often as my duties allow me.’’ You inwardly sigh, delighted. That must be so wonderful.

The prince then turns to look at you. ‘’And you?’’

You shrug, a little playing with your handbag.‘’It’s a heartwish of mine.’’ You confess.

Aegon makes a strange sound, startling you as if he is about to puke any moment. ‘’Give me a fucking bucket.’’ he comments, grumpily you both ignored him for so long. You feel embarrassed and mocked.

Aemond’s smile dies and he is back to hiding his emotions. ‘’Aegon, perhaps you can go get a drink?’’ He suggest, sweetly. Aegon nods, taking off. Once Aegon is gone, he turns to you. ‘’I apologize for him. We had such a lovely conversation and now its ruined.’’ You nod, but part of you is worried the conversation isn’t allowed. 

You try to give him some advice, though. ‘’Don’t be. He is your brother, but you don’t control him.’’

He seems dumbstruck by those words, staring at his empty champagne glass. ‘’Hm. I’ve been apologizing for his behavior before I was old enough to walk.’’ He mutters.

You smile, faking a bit of a stern glare causing him to chuckle. ‘’Well, maybe you should stop apologizing.’’ You mean it. He is not responsible for Aegon.

The prince nods, as if you have given him a lot to think about. ‘’Maybe I should.’’

You notice the Prince, Jacaerys has joined you, listening in with his hands folded on his back. You notice the seahorse pin on his chest.‘’Ahum.’’

You dip in a curtsy. ‘’Your highness.’’

Jacaerys ignores you, staring at prince Aemond. ‘’Uncle.’’

‘’Nephew.’’

You notice another rivalry, unfolding right before your eyes. You wish to leave, right now.

Jacaerys speaks, his voice taunting but soft. ‘’Thank you for keeping Lady Y/n occupied when I spoke to the other ladies. It is her turn now, however.’’ Aemond lifts his chin as if he wants to speak, but changes his mind.

‘’Of course.’’ And with that, he lets you go. You turn on your heel, walking back to Aemond. ‘’It is always nice to talk with someone about history.’’ You thank him with that and smile. He doesn't smile. He does not even glance at you, anymore.

All you get is a vague, disinterested ‘’Hm.’’

The prince takes you with him, walking to the buffet before offering you a glass of champagne. ‘’Did he hurt you?’’

He casually asks between filling the glasses. 

You are confused. ‘’Who?’’

He shrugs, as if it's obvious. ‘’Aemond?’’

You become even more confused. ‘’No?’’

Jace leans in a little closer. ‘’You must know, it is inappropriate for any selected to have another lover. It can lead to disqualification or worse, punishment.’’ He warns you, kindly of that. You know he does not mean to harm or threaten you.

You nod, thankful but you do want to clear things up.‘’I didn’t know that. But Prince Aemond and me only talked about Dornish statues.’’ Not very romantic, so why does your heart beat so fast?

Jacaerys scoff. ‘’Statues?’’ You can see that Aemond is likely the only history buff in his family. That must be lonely.

You smile, telling him the same thing you told Aemond. ‘’Yes, in Sunspear-’’

But this time, you get a deep sigh before Jace even rolls his eyes. ‘’Don’t you want to talk about something more exciting?’’ He suggests. 

You feel as if you have been hit in the face. You feel rejected and foolish. ‘’Like what?’’

He shrugs. ‘’Most girls tell me of their house, or their horses.’’ Their horses? You hear yourself think, and its not a pleasant thought. How…dull? And all of them? You bet that Floris told them to bring it up.

You repeat after him. ‘’Horses?’’

‘’You don’t like horses?’’ He asks. Horses terrify you.

‘’I don’t dislike them.’’ You say and it's the truth. Horses are beautiful from a distance. You just don't want to ride them. Or talk about them. ‘’I don’t like talking about horses. I don’t want to have dull meaningless conversation with you.’’

Jace straightens his back. ‘’That is part of your job, should you become my queen.’’ You feel your lips hang in a sorrowful line and for the first time you wonder if this is what you really want.

Jace notices your mood change quickly. ‘’But it's alright. We can talk about something else too. What is your favorite sweet?’’

You nod, accepting his attempts at winning your heart.  ‘’I like cupcakes.’’ Jacaerys takes a chocolate cupcake for you from the impressive cake stand, looking at it very briefly, inspecting it before handing it to you. ‘’These are my favorites. I have yet to taste anything else that taste as good as these.’’ That sounds promising. You clumsily bite the cupcake off, tasting the surprisingly good white chocolate filling. It tastes as good as he said it would, and your argument from earlier vanishes as snow that is basked in sunrays. ‘’It is really good.’’ You say, licking your fingers off when you think no one is watching. Jacaerys is amused by your actions, before slyly doing the same. 

Jacaerys seems a bit nervous, before he sighs after you both have finished your cupcakes. ‘’I’m sorry for being a little mean about Aemond earlier. I’ve been hearing disturbing news about him and his brother. I don’t see you girls as my cattle or my livestock, but I do feel responsible. You are here under my roof, for me. You put up with etiquette and court rules for me, the very least I can do, is protect you from men that want to harm you.’’ You notice your gaze swift between Jace and Aemond, who is now talking with an unknown silver-haired woman in a luscious green gown. That must be Helaena.

You feel foolish you even entertained the prince that long, or talked with them. ‘’Do you think Aemond is that malicious?’’You wonder.

Jace does not need long to answer that question. ‘’I know he is. They both are. If you are important to me, he wants to destroy you.’’ You find that a little extreme but Jace’s stern glare tells you there is nothing funny about this. ‘’Just be careful, Y/N. That’s all I ask.’’ And you nod, obedient as a good girl would. But your gaze kept stealing peaks at the forbidden prince, however.

This is part one, for now.

I hope you all liked it

Its different than what i usually write.

Reblogs/comments are welcome!:))

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Gas lamp au! please?

When Clark attracted his attention, Bruce looked the way he was looking and his eyes narrowed.

Your uncle always had rubbed him the wrong way. Compulsive liar. Womanizer. Gambler- and bad at it. And now, evidently he could add 'disgusting pervert' to the list.

"What are you going to do?" Clark asked quietly.

"Nothing yet," Bruce said, eyes narrowed. "A public call out is just going to add fuel to the fire." Your Aunt was your mother's sister. Your uncle had never wanted to marry your aunt. He'd wanted to marry your mother.

A mother you were the spitting image of apparently. Who had married your father for love.

And now that you were ruined- well. instead of letting the scandal fade. Because why would he? He'd set about making an innuendo here. A subtle comment there. Suggesting you were free with more than just kisses. And he had proof.

He was smart enough to only do it in the clubs. In places where ladies did not go. Where it would be less likely to get back to you. But- it would get back to Bruce. And he was banking on Bruce forbidding Jason from pursuing you. Leaving you out in the cold and vulnerable to all sorts of... well. Disgusting proposals.

"Every day this just gets worse," Clark said mystified. "This never happens in Kansas-"

"When things like this happen in Kansas someone just gets shot," Bruce snorted.

"That too."

______

Jason took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was a valise of books- you hadn't had many. He knew the list. He'd committed it to memory.

And it hadn't taken long to find them. Or the journals you'd secreted away. You'd been wrong. Your Aunt hadn't tossed them out, she'd tried to sell them. It hadn't taken long to find the right shop. Or to convince the owner to let him buy them back.

You were out with the girls- and he was glad of that. Attending a musical evening he thought. Or perhaps helping Bruce to entertain Clark and maintain the fiction he'd created around THAT relationship around a reporter family friend.

Still. It was good that you were going out. There was something to be said for the fact that if you were still publicly out with his family that it would mitigate the damage. Quite a lot. It would probably indicate an understanding. So. While it would still be in poor taste, well. They wouldn't be the first young couple to get carried away.

He crept through the house and laid the valise on your bed with a letter carefully and nodded to himself. It wasn't everything you deserved. You deserved a library- you'd have one. But. He could give you back this.

[elvisabutler]

show 'em

fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: biker austin butler x female reader word count: 2,401 warnings: marking. a touch of blood kink. possessive behavior. unwanted advances from someone who isn't austin. a lot of talk about bruising. biting. p in v sex ( unprotected ). biker austin. austin has facial hair. public sex. sex on interesting surfaces. author’s note: welcome to day 2 of ally's wet hot smut summer, marking with biker austin butler. special thanks to @butlersxbirdy for brainstorming with me for it's been a long time since i consumed biker media as well as @blurredcolour and @eliseinmemphis for their read throughs to make sure i wasn't completely messing this up. to the anon who requested wil for this day, i am not forgetting you, i promise. like i said, i was gonna move you down a bit because i want to make sure you get a good wil fic. as much as i'm critical of my writing with austin and elvis, i am way worse with other media/things. consider this Sons of Anarchy inspired, austin a bit of a jax stand in with the reader as a tara one to be honest. i live for everyone's excitement about this little thing i'm doing over the summer and adore reading everyone's tags/comments/hearing the screams of delight. they truly are my lifeblood for writing a lot of the time.

Dating a biker is, in a word, complicated. Dating a biker when you are not the normal or stereotypical old lady is complicated and a pain that you wouldn't wish on your worst of enemies. As they say though, the heart wants what it wants and for both you and Austin that's no different. All it took was seeing him at a restaurant while you ate lunch with some colleagues and you were sold. Of course, with the way his club is set up, with how they do things that are most definitely not legal, you and him know better than to show off his lawyer of an old lady. It doesn't mean you don't show up at the club from time to time, but it does mean that beyond a very select few no one knows who you are to Austin. The shining light to a darkness that sometimes threatens to overwhelm him when he realizes he wants out of this life. You'll help him eventually even if he has to do his time for his crimes. The problem the two of you never thought about was that in not knowing who you were to Austin- you just looked like another run of the mill patch whore.

"I keep seeing you around here," a guy whose name you haven't bothered to learn murmurs from behind you. He isn't important, and you know this because important people know not to touch you in the club. Important people know that even if you weren't Austin's girl- you value your personal space to a degree that borders on antisocial.

Your eyes drift to the other side of the room where Austin is talking with some other members of the club and being sweet enough with the girl trying to hang on his arm. Another person might be worried, might see the woman as a threat but you know better, you know that there's a sting when you sit down from Austin's handprint on your ass and there's a hickey or five on his chest from your greedy lips and teeth. Still, you have to be pleasant, don't you? "You do. Thinking of joining and everyone's been really nice. I think I might fit right in."

The man hums and moves to step in front of you, blocking your view of Austin. His hand moves to cup your chin, tilting it to face him. "I'm sure they have been nice. You look nice too, you know. Could be a good girl on someone's arm."

Bile starts to rise in your throat as you grab at his wrist, attempting to pull his hand away from your chin. "I'm not- You're really barking up the wrong tree."

"Am I?" He laughs as if he's told the funniest joke in the room and not as if he's disagreeing with you over your desire to talk to him. To play along with his silly game. "You keep coming here and I don't see you leaving on anyone's arm. Kind of failing at your patch whore dreams when that happens."

You can't help the way a startled laugh leaves your body at the implication. He thinks you're a patch whore, a woman who wants to fuck her way through the club until someone decides that they want her as an old lady. You like to think you don't give off that vibe and yet apparently you do. "I have a job outside of here. One that doesn't really go well with being a patch whore."

"Really," he starts to move a little closer and you swear you hear a kerfuffle in the direction of Austin. Oh this was going to be bad. "I think you're just playing hard to get. What? I'm not good enough for the new little whore? Not high enough for your tastes? You want Butler? Or one of his little boys? Come on baby, that's not how this works— what the hell man?"

You look up to see Austin yanking away the would be suitor and pinning him to the wall beside you. "That's exactly how it works for her," he looks over at you and his face softens just a little. "He giving you trouble?"

You shrug, your thighs rubbing together through your jeans. "I had it handled."

Austin's eyes zero in on the way you're rubbing your thighs together and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Which is why if I waited for another minute I'd be seeing his hickeys on my old lady's neck."

The man realizes in that exact moment his mistake. You were already taken and not just by anyone, you were taken by one of the highest ranking members of the club. A man who could very easily kick him out right now if not just murder him for thinking his old lady was a patch whore. "Listen I didn't—"

"You did. You were gonna," Austin snarls, moving his hand to the man's neck. "You thought she was fair game. Thought because she isn't hanging onto me that she was your for the taking. You— No offense, but even if she wasn't my old lady, you're punching a bit above your weight class."

As if to belabor the point Austin sends a punch to the man's gut before letting him down off the wall. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight, moving close enough to Austin for him to nip at your neck, marveling in how he sees your skin darkening, a bruise starting to form. "What's a King gotta do to make it obvious she's taken?"

The question is rhetorical but the man and you answer nonetheless with the same answer. "Marks."

Austin's lips curl into a smile that reminds you of a shark— or at the very least some vicious predator and you're reminded of just how attractive and in love with him you are. "Marks," his lips move to your slightly exposed chest, biting harsh enough that you cry out, startled even as your arousal curls inside of you. "You want to look mauled by me, don't you? Debauched by the King? Was the hand print not enough? Was those few hickies not enough? Thought we were trying subtlety, babe."

Your breath quickens under his gaze, as he moves closer to you, causing you to back up against a pool table. The man has barely moved, too concerned the wrong move will get him killed until Austin looks back at him and growls. "Get everyone out of here. Or do something stupid to get their attention. You don't deserve to see this."

A shiver runs through your body at the implication that Austin plans on taking you against the pool table as you look at him. "Aust—"

His hands move to pull off your jacket, a leather number he had bought you after your second date. It's a bit oversized but you preferred it that way, told Austin it meant if your body changed for whatever reason it could still fit. You still remember the night after you told him that, the burn of his beard between your thighs a phantom whisper of a memory among the filth he had spewed from his mouth involving you and him.

"Austin," you utter his name as a warning that has him smirking down at you, doing away with the buttons of your shirt with such ease it's unfair. Your breasts are exposed to him, heaving in your bra and earning a growl as his hands grab at them, squeezing hard enough for you to know they'll be covered in fingertip sized bruises later on. "You going to at least kiss me?"

His face softens just for a moment at the request before he dives in, his teeth pulling at your lip and threatening to make you look every bit of that debauched woman when he was through with you. A moan is ripped from your chest as he takes a hand and busies himself with undoing the front clasp of your bra. You feel the second he manages to undo it, your breasts spilling from their confines and your nipples brushing against the fabric before pebbling at the cold air of the fan above you. Your nipples need attention, he thinks as he pulls away and sucks little marks all the way down your neck and clavicle till he reaches your breast and that little nipple. You get no warning before he bites at it, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to cause that angry rush of blood beneath the surface. You don't normally bruise easily but in this moment you swear your body has forgotten how to control itself. Austin's jacket is pulled off by you as he tries to help shuck off his shirt, noting how you're joining him in marking your territory, your nails dragging red painful lines across his chest and back.

He is yours as much as you are his and you want the world to know it after this. You've always wanted the world to know, despite the consequences you know are likely to follow the pair of you. He groans and whimpers a bit above you as a hand moves down to undo your jeans, mirroring one of your own. "Gonna maul me too, babe? Make everyone see I've got this old lady on my arm who's so powerful that everyone wants her?"

The whine that leaves your lips is embarrassingly loud and you are entirely aware that multiple people likely heard it but Austin's right, you want to maul him. You want both of you to be so covered in marks from each other that there's no question of who either one of you belong to.

"That's not an answer, babe. Come on, tell me what you want," Austin coos, as he allows himself the pleasure of pulling your pants and panties down just enough to expose your vagina to the cool air.

Your hands move to try and pull down his pants, frustration finally getting to you as you wrap your legs around his middle and force them down that way, his cock springing from his boxers as you tried to move against him. "I want everyone to see I'm your old lady, Austin. I don't want the women on you and I don't want to deal with any more guys like that who think I'm just a whore."

A snarl of aggravation rips through Austin at the word whore and his hands grip almost painfully at your hips. "If you're anyone's whore, it's mine. My pretty and smart little whore."

His fingers move down to between your legs, his fingers sliding easily through your folds and brushing against your clit when he pulls them out, he thinks he ought to taste you on his lips but settles for rubbing your arousal on his neck. A scent marker as primal and animalistic as it was. You swear you clench around nothing at the sight and grind against him once more, aching and begging for his cock. Smiling, he grips the base of his cock and guides it in, a low groan leaving his lips as he feels the tight grip of your vagina around him. This was his pussy to fuck. Your body was his to mark in whatever way he saw fit with your permission. The power he felt from it and the power you had over him because of it was unmatched.

The pool table's fabric felt strange against your back and you know you're likely to have some form of a burn to go with the burn of Austin's facial hair against your skin and the bruises he's sucking on your chest as he thrusts into you. Your nails dig harder into Austin's back, wanting to draw blood, to watch it drip from him as some form of sick claim. Marks only mean so much when they're not permanent but there's something about the idea of drawing blood from him that offers the chance to tie him fully to you. His thrusts are starting to speed up as you try to clench around him, using your internal muscles and a trick you know he enjoys.

"Babe. Not— I know we gotta be quick but kegels?" He whines pulling away from your skin and grabbing both sides of your face to pull you in for a harsh kiss, his beard scratching against your chin. "Wanted to take a little time."

"Tonight," you whisper, crying out as one of his hands somehow snuck down between your legs to pinch your clit. "Right now I just want to look like yours."

At your words Austin's eyes narrow and he thrusts even faster, keeping up with the way your hips chase his cock as he pulls back only to slam in over and over again. Things become a flurry of hands gripping and teeth and lips biting and sucking to the point where you're unsure of where he begins and you end. Your orgasm comes expectedly, your grip on his shoulders tightening as you almost fold in half from the pleasure your body feels, the aftershocks hitting you in the form of mild shakes even as you feel his come inside of you. Austin collapses on top of you, his entire front pressing against you as he catches his breath, seemingly trying to bite yet another mark on you.

Outside of the room you hear noises of people wanting to get back inside, whining about how it's hot outside and you roll your eyes. For a bunch of bikers, they could be so delicate about some things. "Austin, come on, we gotta get up."

The man in question whines against your skin, his lips curling into a pout you can feel before pulling away. "Don't wanna. I'm the King, they can wait."

You watch as Austin's head moves as your body jiggles when you laugh. A part of you wants to agree with him, but the part of you that's always mildly more mature knows better. "You are, but if you get up, you can show 'em off."

His eyes blink for a moment as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, his brain trying to piece together what you said before a hopeful grin flashes across his face. "Does that mean I can show you off too?"

"What's a king without his queen?"

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @slowsweetlove, @kxnnxy, @meetmeatyourworst, @purejasmine, @stylespresleyhearted, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @thegettingbyp2, @austinswhitewolf, @richardslady121 and @mrs-butler if i have not included you know it's not meant to be a slight, it's literally i don't know if you want to be tagged as far as austin fics or elvis fics, drop me a comment or a message and i'll add away tbh.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

warnings: angst/fluff, nothing crazy.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You had disguised yourself as a man to be able to join Uhtred and his men, proving yourself to be a fearless warrior. But catching feelings for Sihtric and getting drunk with Finan did not make things easier.

word count: 3,9k

Note: requested by @lady-targaryens-world!

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylas-the-grim @anditsmywholeheart

‘There is no lady here!’

--------------------------

‘There is something wrong with him, Sihtric, I can feel it. Sten is not who he says he is.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I can’t explain it,’ Sigdeflaed sighed, ‘he is just different.’

‘So because he is different, there’s something wrong with him?’ Sihtric frowned at his wife.

‘I… I just rather not have him around anymore.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Sidge, you can’t be serious. We have a strong bond. I… it just feels like I’ve known him forever.’

‘I do not like the way he looks at you!’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Sihtric, enough. Keep him away from our home.’

‘I have fought alongside him, he has saved my life. I will never close my door to someone who has saved my life!’

‘I do not wish to see him here anymore, Sihtric! Is that clear?’

Sihtric nodded and stormed out the door, to the alehouse.

-------------

It has been several months since you joined Uhtred, and you quickly became one of his best warriors. You became close to his men too. Finan lovingly called you baby warrior, to which you always rolled your eyes, yet Osferth was happy that he was not the only one with a nickname anymore. Uhtred cared about you as if you were his little brother. Sihtric was mainly quiet around you, but always looked out for you during battles. You were like a brother to all of them, except… you were actually a sister. 

Your long hair was always braided and rolled into a hair knot and you were often covered in dirt, making your female face features harder to see. The gods had also blessed, and cursed, you with a rather flat chest, making it easier for you to pass as a man. 

It’s not that you didn’t want to be a woman, but you knew that as a woman you would have never been accepted as a warrior. 

It was a struggle to keep your identity hidden from the men, but so far it had worked. Your biggest concern was Sihtric. He always stares at you, even when you didn’t catch him in the act, you felt it. And you worried he was onto you, because he knew you. Your family had lived in Dunholm with Kjartan when you were a small girl, and Sihtric was your best friend back then, but after you moved away you had lost contact with him. And to make everything worse; you developed romantic feelings for Sihtric shortly after you had joined Uhtred.

-----------------------

Sihtric sat alone, sipping from his ale before Finan startled him with a slap on his shoulders.

‘What are ya sulking about?’

‘Nothing,’ Sihtric huffed.

‘Fine,’ Finan shrugged and ordered himself some ale. 

‘Actually,’ Sihtric mumbled, ‘it’s-’

‘It’s the baby monk and the baby warrior!’ Finan shouted as you came in, and he quickly ordered two more cups of ale.

‘Shut up,’ you and Osferth hissed together and chuckled.

Osferth sat down next to Finan, which left you with no other choice than to sit next to Sihtric. You gave him a smile and a nod as you sat down, ‘Sihtric.’

Sihtric didn’t speak but returned the nod and looked away from you, fidgeting with his rings.

You frowned at Finan. 

‘He was like that when I got here,’ he shrugged.

‘Everything alright, Sihtric?’ Osferth asked.

‘Fine,’ he huffed, and everyone was silent for a moment.

‘Tough crowd,’ you chuckled.

Suddenly Sihtric jumped up and walked away, without saying another word, leaving everyone speechless at the table, except for Finan.

‘I guess his wife didn’t let him hump her.’

Finan laughed at his own words, Osferth shook his head and you chuckled, as you felt your heart break a little more.

--------------------

‘Sihtric,’ you said curtly, ‘a word?’

‘Why?’

‘Now, Sihtric!’

Sihtric sighed, putting down his whetstone and sword before he got up and followed you. You walked away from your camp out into the forest, where you could speak in private. Sihtric’s behaviour towards you had turned rather unpleasant after he had stormed out of the alehouse, and you had enough of his attitude. When you were sure you were far enough for anyone else to see and hear you, you turned to face Sihtric.

‘What is going on with you lately?’

‘Nothing,’ he shrugged.

‘I am not a fool, Sihtric, I know you are a little quiet around me, which is fine, but these past few weeks have been different. It seems like you suddenly hate me and I am sick of your hostility.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay? That’s all? Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he scoffed.

‘That’s not good enough!’

‘What do you want then?’

‘I want to know what I did! Why do you cut me off every time I try to make a suggestion? Why do you not speak to me anymore? Or share your food with me anymore? You used to invite me over to your house every now and then, for dinner. And now … now you won’t even look at me anymore. What did I do to deserve this?’ you tried to compose yourself as you felt your bottom lip quivering.

Sihtric smacked his lips and rubbed his hand over his chin, looking at the ground, going over all his thoughts about you. The thoughts about how his wife had demanded to stop inviting you to their house, even if he disagreed. About how he swears he knows you, but can’t seem to place you in a memory. About how confused he feels when he’s around you. He goes over the thoughts he has about you at night, the way he desires you and simply doesn’t understand himself anymore. About how he has a wife and never had romantic feelings for a man before, but something about you caught his attention and caused him to fantasise about you. He thought about how he directs his anger and frustration at you, because you are the reason for it all. 

You are the reason he can't stand being around his wife for months now, as she constantly complains about you, showing a side of her he never knew. A side which he quickly came to hate so much. You are the reason he divorced, in secret, before he left for the trip you’re on now. You are the reason he barely sleeps because whenever he does, he dreams of you, causing him to feel unsatisfied and frustrated when he wakes up. But he could never admit this to you.

‘Nothing,’ Sihtric said, ‘you did nothing to deserve it.’

‘Then what is the problem?’ you scoffed, ‘was Finan right? Your wife didn’t let you hump her?’

‘The problem,’ Sihtric suddenly snapped, cornering you against two large trees, ‘is you.’

‘What is wrong with you!?’ you hissed as Sihtric clenched his jaw, pressing his forehead against yours to keep you cornered. He chuckled and ran his hands up your arms, squeezing your biceps as he pressed his body against yours, causing you to flinch, worried he would find out your disguise. He licked his lips as he looked you up and down before he spoke.

‘Wrong with me?’ he scoffed, breathing heavier than before, ‘there is something wrong with you,’ he shook his head and squinted his eyes, ‘there is something wrong about you.’

He suddenly released you and backed away, before he turned from you and walked back to the camp. Causing you to feel flustered as he left you leaning back against a tree.

-------------------

You had kept away from Sihtric for days, since your last encounter in the forest. Finan and Osferth were more than happy to joke around with you as you all travelled to Wessex to attend the wedding of some royalty you couldn't remember. You looked forward to arriving, not for the wedding, but to get absolutely drunk with Finan afterwards.

And that is exactly what you did.

---------------------

‘Did ya know,’ Finan slurred, ‘that… that Sihtric’s wife hates ya? He told me!’ 

Finan gave you a serious look before bursting out in laughter.

‘Does she now?’ you giggled, before taking another sip of your ale.

‘Aye, he told me!’

‘Well,’ you stood up, ’the feeling is mutual, I never liked her either. But she has nothing on me,’ you shrugged and twirled around, tripping over your feet. 

Finan was quick to keep you from falling, or so he thought, but instead he tripped over his own feet and pulled you down with him. Finan grabbed onto your tunic as he fell, accidentally groping your boobs as he did, and he may have been drunk, but his face told you he knew the feeling of what he was holding in his hands right there. You were not drunk enough either to not notice it, and quickly tried to get away from him. You tripped again as you made your way out of the alehouse, causing you to fall right into Sihtric’s arms.

‘Watch where you are going!’ he snarled, but instead of pushing you away he held you in his arms for a moment, until you pulled away first.

‘I am sorry, my liege,’ you slurred slightly and bowed to him before you stumbled away.

‘Where are you going?’ Sihtric asked, agitated.

‘To find my bed.’

‘Fetch someone to walk with you, you’re in no state.’

‘Sure, my liege,’ you mocked, ‘except everyone is more drunk or already asleep. And,’ you hiccuped, ‘I’m not even that drunk. I don’t need anyone to look after me.’

You stumbled further and felt yourself slip into a giggle fit.

‘Sure,’ Sihtric hissed as he grabbed your arm to keep you from tripping again, ‘I’ll walk you.’

‘Oh, ohhh,’ you howled, ‘don’t tell your wife about this,’ you giggled and you couldn’t help leaning into him. Sihtric sighed but kept quiet and walked you to the inn where you all stayed at.

‘You need to sober up,’ Sihtric said before he walked you inside, pointing to a barrel of water, ‘or you will regret this when you wake up.’ He guided you to the barrel and you dunked your head in a few times.

‘Better?’

‘A little,’ you sighed as you felt yourself sober up.

You had no idea Finan had done the same and was on his way to the inn, to confront you about what had happened. 

In the meantime Sihtric had walked you upstairs to your room, and you thanked him, albeit a little awkward.

‘Look,’ Sihtric said, ‘I’m sorry about my behaviour. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind lately.’

‘Maybe I confronted you too harshly. It’s fine, really. And… I’m sorry about that childish comment just now,’ you mumbled, ‘to not tell your wife. I know she hates me, I always knew. I never cared about it, but I knew.’

‘It’s fine,’ he sighed, ‘she’s… we’re… I divorced her, actually.’

‘What? When?’

‘Shortly before we left to travel here.’

‘Gods, Sihtric, I am so sorry,’ you sighed and took his hands in yours, squeezing them lightly. Sihtric felt his cheeks heat up at your touch and pulled away.

‘May I ask why?’

‘I just… we grew apart,’ Sihtric said, and then there was a knocking on your door.

‘Lady! Open up! I know yer in here!’

‘Lady?’ Sihtric frowned at you.

‘There is no lady here!’ you yelled, shrugging at Sihtric.

‘I had yer tits in my hands, lady, and I know what those feel like!’

‘What is he on about?’ Sihtric chuckled lightly.

‘I… I have no idea,’ you said and hid your face as it flushed red.

Sihtric then opened the door and Finan stormed in, surprised to see Sihtric.

‘Ya felt her tits too?’ Finan asked him.

‘What? Whose?’

‘Hers!’ Finan yelled and pointed at you, ‘baby warrior! He’s not a he! She’s a … a she!’

‘What?’ Sihtric said again, and both men looked at you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t bring out a word. You knew there was no hiding anymore, Finan was not going to let this go until you admitted it.

You took a deep breath and sighed.

‘Finan is right,’ you said softly. You pulled your hairpin out and let your hair down, which was enough for both men to suddenly see you for the beautiful woman you had been all this time. Finan gasped and Sihtric’s heart stopped.

‘My name is not Sten, my name is (y/n).’ 

‘It’s you,’ Sihtric said, his voice suddenly trembling, ‘you… you… we..’

‘We used to be friends… in Dunholm,’ you said and looked at your feet.

‘Wait,’ Finan said, ‘ya know each other?’

‘I…’ Sihtric couldn’t bring himself to say more as he tried to grasp the situation.

‘Yes,’ you said, ‘we do. But Sihtric didn’t know it was me. At least, not that I am aware of.’

‘Did ya?’

‘No!’ Sihtric huffed, ‘how… how could I?’

‘How could ya not recognize this beauty?’

‘I, she, we, I…’ Sihtric tripped over his words.

‘We were just kids when we last saw each other,’ you said, ‘we hadn’t seen each other in over 18 years. I only recognised him because of his name and his eyes,’ you blushed lightly.

‘Jesus,’ Finan chuckled, ‘but why do this? Why hide? Does Uhtred know?’

‘No, he does not. And would you have accepted me as a warrior if you had known before?’

‘Yes,’ both men said at the same time.

‘But,’ Finan said, ‘we wouldn’t have let ya fight at the frontline with us.

‘Exactly,’ you said, ‘and that is why I hid. I have proven myself, I have saved both your arses multiple times. But if you had known about me before…’

‘We would’ve been dead,’ Sihtric suddenly chuckled.

‘Aye,’ Finan snickered, ‘we owe our lives to ya, baby warrior.’ Finan walked up to you with his arms open and pulled you into a hug.

‘I still care for ya all the same, little sister,’ he winked, ‘and, eh… sorry about the… ya know,’ Finan mumbled as he placed his hands on his own chest.

‘Grabbing my tits?’ you frowned, ‘it was an accident, I know,’ you chuckled.

Finan pinched your cheek and smiled, ‘Jesus. A handsome woman, that ya are.’

‘Shut up,’ you punched his shoulder and laughed.

‘Just saying,’ he shrugged. Finan saw your eyes direct to Sihtric and noticed how you blushed upon seeing him. And he suddenly understood why he had seen you blush around Sihtric many times before. He cleared his throat. 

‘I, eh, I’ll leave ya two to it. I am sure ya have a lot to catch up on.’

You smiled and nodded. And unbeknownst to you, Finan gave Sihtric a wink as he walked out the door, causing Sihtric to blush too.

‘Sihtric,’ you said, ‘I’m sorry. For all of this.’

‘No,’ Sihtric hushed you and stepped closer, ‘you have no idea how relieved I am.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I thought I was losing my mind,’ he chuckled, his fingers reaching for yours and intertwining, ‘since you joined us I have been so confused. I felt like I knew you, but I just couldn’t remember how. I didn’t know anyone named Sten, so it made no sense. And I,’  he paused and sighed, ‘I was so confused, because I couldn’t get you out of my head.’

‘W-what do you mean?’

Sihtric stepped closer. You felt his breath on your lips as he spoke, and his hands sneaked around your waist.

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he whispered, ‘about your eyes… your smile… your shape,’ he sighed and bit down on his lip, looking you up and down, ‘you did things to me, sly lady’ he chuckled, sending a shiver down our spine, ‘like the way you aroused me each time we trained together, and I always needed to cool off in the river afterwards,’ he smirked and brushed his lips lightly over yours.

‘Sihtric,’ you sighed and closed your eyes, ‘but you had your wife?’

‘My wife? She was a wife who couldn’t satisfy my needs,’ he spoke low, pressing his body against yours, ‘she couldn’t stop my longing for you,’ he brought his hands up to the nape of your neck, ‘she couldn’t stop me from thinking about you when I was inside her.’ 

His words had set you on fire and the feelings you already had for Sihtric became unbearable. Your hands ran up his chest, gripping his collar and pulling him closer.

‘Sihtric,’ you sighed, ‘I don’t want to be the reason for your divorce.’

‘You’re not. You just made me see who the woman I married really was. And I hated it. I… I really only married her because I didn’t want to be lonely anymore,’ he whispered, ‘I thought I was happy, but then you came around,’ he smiled, ‘and I felt things for you in a way I had never felt before, making me realise my marriage wasn’t good at all.’

‘Gods, Sihtric,’ you whispered, ‘you don’t know how I’ve longed for you.’

‘Tell me,’ his whispers became hoarse, ‘I need to hear how you’ve longed for me.’

‘Every day,’ your breathing became heavy as Sihtric grabbed you tighter, ‘I wanted to be close to you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you the truth.’

‘And so you tortured me,’ he hissed with a chuckle, his breath sneaking into your mouth, ‘all this time. You don’t know what you’ve been doing to me,’ he choked on his words and a moan escaped him when you giggled against his lips.

‘Kiss me,’ you said.

Sihtric leaned in and your lips had barely collided into a heated kiss when Uhtred suddenly barged in, followed by Osferth and Finan. The latter looked guilty, while Osferth just stood there with his jaw dropped, and Uhtred looked as if he was about to kill you. Sihtric pulled away as fast as he could and you tried to hide your red cheeks.

‘What is this news about a lady?’ Uhtred huffed at you, ‘why did you lie?’

‘Lord,’ Finan said, ‘I already told ya.’

‘I want to hear it from her!’ he snapped, stepping towards you and Sihtric immediately shoved you behind him.

‘Lord,’ Sihtric said sternly and clenched his jaw while staring at Uhtred.

‘Step away, Sihtric,’ Uhtred said curtly.

‘No.’

‘I said step away, that is an order!’

Sihtric didn’t move and shoved you back behind him when you tried to face Uhtred.

‘Sihtric. If you do not obey, you can leave with her.’

‘What?’ you snapped.

‘Lord?!’ Finan scoffed.

‘You can’t be serious, lord,’ Osferth said.

‘I trust those who fight alongside me to be loyal and honest,’ Uhtred raised his voice to silence everyone, ‘if there is no honesty, then I cannot give my trust. You have lied to me for months,' he shook his head.

‘Lord, I only did it-’

‘I know why you did it!’ Uhtred snarled, ‘but those who serve me have earned their place with me because they have always been honest. I will not have a liar in our midst. I want you to be gone tomorrow.’

With that said, Uhtred turned on his heels and walked away. Leaving you breathless and on the verge of tears.

‘I… I…’ you stammered.

‘He can’t do this,’ Osferth said, ‘right?’

Finan rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘He is our lord, Osferth, so I’m afraid he can.’

‘Then I will leave with her,’ Sihtric said as he pulled you in his arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ you sobbed.

‘Sihtric, you can’t just leave with her. What about your wife?’ Osferth asked.

‘I divorced her before I left.’

‘What!?’ Osferth shouted.

‘Jesus Christ, ya got to be joking!’ Finan yelled, bewildered.

‘You divorced to be with her?’ Osferth frowned.

‘Partly,’ Sihtric said and clenched his jaw as he held you tight to his chest.

‘But ya said ya didn’t know it was her?’ Finan frowned.

‘I didn’t,’ Sihtric said and looked between both men, ‘my ex wife and I simply grew apart before this all happened, but it became worse when (y/n) joined us. I… had feelings I couldn't explain. And I will not be unhappy again, so I will leave with her.’

Finan and Osferth were too stunned to speak, they couldn't believe they just lost two of their best warriors.

‘No, Sihtric’ you sniffled, ‘I can’t ask you to come with me. Uhtred needs you.’

‘You didn’t ask me. And Uhtred,’ he scoffed, ‘he doesn’t need me the way that I need you. It is done. I leave with you.’

‘No,’ you pleaded, and looked at Finan for help.

‘Sihtric, just think for once, I beg, before ya make any rash decisions.’

‘It is done!’ Sihtric snapped to Finan, ‘and you two need to leave this room, now!’

‘Please, just-' Osferth started.

‘Now!’ Sihtric growled.

‘I’m sorry,’ you mouthed to both men as they looked at you before leaving.

‘Sihtric, please,’ you said after he had closed the door behind the men, ‘don’t do this.’

He took your hand and pulled you close, and you could see the tears in his eyes.

‘Nothing and nobody can keep me away from you,’ he said and cupped your cheeks, ‘I will not argue about this, my love. We leave together, first light.’

‘But where to?’ you spoke softly.

‘Anywhere,’ Sihtric hushed you, pecking your lips, ‘I promise I will protect you and find us a new home.’

You sighed and took his face in your hands, ‘Thank you for not abandoning me.’

‘I never will,’ he said and nuzzled your nose, ‘now come and lay down with me. You need to rest before we leave.’

-----------------

Soon it was dawn. You and Sihtric had already mounted your horses and were ready to go. Sihtric stood beside you to help you up on your horse, but first he placed one hand on your cheek and his other on your neck as he leaned his forehead against yours.

‘Everything will be okay,’ he whispered. ‘I promise.’

‘I know,’ you smiled weakly, ‘I will be okay as long as I have you by my side.’

Sihtric smiled and blushed lightly. 

‘I love you,’ Sihtric whispered. He lifted your chin slightly up and kissed your lips softly.

‘Say that again,’ you smiled against his lips. 

Sihtric chuckled and caressed your cheek with his thumb.

‘I love you,’ he smiled and kissed your cheek, ‘I love you,’ he kissed your temple, ‘I love you,’ he chuckled as you giggled when he kissed your nose, ‘I love you, baby,’ he whispered before kissing you deeply.

‘I love you too,’ you giggled again and buried your face in his neck.

‘You better, I just gave up everything for you,’ he winked with a smirk, ‘we should leave now, darling, the sun is coming up.’

He helped you up on your horse and was quick to get on his. He halted his horse next to yours and reached out his hand to cup your cheek.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ you sighed and smiled, ‘you?’

‘I am ready to leave and finally be happy,’ he smiled and leaned towards you, giving you a sweet kiss before you both spurred your horses to walk.

‘Halt!’ a voice shouted behind you. 

You frowned at Sihtric, who shrugged, and you turned to look over your shoulder.

‘Uhtred?’ you said, seeing the man walk towards you. Sihtric frowned as Finan appeared, followed by Osferth. Sihtric placed his hand on his axe as the men came closer.

‘What is this?’ you scoffed, ‘a final scolding? I’ll pass.’ You rolled your eyes and wanted to spur your horse again, as did Sihtric.

‘Wait!’ Uhtred said, and sighed, looking at Finan and Osferth.

‘You’ll want to hear this,’ Osferth smiled.

‘You’re a good lair,’ Uhtred said curtly, ‘a little too good for my liking. But these men convinced me,’ Uhtred paused. Finan grinned at you.

‘You can both stay,’ Uhtred continued, ‘I have a use for you. You two will become my spies.’

[midweekblues]

Finally, after a slow night at work and much ruminating, I hereby present my own True-Detective-Night-Country world-famous ramble stew. Tipping my non-existent hat to one Mr @rhavewellyarnbag

Something something Sedna of the many names, Arnarquagsag, Nerivik, Nuliajuk, the one who would not marry, the wife of all.

What's you name, girl?

Navarro, Eve, Angie, Evangeline, Missy, your mother never told you your real name (the one of the Real People) and some think you have forgotten it.

Sedna of the many names many stories Arctic wide, Alaska to Greenland, many stories and in all of them she lives under the sea, in all of them she ends up there because of her father.

Her mother? sometimes a shaman (voices. episodes.) sometimes entirely absent from the narrative (died in chilbirth), sometimes a background character following her husband.

Her father? oh, he always throws her in the sea, sometimes in a panic, sometimes in a rage. She would not marry the man he told her to.

Why?

Well, is that the right question?

She would not marry the man he told her to, because she was already married to her dog who was a man, a shapeshifter, so they kept it in secret.

So many secrets here... do we trust Qavviq the dog-man, the home-brewer? or is he gonna die a terrible death?

i dunno, man. Annie keeping it secret. Danvers keeping it secret. But Everyone here knows.

Sedna whose fingers were cut went she went overboard and she tried to hold on to her father's kayak. Sometimes her whole hands, bit by bit.

So many fathers here, too. Hank, raised by an animal to act like an animal. His son trying to be better than him. The son's son drawing the woman with no hands, no fingers, spooking his father.

What is it with white people getting spooked about other people's religion? Not me, i was raised catholic. A lady with no fingers is no big deal. But maybe i mean white-white. Not opening that particular can of worms right now.

Oh and of course Travis. Fucking Travis Cohle. And his little interpretive dance. That was a man drowning. Or several. Didn't Lund cough up some filthy water when he woke up corpsicled? Cause of death: Spooketh. But also maybe drowned. 

The lady under the sea, the lady with no fingers, cannot untangle her hair. Her hair traps the marine animals and she gets agitated and there is storm and famine. Her hair under the sea, her hair maybe like the sea, and who hasn't dyed their hair sea-blue, sea-green, when they missed so much? i have. Wear the monster's face, wear her hair, whatever you can manage.

The lady with the sea-hair beautifully painted on the door to the warehouse where the people gather. And the people are pissed. 

Something in the water, and no one seems to be asking questions. Not even the wrong ones. Tsalal is the mine is the thing under the ice, now she's awake and y'all done fucked up.

The lady with no fingers that lives under the sea gets pissed off sometimes. Main thing driving her mad is greed and ungratefulness, apparently.Those who take more than they need and those who do not honor their prey. The seals have souls, and so do the whales and the walruses. Those are Sedna’s children, not exactly like children, born from her chopped fingers like Eve from Adam’s rib. 

Sedna (90377 Sedna) is also a dwarf planet hanging around Ceres. This season feels like the Belt. As oppresive as S1 made Louisiana look (humid, hot, that heavy heavy sky) this creeps me out more. What's worse, air thick with miasma or no air at all? Women walking out to the dark, a tiny circle of light and then the vast nothing. Very cosmic horror. Also i miss Naomi Nagata and i miss Camina Drummer. Funny that Danvers' kid was named Holden. But i digress.

You know how scientists are, naming stuff after goddesses. Pieces of rock, sometimes lifeforms. She's awake alright. 

Who are you, girl? Eve? An angel? I am reminded too that Evangelion means Good News. Are you catholic, Navarro? Was your father catholic? What did he drink?

Something in the water, something in the ice. Crabs are bottom feeders, aren't they? How fucked up is an ecosystem where the carrion-eaters die off? Maybe stuff isn't dying at the rate it should. Caribou spook relatively easy, but maybe they know something we don't, too. Micro earthquakes and magnetic fields and shit. Guess we’ll find out.

[angelkissiies]

headcanons or a drabble for abby/reader/ellie as their child grows up? just read “we fell in love in october” and i neeeeed to know how these girls would deal with a rowdy teen lol

the terrible twos.. or was it teens?

raising a child with ellie and abby headcanons / scenarios

(thank you anon for the request!)

three times ellie and abby learned how hard parenting is

one

a tiny toddler ran past ellie’s legs as she reached out to grab her, only missing her by about an inch before the little ball of energy was gone, making the woman let out a sigh. she had been trying for half an hour to tire your daughter out, doing everything she could think of to no avail. at this point abby had all but given up as well, being the main target of the child’s never ending supply of energy as she saw the woman as a jungle gym. they were both beyond tired, yet not willing to ask you for help seeing as you’d been up through the night with her. 

“oh man, baby’s suck.” ellie huffed, rubbing her temples as she bent down to pick up a random couple of toys the little one had strewn out. 

abby laughed, nodding quickly as she looked at the tiny baby bruises she’d begun collecting over the past few months. “how do they have so much energy? it’s unnatural.” 

two

abby gasped as the child showed her what she’d been up to for the past hour. she didn’t even know how to react, seeing the paint smeared over almost every surface in ellie’s art room. on one hand, she was grateful it was only the art room. on the other, she was dreading ellie’s return home from patrol. 

“baby.” she called out, watching as you appeared from around the corner in record time- practically sensing something was wrong. 

your eyes followed the woman’s from your beautifully painted child to the horror scene that was now the art room. old drawings of ellie’s were coated in a thick layer of paint, all except for the ones on the walls that her little arms couldn’t reach. 

“oh hell.”

three

your teen daughter slammed her bedroom door, loud enough to startle the neighbors, as she avoided your parenting. she wanted nothing more than to sneak out after dark with some person from her class, but much to the trios dismay, the only person in her class she could be interested in was the spawn of dina and jesse. 

“absolutely not. not happening.” were the words that set her off, coming almost immediately from ellie’s mouth as she glowered down at the girl. 

abby watched, stressed, as you attempted to follow your daughter. hoping to talk some sense into her. “christ. were we this bad?” she whispered to the brunette as she allowed her to rest her head on her chest. 

ellie nodded, biting back a laugh as she thought about the hell the three of you raised at your daughters age. “worse, i think.” 

and

three times they wished they could stop time

one

abby was on her knees, hands outstretched towards the toddler now standing in ellie’s hold. “c’mon, bug. you can do it.” she whispered, attempting to get you to take your first steps. 

you watched from her side, heart thrumming in anticipation as she lifted her tiny leg and placed it firmly back down on the floor. before you’d even realized, ellie’s hands were gone and she attempted to take another step- completely on her own this time. 

ellie stifled an excited noise as she watched the little girl raise her leg again, wobbling slightly this time, before placing it back down a little further. “she’s doing it!” 

abby glanced over at you momentarily before coming back to settle on the girl who was now just another tiny step away from her hands. “you’re so close, bug, so so close.” she murmured in support, fingers wiggling slightly to keep the little ladies attention. 

she braved the next step, stumbling a tad before landing directly in abby’s outstretched hands. a tiny giggle escaping her lips at the expression that now lived on abby’s face. 

two

“momma, come on!” the little girl grunted, attempting to pull ellie along faster. 

the four of you were headed to joel and jerry’s shared home, all for a little holiday celebration that your daughter hadn’t stopped talking about. 

she’d learned all about hanukkah (from dina and joel) and christmas (from jesse and abby) and hadn’t been able to live without experiencing it this year. so that led you trekking through Jackson’s half plowed roads to her grandpas place. 

abby had her arm around you, trying to Lee your both warm as you watched the pair in front of you. ellie had always been (arguably so) your daughters best friend, giving into her every whim when she asked. “she might rip her arm off.” the woman spoke quietly, looking over to you for a second. 

“oh she definitely will.” you chuckled in response, watching as your daughter ripped away from ellie’s grasp and took off in the direction of her grandpas house, causing ellie to yell something unintelligible before taking off after her. 

three

you stood in front of your daughter, pinning a curl into place as she waited for you to finish. it was the night of the snow ball, an annual dance in Jackson for the kids (and adults) to dress up and have fun. 

“okay, i think im done.” you smiled, crows feet crinkling at the edges of your eyes as you looked down at the little girl who was not to little anymore. “you wanna show your moms?” 

abby and ellie had been waiting patiently for the past half hour after your first initial ‘were almost done!’ call- but as the two of you rounded the corner, they couldn’t even find the words to complain. 

your daughter was dressed in the dress you wore to your first snowball in Jackson, that event being the one you first met the duo you now called wives at. her hair was curled and she looked towards the two with hopeful eyes, sparking them to comment. 

“oh wow.” ellie breathed, eyes becoming glossy in about half a second as she stood to move over to the two of you. “you look so beautiful.” 

abby had stood the moment she heard the two of you coming, and as she peered down at the girl she had grown with for so many years- she felt her cheeks become wet. “bug, you look so much like your mom.” she hummed, moving to wipe the tears from her face.