#there is a powerful juxtaposition here

[queenlucythevaliant]

On one side of the gallery above stood the men sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia, who had been let into the church before the others. Each of them had half his head shaved, and their presence was indicated by the clanking of the chains on their feet. On the other side of the gallery stood those in preliminary confinement, without chains, their heads not shaved.

The prison church had been rebuilt and ornamented by a rich merchant, who spent several tens of thousands of roubles on it, and it glittered with gay colours and gold. For a time there was silence in the church, and only coughing, blowing of noses, the crying of babies, and now and then the rattling of chains, was heard. [...]

The priest, having dressed in a strange and very inconvenient garb, made of gold cloth, cut and arranged little bits of bread on a saucer, and then put them into a cup with wine, repeating at the same time different names and prayers. Meanwhile the deacon first read Slavonic prayers, difficult to understand in themselves, and rendered still more incomprehensible by being read very fast, and then sang them turn and turn about with the convicts. The contents of the prayers were chiefly the desire for the welfare of the Emperor and his family. These petitions were repeated many times, separately and together with other prayers, the people kneeling. Besides this, several verses from the Acts of the Apostles were read by the deacon in a peculiarly strained voice, which made it impossible to understand what he read [...]

No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here was the greatest blasphemy and a supreme mockery of that same Christ in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realise that the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests, who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat and drink His flesh and His blood, but not as wine and bits of bread, but by ensnaring “these little ones” with whom He identified Himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from men the tidings of great joy which He had brought. That thought did not enter into the mind of any one present.

From Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy

[theboost]

Top three moments from robocop 2 that make me think that frank miller accidentally made robocop trans

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #45

[vampire-wizard-solidarity]

a lot of people have already pointed out how totk has a lot of themes of imperialism and generally leans conservative ideologically, but what i think is interesting is how totk subtly redefines what a “researcher” is.

zelda wants to be a researcher in botw, and what this means in the context of botw is largely someone who works with sheikah technology. she wants to figure out ancient sheikah tech, she has an interest in botany and otherwise nature and biology (the whole silent princess and the frog thing), robbie and purah, the two characters who are the closest to us seeing what a researcher in the context of botw is are basically inventors. in totk, however, the main researchers who are presented to us are all historians.

this is an interesting pivot, because in botw zelda is not really interested in history. if anything, the one who’s deeply concerned with history is rhoam, wanting to preserve historical tradition and his uncritical reliance on said tradition and historical precedent is what leads them to their doom. in botw, zelda is narratively opposed to history, if anything, all the ancient tech backfires on them and traditions fail to awaken zelda’s power. zelda’s urge to be a researcher is in wanting to understand the world around her, not just blindly follow ancient plans but rather have agency within them.

totk, however, is obsessed with ancient plans. the only real moment where zelda gets to geek out in totk is her getting all giddy about finding out more about the divine origins of hyrule. all the researchers in the game are concerned with finding out more about the zonai. since all the mentions of ancient sheikah technology are scrubbed from the game purah and robbie read more as strange outliers, the sheikah slate is no longer, now it’s the purah pad, a product of purah rather than something larger. the whole game is literally about following an ancient plan, a plan most characters don’t fully understand as they sign up for it. totk’s main story is built on confusion, on the characters not knowing what’s fully going on but having faith in ancient sages telling them what to do. in botw, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand was the thing that doomed you. in totk, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand is the gimmick.

that juxtaposition between the two games has an ideological through line: botw posits that progress is necessary. mindlessly relying on tradition doesn’t work. prophecies are omens, not instructions. history must be learnt from, not repeated. the ancient sheikah aren’t a group to be emulated, but rather to be learnt from, considering their machinery backfired and the royal family betrayed them. totk, however, is obsessed with the mythical history of hyrule, a time where everything was idyllic until one bad man showed up, a time we must emulate in order to win. i already talked about how the past in totk is zelda’s life pre calamity but better here, but that also plays into the idolisation of that era and its royalty. in botw, even the myth of the first calamity preserves the fact that the yiga clan has origins in the royal’s family persecution of the sheikah, even the time when they successfully held back the calamity is tinged with mistakes that still affect the world ten thousand years later. in totk, ganondorf’s origins are nebulous. nobody provoked him, nobody did anything wrong, he’s just evil because he is.

a lot of right wing ideologies are hinged on preservation, but more than that: the belief in the nebulous mythical past in which everything was better. “make america great again”, the fascist’s idolisation of ancient rome which is represented largely inaccurately, look at any conservative rhetoric and you’ll see people complaining about how things nowadays are ruined or are being ruined, how in the past things were this way and they’re not anymore, which is bad. the belief in the fact that in some past period we were great and are not anymore, and the strive to emulate that past is a trait highly typical of right wing ideologies. and in totk the past as a great era is an idea presented completely uncritically, the narrative is entirely controlled by the game and doesn’t dwell on any of the inconsistencies in this idea.

now, obviously, not every story in which a great ancient era exists is fascist, right wing or conservative. but to me what’s interesting specifically in totk is this shift between the two games: botw is critical of the past. it’s critical of arrogantly repeating history, it’s critical of having blind faith in great relics of the past. totk isn’t. totk idolizes the past, totk tells legends and tells you to believe them without any doubts. botw believes researchers are those who seek to understand the world, innovate it and solve problems without relying on ancient ways. totk believes researchers are those who discover ancient instructions, ancient ways and relay them to great men in the present to be followed. the four mainline regional quests in botw are about discovering four ancient relics that are terrorising the land and fixing the mistakes of the past. the four mainline regional quests in totk are about discovering four ancient legends are true, and receiving instructions from an ancient sage on what to do.

totk is not simply neutral, it is ideologically conservative in stark contrast to botw, because of the things it chooses to leave uncriticised, notably the things botw was very poignant about examining critically. the way totk redefines what is a researcher is indicative of this, indicative of the way it chooses to idolize or present as an unexamined good that which was nuanced in botw. totk isn’t just conservative in the sense that it presents uncritically a “good king” and “evil conquerer”, it goes deeper, it’s notable because botw was starkly opposed to the thematic axioms totk presents.

i just think it’s very interesting that they made a sequel to botw, and completely redefined or otherwise ignored botw’s thematic core.

[dduane]

The Young Wizards series turns 40!

...And yes, we're having a sale to celebrate. But that can wait. :)

I'm sitting here looking at the date and considering how amazing it is that, despite the changes in the publishing world, anything can stay in print nonstop for forty years.

But this book has. Here's how it started:

...Well, not how it started. It started with three things:

A newbie YA writer being deeply annoyed with a non-newbie one for (as she thought) stripping their teenage characters of their agency without good reason.

A suddenly-appearing joke involving two terms or concepts that wouldn't normally appear together: the 1950s young-readers' series of careers books with titles that always began So You Want To Be A..., and the word "wizard."

And the idea immediately springing from that juxtaposition. What if there was such a book? Not a careers book, but a book that told you how to be a wizard—maybe some kind of manual? One that would tell you the truth about the magic underlying the universe, and how to get your hands on it... assuming you felt you could promise the things that power would demand of you, and survive the Ordeal that would follow?

Six or seven months after that confluence of events, there was a novel with that joke-line as its title. A month or so after that, the novel was bought. So You Want To Be A Wizard came out as a Fall 1983 book, as you can see from the Locus Magazine ad above (from back when Locus was only a paper zine). The first reviews were encouraging.

And by the middle of 1984, the publishers were asking, "So, what's next?" A question I'm still busy answering.

There's been a lot of water under the wizardly bridge since. In SYWTBAW's case, this involved a couple/few publishers, a surprising number of covers, a fair number of awards here and there; and lots more books. (I always knew there'd be more, but how many more continues to surprise me. Which is a bit funny, considering how much stuff that universe has going on in it.)

So here we are at forty, and looking ahead to The Big Five-Oh with some interest. More books? Absolutely. Young Wizards #11 is in progress at the moment, and YW #12 is in the late concept stages. More covers for So You Want To Be A Wizard? Seems inevitable. A TV series, perhaps? (shrug) Stranger things have happened: we'll keep our fingers (or other manipulatory instrumentalities) crossed. The New Millennium Editions in translation? and in international paperback? Working on that right now. The sky's the limit.*

And meanwhile, to celebrate, just for today we'll have a sale. (Except in the UK. To our British friends, the usual sad apology: the expensive bureaucracy of Brexit has made it impossible for us to sell directly to you any more. Details here, with our apologies.)

As has been mentioned before, changes are afoot at Ebooks Direct, so this kind of sale won't be happening again for the foreseeable future. (In fact I thought we were all done with them already. But the number 40 suggested one last opportunity that wouldn't be recurring, so I thought, "Aah, what the heck? Let's.")

New things first! Today, to mark this occasion, we're introducing the "All The Wizardry" Bundle. This is Ebook Direct's entire inventory of Young Wizards works; the contents of the bundle are listed on its product page. The $29.99 price listed there is for today only, to celebrate SYWTBAW's birthday, and will go up as of 23:59 Hawai'ian time tonight. As always, should you ever lose your ebooks or need to change reading platforms, we'll change your formats as necessary, or replace the books, for free.

Just click here, or on the image below, for the "All The Wizardry" Bundle. (Please ignore the category listings under the "Pay Using..." icons on the product page: they plainly think they're in a different universe. Kind of an occupational hazard around here...)

The other, older kind of sale folks will have seen here is on the "I Want Everything You've Got" Bundle, which is the whole Ebooks Direct store—obviously including all the Young Wizards books as well: more than 2.5 million words in 36 DRM-free ebooks. Just for today, in honor of the birthday book, we're dropping the whole-store price to USD $40.00. This, too, will go away just before midnight Hawai'ian time tonight... and it will never be lower. So if you want everything we've got at that price, don't wait around.

Make sure you use this link or the one associated with the image to get the baked-in discount at checkout. (If it fails to display correctly, use the discount code "40FOR40" in the checkout's "discount code or gift code" field.)

Meanwhile? Onward into the next decade. The new A Day at the Crossings novel unfortunately won't make it out before the end of 2023; other work in-house currently has taken priority. But as for early 2024... stay tuned.

And for those of you who're Young Wizards readers, and have kept this book, and its sequels, alive for pushing half a century?

Thank you, again and always!

*Though actually, it's not, is it? As the proverb has it, "Wizardry doesn't stop at atmosphere's edge..."

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Edwige Fenech (The Seducers, Madame and Her Niece, Heads or Tails)—this might be a slightly cheeky submission but please understand that i must try given that she is the most beautiful woman in the world) Number 1 European sleaze babe! The star of many giallo movies and with a beautiful face like that, is it a surprise? Whether she's screaming in horror, making evil plots or seducing a hapless detective, I cannot avert my gaze from her striking eyes. Wonderful actress and absolute style icon <3

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

[geekgirles]

Just Look My Way

Can we please talk about the way the lyrics have changed from the original to showcase Stolas' growth and character development?

I was already surprised that what originally looked like it was just going to be a fan video ended up becoming canon content, but when I heard the different lines my mind exploded, you guys.

Note the difference, the major difference, in treatment!

In the original version, which released back in season 1 but before Ozzie's, Stolas' line was actually:

"Come now, my little impish plaything, we've both made our choice."

Keep in mind the original most likely included this line as a reference to what both Striker and Stolas said in regards to Blitzo's relationship with Stolas. Even our dear owl boy referred to him as just a plaything while saving him from D.O.R.K.S! Which most likely only helped cement Blitzo's internalised belief that Stolas would never see him as anything other than a cheap thrill.

Here, however, Stolas is cementing him as his dearest! A loved one! Someone he values and cares for! That is a huge difference from being just a sexual partner!

And the second line. OMG, THE SECOND LINE.

Unlike the original, where Stolas speaks of a choice that, realistically, was never there (as it usually is the case with relationships where there's a power imbalance and, moreover, were born out of transactional needs), this time he is reaffirming Blitzo's agency and independence. The implied choice is clear: Stolas will present the asmodean crystal to him so he no longer relies on his Grimoire and sleeps with him out of necessity. All that's left for Blitzo now will be to choose if he wants to remain by Stolas' side even then. And the choice is his.

As a quick aside, I also love the constant symbolism between Blitzo and the Moon.

Technically, compared to Stolas and the Earth, both are just satellites, nowhere near as important as a Goetia demon and member of Hell Royalty or a planet brimming with life and where beauty and wonder happen at every corner. And yet, without them neither can thrive. Stolas is as fascinated and dependent of Blitzo as the Earth is with the Moon. Without the Moon, there's no tides; it brings inspiration and romance to countless souls, brightening the night sky, just like Blitzo brightens Stolas' life.

Blitzo is Stolas' moon, and I just think that's beautiful.

Every word in this line in particular just oozes character development, too.

The original was:

"What's left for me in this broken house if I cannot have you?"

This is no longer about Stolas using Blitzo to escape his boring routine and his horrible marriage to Stella, it's about Stolas being deeply and hopelessly in love with Blitzo and not knowing what to do to convey that in a way that will reach him.

Once again, Blitzo has stopped being a mere plaything or boy toy and become so much more. He has become an essential part of Stolas' life he doesn't know what he'll do without but knows he'll have to let go of if that's what Blitzo wants!

Now, I must admit I am not exactly a fan of this change in these particular verses. On the one hand, I understand it's meant to reflect Stolas is trying to understand Blitzo and see things from is point of view, but I also feel it robs the moment of the raw feeling the original conveyed:

"Is this how she'd feel? Abandoned, all alone, left to fend for herself, for a semblance of happiness that doesn't have to end?"

"She" clearly referring to Via.

I just think it would have been more powerful to keep it and allow that juxtaposition between the most important people in his life to help Stolas understand Blitzo better. After all, he loves them both dearly and unconditionally, but his actions have also hurt them both very deeply.

I just think it'd be fitting if one allowed him to understand the other better.

Nevertheless, if there is something this song has taught me, is this: we are so not ready for the next episode.

[nyerus]

The Narrative Importantance of Hualian's Sexual Intimacy

This is a repost and minor edit of a thread I made on Twitter yesterday. This is a topic I have always wanted to talk about because of how often it comes up in TGCF fandom, time and time again.

‼️CW: mentions of sexual assault, self-harm, bodily injury‼️

⚠️Major spoilers for the entire novel ahead⚠️

---

Saw a question the other day on what relevance Hualian being sexually intimate by the end of the novel had to either the narrative or Xie Lian's character arc.

In short: it bears significant relevance, especially in context of other themes the novel explores like bodily autonomy.

Throughout the novel, we see time and time again that Xie Lian is often dehumanized by pretty much everyone—including himself—with the sole exception of Hua Cheng. I've talked more in depth about it in an old twt thread, for those interested. @/stalliondany on twt has also made an excellent recent analysis that goes deeper into the specific ways Xie Lian was used as a physical shield, martyr, or scapegoat for others without thought to his humanity or suffering. I highly recommend reading it first!

But to sum it all up: it's important to Xie Lian's character arc to keep in mind that he is used to seeing his own body as a tool to solve problems. And in crucial narrative moments, he is robbed of his bodily autonomy, and either brutalized or violated in service of others.

One of the plot points that ties together all these concepts is actually... Xie Lian's chastity vows. That will be the main focus of this post.

When he was a young teen (or possibly as a child), Xie Lian took an oath of chastity because such was the norm for cultivators seeking ascension in Xian Le. To Xie Lian, even as he grew older, he never had an issue with this because he just never felt sexual attraction to another person, or any desire to be intimate in that way. Even if he yearned for the concept of being loved. And indeed, at first glance, his chastity vows may seem like nothing more than a side note. Or even a funny gag when it comes to Hua Cheng (later).

In reality Xie Lian's chastity vows are not only used against him, but paint a very disturbing picture with regards to his repeated violation.

The Land of the Tender scene is the most obvious example of this. Xie Lian's vows are directly tied to his spiritual powers, and because it affects how his followers see him. They place a high value on his chastity as being vital to his moral character.

For reference, an excerpt from TGCF vol. 3 of the English print translation, page 135:

Xie Lian's method of cultivation required a pure body. Those who worshipped the ascended cultivators who practiced this path were firmly convinced of the transcendence of gods untouched by earthly desires. If they couldn't protect their purity, their following would no doubt collapse and their powers would be devastated. It wouldn't be as serious as plunging from godhood to back to mortality, and there was still the possibility of recovery after many more years of cultivation—but with things as they were now, there was no time for him to sit behind closed doors and cultivate for years!

As a reminder: it is Bai Wuxiang who orchestrated this whole thing. Him trying to compromise Xie Lian in this way is horrific on many levels, yet that's not the main point I want to make here. It's that to preserve his "pure body," the solution Xie Lian realizes is to severely harm himself. To impale himself with his sword through the abdomen.

The juxtaposition of having to maintain bodily purity versus the gruesome violence inflicted on his body is extremely stark.

This grim contrast is no more evident than in the 100 swords scene. Where Xie Lian's body is literally brutalized and defiled to an unthinkable degree. To the point where he, quote: "no longer looked human." Yet he emerges from that temple physically "pure" all the same. His chastity vows were not broken, his body healed without scars. As though he was untouched.... And yet, he was completely destroyed mentally. It left permanent effects on him as a person. It's even worse when the scene is read analogous to sexual assault, as many have talked about before. I think that interpretation actually hits the nail on the head, especially keeping in mind the Land of the Tender scene and all the similarities between them.

Following the 100 swords scene, Xie Lian of course has a complete disconnect between himself and his body. I believe this is part of why he doesn't really feel pain, except when he is with Hua Cheng, who treats him and his body as one. As a person who is cherished, and loved. Hua Cheng is adamant in his adoring treatment of Xie Lian. Small injuries are also something he cannot tolerate because he knows what horrors befell Xie Lian in the past. (He was present at both the terrible moments mentioned above.) He will not let any of that continue, regardless of what Xie Lian says, because he sees it as injustice.

Xie Lian is willing to use himself as a tool to help others no matter the personal cost. He even thinks of it as something he must do, or that he deserves as penance. But Hua Cheng is the one person who asks "what about you?" He's the one that insists "your happiness matters." And it is Hua Cheng that takes issue with Xie Lian's chastity vows as being unfair, unlike everyone else. Regardless of Hua Cheng's reasons for this diegetically, symbolically it means a lot that he is the one opposed to this.

Just thinking about the chastity vows on their own for a moment: Xie Lian can indulge a little bit in stuff like alcohol, which isn't great to begin with for him. But he absolutely cannot engage in "pleasures of the flesh." He can totally have his flesh ripped from his bones, literally, but actually experiencing any kind of sexual gratification? Now that would make him unclean, and lesser.... Why? Because unlike everything else, that's something Xie Lian would do simply for himself to feel good. And what greater crime is there than to ever dare put himself first?

So Hua Cheng—being the one person who puts Xie Lian first above all else—thinking that such a restriction doesn't make sense is important. Hua Cheng being the person who Xie Lian breaks those vows for in the end is important! (Especially because it seems to have been an easy choice for him.)

And of course, the scene with Jun Wu and the Virginity Detector Sword™ has to be mentioned. Again, there's symbolism to be had! The perpetrator of two of the most physically violating moments of Xie Lian's life (both of which were sexual in nature; one literally and one allegorically) being the one to "check" Xie Lian's virginity... oof. Yikes. It's dramatic irony. It's deeply uncomfortable. Especially because Jun Wu probably wanted to know if Xie Lian slept with Hua Cheng, as he already knew Xie Lian wasn't the ghost fetus' father.

So it's once again a stark juxtaposition: of Ghost King Hua Cheng disagreeing with the purity vows, wanting Xie Lian to break them for himself and his own freedom. Versus Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu wanting to weaponize those vows against Xie Lian in whatever way he can, intact or not, to keep control over him.

Naturally, there's something to be said for the real-world problem with such purity vows being used against people, to judge their moral character, societal expectations, etc. Elephant in the room. It's very on the nose, so there isn't even much to say about it that hasn't been said already.

In the end, it comes down to how horrible it is that when Xie Lian tries to help others, it results in immense harm to his body every time. Yet he is expected to continue to bear it, for centuries, by others and also himself. Until he meets Hua Cheng, who helps him rediscover what it means to be happy, and to be loved. So yes, it's absolutely relevant that in the end, Xie Lian decides to break his purity vows to be intimate with Hua Cheng. That he's able to put himself in Hua Cheng's hands, and let himself be treated with affection and desire. It's Xie Lian finally forgiving himself, and beginning to heal.

[weskie]

Perfectionist (Albert Wesker x afab!Reader)

18+ | this man deserves to hump the bed, oral sex (reader receiving), afab anatomy gn!reader, amab version here | Fic Directory

Particular.  Methodical. Precise.

Starved.

All words fit to describe the way Wesker handles you.  Even now, even with his face buried between your legs, he works with such intense mindfulness.  Every swipe of his tongue, each bruising nibble to your thighs or heady suckle to your swollen bud is done with the sole intention of bringing you the most pleasure possible.  

Wesker is a perfectionist, and you are the canvas upon which he will paint.  He will carve the beauty of your bliss into this world one swipe at a time, for hours on end if he must. Even in the midst of such a primal deed, he is nothing but grace– until he isn’t.  Until you catch, by sheer luck, the sight of his hips grinding down against the bed.  Just once. 

Just one little slip of his self control.

But how fucking euphoric to know you push him to such extremes.  That the mere taste of your nectar can unravel his unyielding poise is enough to undo you.  With your hands in his hair, gripping, tugging, voice squeaking and pleading, you feel the lightning strike of your release burst through you.  It tingles into your limbs, down your spine.  You arch and squirm, but he holds you in place effortlessly.

He always does.

And he doesn’t stop…  

He laps at you through all of it, fingers beckoning slick from your quivering cunt to feed his insatiable appetite.  His little sounds aren’t lost on you.  The heavy, panted breaths; the little moan here or there; that one particularly drawn out hum of delight when your thighs clamped tight around his head.  

You peer from under heavy eyelids when you feel his lips at your thighs once more, peppering soft kisses as you come down from your release.  To your surprise, his gaze is anything but soft– so unlike his actions.  You find him staring with determined, voracious eyes– red as ever, boring deep into you.  The juxtaposition ignites the strangest blendings of anticipation and adoration.  He’s promising you silently and loudly all at once: you belong to him. 

You are his down to the molecular level and beyond– to the little building blocks of each and every atom in your body. He has made his claim.

The fingers within you continue their motions and his thumb falls to your tender bud.  Wesker is silent as he works you back to madness, basking in the trembling of your legs, nuzzling against the inside of your thigh to feel and watch each and every reaction.  

You can see him faltering again.  So subtle, but you catch the way his hips move. Poor thing. His pants must feel so tight by now… 

You wish he wasn’t so damn dignified all the time.  If he’d only accept that he was allowed the simple pleasures, that he could let go of some of that pride and hump the bed like any normal man.  God, you’d fucking love to see it.  Even just that little gyration was enough to make you clench around his digits.

You can see in his eyes that he’s doing everything in his power to resist it.  

You use your grip in his hair to push him back to your aching core.  His lips curl in a smirk at your clit and you wish more than anything that you could kiss that damned look off his face.  

“Mm, god!” You mewl, knowing full well what such an exclamation means to him. Not a plea to a higher power, no… 

That title is his. 

“So, so good…” you gasp, pushing up to meet his soft tongue. Through the haze, you see it happen again. The smallest arch of his back, the lightest rocking of his hips. 

Is that what he needs? 

“That's– that's it!” 

Again. 

“Al… oh god!” 

Let him know how good he’s doing.

You resist biting back a moan, just to further test the waters. You let those little whimpers sing freely, let his name fall from your lips and your hands tug and pull at his hair. You even dig one of your heels into his back, and then you hear it. 

Nearly silent, Wesker's gasping, open-mouthed whine reverberates against your sopping folds. The sound dances to your ears, more beautiful than any melody to ever grace the world. 

Your fingers curl tighter in his locks, pressing him closer. With your back arched and feet braced, you grind up against his face. Both of his arms lock around your thighs as if, by some measure, to remind you that it’s only by his good graces that you’re allowed to use him so wantonly. 

Another weak noise quivers against your aching cunt, and you find it in yourself to fight off the tendrils of release seeping through every fiber of your being just to watch him.

“I love it!” You gasp, perhaps just a little too breathily.  “L-Love you!”

Which, of course, earns you that reaction you so desperately want.  This time your treat is two sharp rocks of his hips and the unmistakable creak of the bedframe protesting against his strength.

You’re playing such a dangerous game with him.  What if you get what you want, hm?  What if you make the man-made god come in his pants?  What then?

Surely there will be consequences for pushing him into such a position.  Perhaps he’ll make you lick him clean.  No, no… that’s hardly a punishment.  What if he threw you over his knee?

Also not quite the worst case scenario.

So you sing for him.  With every little breath, you vocalize how good it feels, how good he feels, until suddenly those subtle grinds against the bed are anything but and he’s practically growling against your heat.  

His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed, tongue fucking in and out of you while his nose presses to your clit, and he humps against the bed as though the panopticon of his pride had never been there at all to observe such a desperate act unbecoming of a god.

The sight sends you hurtling over the edge, back rising from the bed as you shiver and shake and gush more slick for his greedy tongue.  His name falls from your lips over and over like a prayer, and by the time your back hits the bed once more you hear and feel him finding his own release as he thrusts away at nothing.

The thought alone of what just happened is enough to make you see stars…

You pet through his hair affectionately, cooing praise until those piercing eyes crack open and stare lazily through the haze.  His mouth stays pressed at the base of your mound, slick glistening at the tip of his nose and the curve of his cheek– too invested in painting his masterpiece to realize he’d become part of it.

Eventually though, you manage to get him to crawl back up.  You thumb away at the mess, utterly hypnotized when he grabs your wrist and sucks your digit clean. You can see it in his eyes… You feel it in the way he kisses you.

Ever the perfectionist, Albert Wesker is far from finished with you.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Just a Little Sick

Wandanat x little!fem!reader

Summary: You're sick and your Mommy and Daddy are here to take care of you

Word count: 3K

Warnings: None fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm sick and I just want Wandanat

In the Avengers compound, the living area was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sneeze or cough from you all bundled up on the couch, swathed in your favorite blanket. Your trusted stuffie sat beside you, offering silent comfort.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, moved around the room, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your occasional whimpers caught Natasha's attention every time, making her heart ache.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Natasha asked softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. You sniffled, your eyes watery.

"Sick, Daddy," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You clutched a lollipop lozenge, the soothing taste providing a small comfort. Natasha smiled gently, adjusting your glasses for you.

"I know, sweetheart. Just rest, okay? I've got you." She tucked your blanket more securely around you.

The bond between you two was unique. In a world filled with heroes and battles, you two had found solace in your relationship. Today, as you battled your cold, Natasha's protective instincts were in full force, ensuring her little girl felt safe and cherished.

Natasha's fingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly typing up a report for Fury. Every few minutes, she'd glance over at you, ensuring you were okay. The juxtaposition was stark: the fierce warrior, known and feared by many, caring for the young, vulnerable girl who had a power greater than most could imagine.

A soft snore broke Natasha's concentration, and she looked over to see your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Smiling softly, Natasha reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to disturb you.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha continued her work, answering calls with a hushed voice, ensuring the noise didn't disturb your slumber. Every so often, she'd pause to jot down notes or sip on a cup of tea, the room filled with the sound of rain gently tapping against the windows.

Despite the pressing demands of her job, Natasha's priority was clear: ensuring you felt loved and protected, especially on days like this. The bond the two of you shared was unbreakable, built on trust, care, and a love that transcended the ordinary.

As the day carried on and Wanda came rushing in. "How is she Tasha?" Wanda asked in a panic, seeing the little one's sleeping form.

"She's got a cold. Trying to give her medicine was hell, but she enjoyed those lollipop lozenges you got. I wanted to make her soup, but I know she'd want yours more." Nat told her girlfriend. Wanda smiled, giving Nat a kiss.

"I'll get it started right away." Wanda got up going to the kitchen which was attached in an open layout with the living area.

Wanda's nurturing nature made her a perfect fit as "Mommy," complementing Natasha's protective instincts as "Daddy."

From the couch, you stirred slightly, your brows furrowing. Natasha was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your forehead. The medicine seemed to be doing its job; your temperature felt slightly lower.

A short while later, the aroma of homemade soup filled the air. Wanda emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. "I made her favorite," she said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.

Together, they carefully woke you, who blinked up at them sleepily. "Mommy?" she murmured, her voice raspy.

Wanda smiled warmly, brushing your hair back. "Hey, sweetheart. I made some soup for you."

Your eyes lit up a bit, and you nodded weakly, allowing Wanda to help you sit up. As Wanda fed you the soup, Natasha couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. In the midst of chaos and battles, they had found a semblance of home and family, and she cherished every moment of it.

°○°○°○°○°

Natasha observed from a distance, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched you shiver from the cold sensation of the fever patch. The bond between you and Wanda was evident in moments like these—Wanda's gentle reassurances calming you despite the discomfort.

Once the patch was in place and you were comfortably nestled back under your blanket, Wanda sat beside you, softly singing a lullaby, an old Sokovian one. The room was filled with the warmth of their love and care, a stark contrast to the chilly patch on your forehead.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "You're amazing with her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's temple.

Wanda smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's our girl, Tasha. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy."

°○°○°○°○°

"In a little bit we should give her a bath." Wanda mentions taking the empty bowls to the kitchen, Nat following behind.

"You cooked dinner, let me take care of the dishes." Nat said, putting her hands on Wanda's hips, kissing her shoulder. "Go be with our little one. I'm sure she wants Mommy cuddles." Nat mentions Wanda turning, kissing Nat on the lips,

"Thank you Daddy." Wanda whispered going back to the couch and moving onto the couch, having you lay on top of her.

°○°○°○°○°

Once the kitchen was in order, Natasha joined her two loves on the couch. You, now clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, snuggled comfortably against Wanda's chest. Wanda softly stroked your damp hair, humming a lullaby as the trio settled into the quiet comfort of their makeshift family.

Wanda got you dressed in comfy pajamas and helped get your dry. “How about we watch something little one?” Wanda asked softly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Please Mommy, can watch Bluey?” You ask as Wanda gets your paci, popping it in your mouth.

“Of course we can little one.” She smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

°○°○°○°○°

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you snored peacefully, still wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Wanda's emotional admission filled the air with a mix of vulnerability and love. Wanda smiled, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"What's wrong Wands?" Nat asks, noticing her girlfriend's mixed expressions.

"I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just never thought it'd be like this, but," Wanda looked up at Nat, the tears spilling over, "I wouldn't trade being her Mommy for anything in the multiverse or having you by my side as her Daddy." Wanda reached a hand out, Nat lacing their fingers together and smiling,

Natasha's eyes softened, and she squeezed Wanda's hand reassuringly. "We may not have expected this journey, but it's our own unique adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Y/N is lucky to have you as her Mommy, and I'm grateful every day to be her Daddy with you by my side."

Wanda nodded, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "She's our little miracle, isn't she?"

Natasha leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's forehead. "Absolutely, and our family is stronger for it.”

°○°○°○°○°

The three girls all ended up falling asleep with Bluey playing in the background. As morning came, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce made their way down to the kitchen for breakfast finding the three girls there all the Avengers knew of the girls special relationship and your needs at times. "They probably had a long night, Wanda was telling me as we came back from our mission about Y/N being sick." Steve mentioned.

Bruce, pouring himself a cup of coffee, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Nat mentioned it to me. It's good they have each other, especially on days like this."

Tony, flipping through a digital newspaper on his tablet, chimed in, "We've all seen how strong their bond is. It's heartwarming, really. Makes the compound feel a bit more like home."

Bucky, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, glanced over at the sleeping trio. "They're a team within a team. It's nice to see they've found their place here."

Steve smiled, looking at the scene before him. "Let's give them some space. I'll whip up some breakfast for when they wake up. They'll need it.”

Steve decided to gently wake Nat first. Who stretched out, bones cracking and popping from the way she slept. "Hey I made breakfast for you three. How's Y/N?" He asked softly. Nat leaned over feeling your forehead.

"She's going to need more medicine." Nat stood up. Going to the cabinet, grabbing the grape flavored liquid medicine along with a sippy cup of apple juice. Moving back over to the other two as the boys watched their dance with practiced ease. "Baby girl, it's time to wake up." You stirred in Wanda's arms, which made Wanda wake up as well. Nat smiled, kissing Wanda. "Good morning love." Wanda smiled back,

"Mmm morning sweetie." You rubbed your eyes, coughing up a storm.

"Owwwww" you whined. "Daddy..." Nat moved back to the couch, scooping you up,

"Medicine first baby girl and then your apple juice to get the yucky taste out." You pouted, but took the medicine, making a gross face and took the apple juice and sucking it down.

"Easy baby." Wanda rubbed her back,

"Yes Mommy." You eased up on your juice.

Steve watched the exchange with a sense of admiration. Despite the challenges and the morning's routine, there was a tenderness to it that he found endearing.

"Need anything else for her?" Steve asked, referring to the medicine.

Natasha shook her head. "We're good for now, thanks, Steve. Just need to keep an eye on her fever."

Bucky approached with a gentle smile, ruffling your hair playfully. "Hey there, kiddo. You had us all worried."

You gave a weak smile, leaning into Natasha. "Hi, Uncle Bucky.”

Tony, holding a tray with breakfast plates, smirked. "I made sure there's plenty of bacon. Thought it might tempt a certain little one."

Wanda chuckled, "You know her too well, Tony."

As the group settled around the dining table, the room was filled with the comforting sounds of a family breakfast, laughter, and the unmistakable bond that held them all together.

°○°○°○°○°

Wanda held you close, you were nestled against her, comforted by the warmth and love of your Mommy. Natasha had gone off to shower first as the room was filled with the hum of conversation as the remaining Avengers continued their breakfast.

Steve, sipping his coffee, remarked, "We've got a briefing later today. Nothing major, just some updates on potential new threats."

Tony, scrolling through his tablet, nodded. "Yeah, I've been monitoring some unusual activity. Might be worth looking into after the briefing."

Bucky, leaning back in his chair, added, "Well, if it's anything like last time, it'll be a team effort."

Wanda listened intently, her focus shifting between the conversation and the little girl in her arms. "Just another day in the life, huh?”

Wanda and Nat switched spots so Wanda could take a shower, you whined as she was shifted around after having fallen asleep.

"Shhhh it's okay Detka, Daddy's got you." Nat ran her fingers through your hair, calming you back down and grabbed a paci, rubbing her knuckle gently over your lips first to make you open up and then stuck the paci in.

"There, there, sweetheart," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. The pacifier worked its magic, and soon, your breathing evened out, your little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Steve, observing the tender scene, remarked softly, "You two have something truly special."

Natasha looked up, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "We do. It's a bond unlike any other."

Bucky nodded in agreement. "It's clear she feels safe and loved with you both. That's what family's all about."

As Wanda returned from her shower, refreshed and ready for the day, she smiled at the sight before her. "Thank you, dorogaya.”

Natasha nodded, carefully handing over your sleeping form. "Anytime, milyy. We've got each other's backs, always."

°○°○°○°○°

As the meeting began, Nat kept a hold of you who unfortunately for everyone had to be awake. You never enjoyed being forced out of little space for missions and debriefing. So a grumpy half little half adult was currently in Nat's arms as the secretary of state droned on and on and on.

Natasha tried her best to keep you calm, gently rocking you back and forth while the Secretary of State continued with the briefing. Your discontent was palpable, your little space clashing with the serious tone of the meeting.

Steve, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "If we could just summarize the main points, please. We have a lot to cover."

Tony, ever the provocateur, leaned over, whispering loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Think Grumpy Bear needs a timeout?"

Bucky smirked, "Or maybe just a nap."

Wanda, sitting beside Natasha, reached over, gently stroking your hair. "It's okay, detka. We'll be done soon.”

After hours of them being force fed information it was finally over and you were the exact opposite of happy between having to pretend to be an adult and being sick made you fussy beyond belief as everything Nat and Wanda tried currently wasn't helping so when they got back to the common room, Nat set you down as you started throwing a tantrum that turned into a full blown meltdown. Wanda wanting to intervene, but Nat stopped her. "She needs to let it out.”

Natasha's experience with you over the years had given her insight into your needs, especially during moments of distress. As painful as it was to witness your meltdown, Natasha knew that suppressing it wouldn't help.

The common room fell silent as the Avengers watched, their concern evident. Steve approached cautiously, "Should we give them some space?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with worry. "Yes, but it's hard to see her like this."

Bucky, leaning against the doorway, sighed, "She's been through a lot, even for someone her age."

Tony chimed in, "Is there anything we can do?"

Natasha shook her head, her focus solely on you. "Right now, she needs us—Wanda and me. We'll handle it.”

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, your cries began to subside, replaced by soft whimpers. Natasha approached, offering a comforting embrace, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here."

Wanda joined them, her own voice soft and soothing. "We love you, detka. Always."

You clung to your Daddy, sniffling and hiccuping out a 'sorry for being so cranky.' Nat just soothed you, "no baby it's okay." Nat spoke up rubbing her back, "you're sick and forced out of your preferred heads pace at the moment so it's expected. We still love you.”

°○°○°○°○°

You started nodding off, Natasha smiling at the scene as she got up, picking up the littlest Avenger. "Come on baby girl." Natasha held you close, grabbing all of your things and bringing them down the hallway.

The two loves of her life walked through the door as she finished getting changed after her shower.

"What are you two doing up here?" Wanda asks.

"Shhhh...she's finally gone down for a nap." Natasha responds, setting you on the bed. Making a cocoon of blankets and pillows, putting your stuffie back into your arms. Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Oh she's getting warm again." Wanda goes to the bathroom grabbing a cooling patch to put on your forehead, making you shiver as it got put on, but you didn't wake up, only turning over. "Nat I love her so much. She's too precious for words." Wanda spoke softly as Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, trailing kisses up the witches neck and jaw.

"You're such a good Mommy to her. You were meant for this." Natasha whispered.

"And you are the Perfect Daddy for her." Wanda responds, turning to cup Natasha's face, kissing the older woman's lips.

"Let's go watch something that isn't Bluey while she naps." Wanda says turning on the little baby monitor so they could watch over and listen while they headed back to the common area to watch something together finally having some time for just them.

As they made their way back to the common area, Natasha intertwined her fingers with Wanda's, the warmth of their bond filling the space between them. The weight of the day seemed to lift as they settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV providing a welcome distraction.

Wanda snuggled into Natasha's side, her head resting against her shoulder. "I'm so grateful for moments like these," she murmured, her voice filled with love and contentment.

Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's forehead, her heart swelling with affection. "Me too, my love. It's moments like these that remind us of what's truly important.”

Natasha and Wanda were actually able to make it through a movie before they heard you stir. Wanda gave Natasha a kiss before getting up. "I'll get her." As Wanda was heading out she heard the whimper from you,

"Mama...?" Wanda smiled, picking up her pace just a bit. Opening the door to their shared room, you sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit like a disheveled mess as she sniffled and coughed. "Mommy!" Her calling out started a coughing fit that made Wanda grab the little trash can near the bed.

"It's okay baby, cough up the yuckies." Wanda rubbed your back as you coughed up the phlegm and mucus. "That's it baby get it all out. It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Wanda whispered soothingly, gently wiping away the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

You sniffled, clinging to Wanda tightly. "I don't feel good, Mommy," you whimpered.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead, her heart breaking at her daughter's distress. "I know, baby. But Mommy and Daddy are right here with you, okay? We'll take care of you."

Natasha appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her features. "Is she okay?"

Wanda nodded, giving Natasha a reassuring smile. "Just a little coughing fit. She's doing better now.”

°○°○°○°○°

Your two girlfriend's took care of you the rest of the night and by morning you woke up feeling much better as you rubbed your eyes. As the other two stirred beside you, you smiled down at them.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my loves.” The two redheads smiled up at you,

“Always dorogaya.” Wanda's voice full of sleep as Nat sat up and kissed your cheek. You felt so much gratitude towards your girlfriend's for always taking care of you when needed.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa

[wilwheaton]

At the most fundamental level, the Republican project here is to use all the levers of power at the party’s disposal to erase a reality that cannot be erased: The case against Trump is based on things that actually happened, while the case against Biden is based largely on inventions. This project utterly collapses at precisely the moments when the two cases are compared side by side most unflinchingly. And given that this juxtaposition derives its ultimate force from the damning evidence of Trump’s transgressions, Republicans have no one to blame for this fiasco but Trump himself.

Trump Is the Big Loser as the GOP’s Impeachment Farce Implodes

[humanpurposes]

De Facto

She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done // Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest. 

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous. 

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image. 

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago. 

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself. 

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails. 

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?” 

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing? 

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much. 

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary. 

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure. 

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday. 

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough. 

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes. 

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding? 

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes. 

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason. 

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning. 

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace. 

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man. 

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it. 

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants. 

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about. 

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop. 

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need. 

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist. 

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy. 

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body. 

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips. 

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

[nayatarot777]

how do you come across to others (first impressions)?

check out my patreon here

pile one 🥪

cards: the world, 7 of swords, 10 of swords, 9 of coins, page of wands

people view you as someone who’s very complete within themselves and someone who’s a very well-rounded individual. people feel as though you’re one of the good people within the world who are actually genuine about their kindness and nice gestures/words to people. many people with trust issues seem to be able to trust you a little easier than others and you challenge their self-limiting beliefs. particularly their insecurities and things that they worry about regarding themselves. you restore their self esteem by picking up on certain attributes of their personality and their mindset specifically. which is something that they don’t experience often. you seem to be able to see through the bs. the bs being their ego in these first interactions. you have a very sly way of calling certain things out - mainly things that you don’t agree with and when you do, it’s backed up by logic. this seems to be a juxtaposition to what people see upon the very first instance that people meet you. from the outside, you seem to be very kind, sweet, nurturing (so people assume that you’re dumb), but if someone says something false or ignorant - morally wrong in your eyes - you have no problem in calling them out. you’re the person who says what everyone in the room wants to say but won’t say due to fear of conflict. you’re assertive in many different ways but “submissive”-seeming too. that’s why i’m feeling like many people may not trust that what you show is everything to you. there must be more submissiveness but most of all more assertiveness that you’re not showing too. and people are interested by that. obsessed by that even. a lot of you guys have to deal with people challenging you as a power play in situations. even people who you’ve never met in your life. and this is because you have a mix of feminine and masculine energy that is perfectly blended. you can’t see where it starts or where it ends. and that makes people highly intrigued but scared too. you could experience a lot of runner and chaser dynamics in your relationships - not just romantic. a lot of you may have pluto or lilith (maybe even uranus too) conjunctions to your ascendant in your birth chart - but with the planet/asteroid just before the ascendant, resting at the end of the 12th house (in the placidus house system or the whole sign house system for early-degree ascendants). this results in the blending of the 1st house and 12th house energies within your birth chart, and describes how and why you are able to be chameleon-like and switch up in situations. as well as people’s curiosity about this as a result. you guys are definitely one of a kind types of people. no matter how basic you dress or feel like you look. your energy is always going to be felt by anyone and everyone that comes into contact with you.

pile two 🍤

i’m just gonna be honest - and i want you guys to believe it because it’s basically the overall energy of this reading - people believe that you have something that most other people want to have. this is a physical thing so it could be money, physical appearance (natural beauty and a natural appearance specifically), stability within self due to self esteem, etc. this is something that is shown in the physical realm though. people don’t have to speak to you to see it. it’s either in the way that you look or your mannerisms and the way that your energy influences the way that your world looks - whatever that may mean to you. You seem to be someone who is extremely emotionally fulfilled by small things throughout a conversation or throughout your day. small things seem to bring you genuine happiness. your energy feels rich and heavy - but comfortable to be in. i’m picking up on taurus energy with this pile. or you could have a second house stellium in your birth chart. it’s assumed that the type of happiness and confidence that you portray could only manifest in someone who has achieved a lot. therefore you’re seen as someone of value. “high value”. people can just look at you and know that something about you or your personality or mind is “rich”. and i’m not specifically talking monetary (although it could be). i’m seeing richness in terms of the quality of something. like rich-tasting chocolate or cake 😭. people see you as a whole snack, pile 2. i heard that people want to figuratively “sink their teeth” into your energy. that sounds creepyyyy. i’m not feeling creep energy from this (although you could experience that often too 🙃) but for the non-creepy people, they think about you in a “deep” way. they want to get to know you deeply before they even talk to you a lot of the time, so they think about you a lot. more than they usually would about someone. again, i’m feeling obsessive energy, and a lot of these people don’t even know why they feel this way. your natural appearance and natural beauty could draw people into you. even people who wouldn’t usually consider you their type. you got people thinking that you’re their soulmate and i’m picking up on Pisces energy from that heavily. dark energy in general tbh - all of the water signs, houses, and planets in astrology, so these could be significant in your chart. damn, pile 2. 😂

pile three 🍿

cards: fragmentation, fated to suffer, perchance to dream, addicted, bride in a cage

significant numbers: 27, 25, 28, 11, 21

hi, pile three. welcome to your reading :)

for some reason, i was told to use oracle cards for your pile (one of the darker oracle decks that i have).

i’m feeling like people view you as someone who has been through a lot, especially upon first impressions. you seem to obviously be struggling with something and that observation evokes different intentions out of people. some people view you as someone who they want to help and attempt to save, and the more ill-intentioned people view you as someone who’s easily lead astray and gullible. i heard “confusion” so you might look naive and always lost. there are many different sides to you - you have a dreamy temperament mixed with depressed? you just don’t seem very happy as a person, but even so there are childlike qualities that shine through in your conversations with people or your reactions to things. with how you perceive things and view the world. as well as how you communicate? something about your voice or the way that you speak is very childlike and endearing. your beauty also stands out to people but there’s a guardedness surrounding you. like you’re “off limits” to the people who are attracted to you. people view you as a prize of some sort, but a prize that they can’t have. the childlike aspects of your personality let’s people see into your kind nature a little bit, but it seems like you’re someone who prefers to always be alone and maintain a distance between you and others. others feel as though it’s basically impossible to get to you. unattainability is a huge aspect of what people think of you when they first meet you, so i’m assuming that many of you are pisces/neptune/12th house dominant people. there’s also an energy of addiction here, and i’m getting two different messages about this. either 1) people get addicted to your energy or 2) people seem to be able to pick up on an addiction that you have. particularly a drinking addiction for many of you. others of you have an addiction to keeping other people at bay, not letting anyone get close to you. throughout this whole reading, i’m seeing a lack of confidence. people are confused about what your insecurities are. your insecurities aren’t obvious to others but your low self esteem is. nobody can really tell what you have to be insecure about. which is why they can tell that you’ve experienced a lot of hardship. you seem to always be sleepy or tired. just out of it in some way as you go around your daily life. again, like a child. and it’s quite endearing, even after people realise that you’re someone who zones out a lot and has a lot on your mind. you’re put on a pedestal by other people, which is odd because a lot of people view you as very quiet and reserved. maybe a lot of you barely speak, but your energy speaks for itself. you’re seen as someone who’s clearly going through a lot or someone who has been through a lot, yet you still manage to stay very connected to your inner child. and for that, many people view you as someone who they want to help, nurture, and put back together. but again, there are others who want to take advantage of who they see. i feel like you guys do a good job of defending yourself from those types of people, but please stay safe.

[cherryrainn]

I hope you are well!

Can I request a Hazbin hotel Vox x f!reader oneshot/song fic ( lavender kiss by the licks ) thats just something about a late night spent alone with him? Thinking romance, sweetness, how he is behind closed doors, just overall comfort stuff!

I found your work on ao3 and loooved the meet me in the pale moonlight songfic, it was breathtaking. You actually inspired me to start my blog, your writing is so lovely 🖤

Excited to see what you write,

Signed, Koko

━━ ✧ 𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; vox + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; HII!!! THIS IS SO SWEET. I'M SO GLAD MY WRITING INSPIRES PEOPLE!! YOU ARE SO SWEET AND THANK YOU SOSO MUCH !!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

the night draped itself over the bustling city of hell, casting shadows that danced to the rhythm of distant sirens and echoing laughter. within the confines of a luxurious penthouse suite overlooking the chaotic skyline, vox, the charismatic and enigmatic demon of technology, found himself immersed in a world far removed from his usual grandiose schemes and relentless pursuits for power. tonight, he was not the manipulative man craving attention but a partner, a lover, basking in the comforting silence that only the late hours could offer.

what is a man?

you, his beloved, sat beside him, the soft glow from his flat-screen tv head casting an ethereal luminescence across the room. the shimmering lights revealed the intricacies of his features—the red sclera, light blue pupils, and that captivating mouth with sharp teeth that emitted a gentle, soothing light. the juxtaposition of his imposing 7-foot stature and the tenderness in his gaze, as he looked at you, was a sight to behold.

what is a woman?

vox had shed his dark blue tuxedo jacket. his fingers delicately traced patterns on your hand, sending a comforting chill down your spine. the air between you was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that neither of you wanted to break.

what is a heart that loves inside?

"you ever think we'd get a night like this?" he asked, his voice dripping with a mix of mischief and genuine curiosity.

what makes a man

you leaned in closer, feeling the magnetic pull between you two. "in a place like this? never. but i'm glad it's with you."

fall for a woman?

a sly smirk crept across vox's face as he leaned back, pulling you into his lap. his light blue fingers traced lazy circles on your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

what makes a woman take his hand, baby?

"you and me both," he purred, his voice oozing confidence. "this place can be a dumpster fire, but with you, it's almost bearable."

in a wonderland

you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "only 'almost'?"

i'm in a wonderland

he laughed, a sound that echoed with a warmth you'd never heard from him before. "alright, alright, you got me. it's more than bearable; it's downright enjoyable."

take me back to this

the two of you lost yourselves in each other's company, the outside world becoming nothing more than a distant memory.

i just want you to want me

there were stolen kisses and tender touches, each one deepening the connection between you two.

i don't need any other hand to hold so near

as the night wore on, vox pulled you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "you know," he began, his voice softer than you'd ever heard, "i never thought i'd find someone who gets me like you do."

make me scream for this

you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "and i never thought i'd find someone as...complex as you vox."

i just want you to want me

his grin widened, revealing those glowing teeth. "complex, huh? i'll take that as a compliment."

i need your lavender kiss

with a tender smile, he cupped your face, his glowing eyes locking onto yours as if trying to etch the memory of this night into his very being.

who is your man?

"you're somethin' else, you know that?" he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "never thought i'd be caught in the feels like this."

who is my woman?

you chuckled, your heart fluttering at the unexpected vulnerability in his words. "feelings are a wild ride, vox."

where is my heart that loves inside?

vox leaned in, closing the distance between you with a gentle, lingering kiss. his lips were soft against yours, a testament to the tenderness that lurked beneath his charismatic exterior. as he pulled away, a mischievous glint returned to his eyes.

what makes a man

"maybe hell isn't so bad if it means more nights like this," he mused, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

fall for a woman?

the two of you shared another kiss, deeper this time, as if trying to savor every fleeting moment. vox's hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwining, grounding you in the reality of the connection you shared.

what makes her think she can take it back?

"who would've thought the big-shot vox could be such a softie?" you teased, earning a playful smirk from him.

in a wonderland

"hey, don't get used to it," vox replied, his tone light but affectionate. "i've got an image to uphold, you know."

i'm in a wonderland

the room filled with the quiet symphony of laughter and hushed conversations, punctuated by stolen kisses that spoke of a connection that transcended the chaos outside.

take me back to this

vox's lips found yours again and again, each kiss a promise, a vow, and a silent declaration of something deeper than words could convey.

i just want you to love me

as the sun continued its ascent, bathing the penthouse in a golden glow, vox held you close, his head resting against yours. "this," he murmured, "this is what makes it all worth it."

i don't need any other hand to hold so near

"you've got me, you know? all of me. and that's not something i give freely." said vox

make me scream for this

"i know," you whispered, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "and i promise to cherish every part of you, vox."

i just want you to want me

a contented sigh escaped vox's lips as he buried his face on the top of your head, planting soft kisses along your collarbone. the sensation sent tingles down your spine, each kiss a testament to the depth of his affection.

i need your

minutes, or perhaps hours, seemed to slip away as you and vox lost yourselves in each other's embrace. the world outside faded into insignificance as you reveled in the intimacy of the moment, each touch and whispered word deepening the bond that connected you.

oh, i need your

finally, as the sun reached its zenith, casting a radiant red glow that illuminated the entire penthouse, vox pulled away slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "promise me something," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

"anything," you replied, captivated by the vulnerability in his gaze.

"promise me you'll always be mine," he murmured, his voice laced with a trace of uncertainty and vulnerability. "promise me you'll always want me, that you'll never walk away." vox whispered, his fingers tracing your lips.

oh, i need your

you nodded "i promise," you vowed, sealing your promise with a tender kiss.

[nayziiz]

Hi I dunno if you’re taking requests but if you are do you think you could do a smut one shot where either Charles or Carlos is always like super cocky and confident in public and the reader finds it funny because she always has him whimpering and whining for her in private? Maybe like a bit of a dumbification kink too? Thank youuu

BRAVADO | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (she/her)

Warnings: Smut, fluff, unprotected sex, dumification kink

Author's Note: Yes, please send in your requests! I might take a few days to write it, but I will try to do it justice - I hope you like it anon! I haven't written anything for a dumification kink, so I tried my best here.

Masterlist

Carlos's public bravado could fill a room, his confidence radiated like a beacon wherever he went. With a swagger in his step and a smirk on his lips, he commanded attention effortlessly. His words dripped with self-assurance, and his demeanour exuded an air of invincibility. To the outside world, he was the epitome of cool, a picture of unshakable confidence. 

When she was with him, Carlos's bravado seemed to reach new heights, as if her presence ignited a fire within him that fueled his confidence to soar even higher. In her company, he appeared even more self-assured, his swagger more pronounced, and his demeanour more assertive.

It was as though being around her amplified his sense of power and invincibility, emboldening him to push the boundaries of his bravado to the extreme. With her by his side, he revelled in the attention, basking in the admiration that her presence seemed to command. With her radiant beauty and magnetic presence, she effortlessly commanded attention wherever she went. Her grace and allure were undeniable, drawing eyes to her like moths to a flame. And when she stood by Carlos's side, his chest swelled with pride, basking in the glow of her admiration.

He loved the way heads turned when they entered a room together, the whispers and stares that followed in their wake. It was as if her beauty cast a spotlight on him, elevating his own presence in the eyes of others.

As they arrived at the Chinese Grand Prix, the pair strolled hand-in-hand, their presence commanding attention from the moment they stepped foot onto the bustling scene. The cameras surrounded them almost immediately, eager to capture every moment of their presence at the prestigious event. Reporters clamoured for interviews, fans reached out for autographs, and photographers vied for the perfect shot, all vying to capture the essence of their undeniable chemistry and charm.

Yet, amidst the chaos, Carlos remained unfazed, his hand firmly clasped in hers as they navigated the sea of attention together. For him, there was no greater thrill than sharing these moments with the one he loved, basking in the adoration and admiration that surrounded them.

As the press clamoured to ask her questions or get her opinion on his season, his cocky demeanour came to the forefront like a shield protecting the one he held dear. With a sly grin and a twinkle in his eye, he deflected questions and bantered with reporters, his confidence unwavering even in the face of scrutiny.

Yet, beneath the surface, his protective instincts kicked into overdrive, a fierce guardian watching over her every move. While he showed her off like nobody's business, he was quick to intervene if he sensed any discomfort or intrusion. His swagger masked a vigilant eye, ready to step in at a moment's notice to ensure her comfort and safety. He may have enjoyed the attention too much at times, but his priority was always her well-being, his protective instincts kicking in instinctively whenever she was in the spotlight.

As they made their way through the bustling paddock, the love of her life exuded an aura of confidence and charm that never failed to captivate her. She couldn't help but chuckle at his swagger, amused by the juxtaposition of his public persona and his private demeanour.

Though she adored seeing him command attention in the paddock and on the racetrack, it was in their private moments that she truly enjoyed his company. Behind closed doors, he transformed into a different man—a man who succumbed to her every whim and desire, his bravado melting away to reveal a vulnerable, obedient side.

She loved the dichotomy of their relationship, the way he projected strength and confidence to the world, yet willingly became her devoted servant in private. It was a dynamic that brought them closer together, a secret bond shared only between them.

Once they were behind the closed doors of his driver's room, the air between them shifted, charged with a mix of anticipation and intimacy. She wasted no time in teasing him gently, her words carrying a hint of playful admonition.

“You better do well today,” she told him, her tone laced with a mixture of teasing and encouragement. It was a familiar refrain, a gentle reminder of the high expectations that surrounded him on race day.

Carlos's bravado, already softened by their private moment together, melted away completely as he gazed at her. In that moment, there was no need for pretence or posturing—just the raw honesty of their connection.

A knowing look passed between them, an unspoken understanding of the pressures he faced and the support she offered. In her eyes, he found reassurance and strength, a silent promise that no matter the outcome, he would always have her unwavering support.

In the hushed intimacy of their darkened hotel room later that night, the atmosphere crackled with electricity as she straddled him, her movements deliberate and enticing. With a playful glint in her eyes, she pinned his hands above his head, a subtle display of power that sent a thrill coursing through him.

Carlos's breath came in ragged gasps, his body tense with anticipation as she hovered above him, her proximity driving him to the brink of madness. Despite the exhaustion of the day's events, he was acutely aware of every sensation, every touch sending shivers down his spine.

She was intoxicating, her presence filling the room with a heady mix of desire and longing. With each movement, she teased and tantalised, her touch igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole.

“Tell me how much you want it, Carlos.” She murmured against the skin of his neck as she hovered over him..

The heat of her breath against him sent a surge of arousal pulsing through him, igniting a fire within that threatened to consume him entirely.

As she ground against him, her movements deliberate and tantalising, Carlos felt himself teetering on the edge of control. The sensation of her grinding over his swollen and throbbing cock was almost too much to bear, each movement sending waves of pleasure cascading through him.

His breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to find his voice, his mind clouded with a haze of desire and longing. He wanted her with a fervour that bordered on obsession, his body aching for release as she teased him with every touch.

He was powerless beneath her, surrendering to her every whim as she drove him to the edge of ecstasy. The weight of the day's challenges faded into insignificance as he lost himself beneath her, their passion burning bright against the backdrop of the night.

“I can't wait much longer, my love,” he confessed, his voice a soft whimper that echoed with raw emotion. “I need to feel you.”

As she shifted her weight onto his throbbing cock, grinding against him with renewed intensity, Carlos's breath hitched in his throat, his body on the precipice of ecstasy. Each movement sent bolts of pleasure coursing through him, driving him to the brink of release with dizzying speed.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion, she shifted her movements, slowing the pace and denying him the release he so desperately craved. A low groan escaped his lips as frustration mingled with desire, his body yearning for the sweet release that remained agonisingly out of reach.

She had other plans for him, he realised, her teasing touch driving him to the brink of madness with each tantalising movement. It was a game of pleasure and restraint, a dance of desire and denial that left him trembling with need.

“Be good for me, baby.” Her words, soft and imploring, cut through the haze of desire clouding Carlos's mind, momentarily grounding him in the intensity of their shared moment. 

Despite the overwhelming urge coursing through his veins, he fought to regain control, to heed her plea and be the good, obedient lover she desired. Carlos found it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. His body moved instinctively, his hips bucking against hers in a desperate quest for more friction, more sensation.

The need for release burned like a wildfire within him, threatening to consume him whole. With each movement, he felt himself edging closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his desire.

“Please,” he managed to choke out, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with desperation. “I need..”

“Oh, baby, listen to you losing your words for me,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she continued to tease him.

Carlos's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realised the effect her teasing had on him. He squirmed beneath her, feeling simultaneously aroused and humiliated by his inability to articulate his desires.

But deep down, a part of him loved the sensation of being rendered speechless by her, finding a strange thrill in the loss of control. There was something undeniably intoxicating about surrendering to her will, about allowing her to dictate his every whim and desire.

As she continued to taunt him with her playful words, he felt himself growing even more aroused, his body responding eagerly to her teasing. With each passing moment, he sank deeper into the deliciously humiliating pleasure of being dominated by her, his mind consumed by thoughts of submission and surrender.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she decided to end his torture, her fingers curling around the waistband of his boxers. With a swift motion, she pulled them down, exposing his completely hardened cock to the cool air of the room.

Carlos gasped as his arousal was laid bare, his breath catching in his throat at the sudden rush of sensation. He felt exposed and vulnerable, yet exhilarated by the raw display of desire.

As she admired him, her gaze lingering hungrily on his throbbing length, Carlos squirmed beneath her, overcome with a heady mix of embarrassment and arousal. But there was no denying the undeniable thrill that coursed through him at the sight of her, his body responding eagerly to her touch.

With a playful smile, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He shivered at the sensation, his heart pounding with anticipation as she teased him mercilessly.

She eventually ended her onslaught of torture as she gripped his cock, firm and unyielding. Without hesitation, she sank down onto him, impaling herself on his hardness with a gasp of pleasure.

Carlos's breath hitched in his throat as she began to ride him, her movements slow and deliberate, each thrust driving him deeper into the throes of ecstasy. He clung to her desperately, his fingers digging into her hips as he surrendered himself completely to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

As she rode him with abandon, Carlos felt himself teetering on the edge of oblivion, his senses overwhelmed by the dizzying rush of sensation. He was helpless to resist her, his body a slave to her every whim as she drove him relentlessly towards the brink of release.

And then, with a guttural cry of ecstasy, he finally succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his climax crashing over him in a tidal wave of bliss. He pulsed helplessly inside her, his entire being consumed by the intense pleasure of their shared release.

He struggled to find his voice, his mind still clouded with the remnants of ecstasy as he tried to form a coherent response. But no words came, his tongue feeling heavy and uncooperative in his mouth. He could only gasp and moan in response to her taunts, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of their shared release.

She chuckled softly at his inability to respond, her eyes dancing with amusement as she continued to tease him mercilessly. With a playful smirk, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered tauntingly, “Come on, Carlos, where's your voice, my love? Or did I fuck it right out of you?”

Her words sent a shiver of arousal coursing through him once more, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his inability to articulate his desires. Yet, despite the teasing, there was a warmth in her tone that reassured him of her affection, her playful banter a testament to the intimacy they shared.

As she pulled off him and nestled beside him, Carlos felt a rush of tenderness wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they basked in the warm afterglow of their passion.

“You're going to be the death of me, my love,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with a mixture of adoration and playful exasperation.

She chuckled at his words, the sound like music to his ears as she snuggled closer to him. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting embrace of her arms, Carlos felt a profound sense of contentment, knowing that he was exactly where he belonged.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together in a cocoon of love and warmth, Carlos knew with absolute certainty that he would gladly risk it all for the chance to spend eternity by her side.