#the muse demands my compliance

[caedmonfaith]

Today I got told I need pelvic physical therapy and if you think for one damn second I’m not writing a smutty fic with that you really just don’t know me at all.

#I might do it in every fandom #just for the shits and gigs #the muse demands my compliance #I am the muse’s bitch

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ HIDDEN HEARTSTRINGS Pt. 2 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxx

A/N: Don't kill me please guysss! I started like 3 classes last week so I haven't had time to write!

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ SLIGHT BDSM ] + [ CREAMPIE ] + [ BRANDING ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxx

Swallowing your pride was easier said than done. Every nerve in your body screamed to move away from Alastor, cower somewhere safe and out of his reach, even if it wouldn't do you much good. He could do as he pleased with you, demand your obedience as he saw fit, and force your compliance without a second thought.

All of that imminent control loomed over your head and weighed your chest with anxiety while the courage to speak faltered, but as scared as he made you feel, he still felt like the safest person to be around.

Sitting there, in his lap, alone with no chance of avoiding him, was personalized torture. You hadn't muttered a completely coherent phrase since he'd brought you to the Radio Tower, face burning rose red as your brows knitted together with worry and your eyes fixed on the details of his suit rather than his face. You noted how smooth and taut the fabric spread over his form; you'd always been aware of how much larger the stag was compared to you; his thighs were firm against your ass which helped spread your softer ones apart. If you so much as shifted an inch or he decided to lift his leg, your skirt would ride up and reveal what was hidden underneath. A perfect position to rut in, a prime opportunity to alleviate the ache building in your cunt, but you refused to admit or show the desire to do so in his presence.

You'd have to take care of it yourself later in the evening like always. The objective of walking out of this intense situation was your concern at the moment, and so you lifted your head to stare at him, hopefully.

“What I said earlier…” you trailed off as Alastor hummed, a low crackle coating the noise as he brought a hand to rest under his chin. You watched as he leaned back, utterly relaxed, waiting for you to continue.

The smirk on his face annoyed you, a clear sign he either found your flustered state inconsequential or laughable. It wouldn't be abnormal for Alastor to react that way; it was his nature, and your fire little crush on him wouldn't change that.

I might as well get this over with…

Your face fell into a pout, hands raising to hug your arms to ease the goosebumps rising on your skin. “What I said earlier was in the heat of the moment. You're my master, and I see you as nothing more..”

The lie stung your tongue as it slipped off, gaze hardening to mask the disappointment felt in yourself for doing so.

Alastor remained silent; an elongated beat of anticipation hung above you both, growing denser as his predatory red eyes bore into yours. “I see,” he muses, voice low and thoughtful, but his smile strained.

“You feel nothing for me at all, my dear?”

You nod timidly, counting the seconds until he lets you off his lap and allows you to leave, “Nothing at all.” You repeat, gulping a whimper down as his free hand kneads the fat of your hips. “I'm not sure I believe that, darling. You’ll need to prove it to me.”

Your eyes widen, your tummy backflips, and your hands ball into tight fists as panic sets into your bones.

He couldn't be serious?!…

“W-what? How am I supposed to do that?!” you whined defiantly, frustrated with the stag and unbearably antsy.

Now, he was toying with you. Like always, you didn't deem that fair on his part -as if he ever played by any rules.

Alastor cocked his head to the side, “Oh, I think you're well aware of how sweetheart. It's truly a matter of what you prove to me by the end.” The commotion of radio static overlapped his voice heavily, emphasizing his hidden command with demonic prowess, and your body buzzed with unbridled fear at the sound.

What the hell is he talking about?..

Wait…

Within seconds, your brain caught up to his implication, and your hips instinctively bucked forward. Embarrassment crept up your spine, written all over your face as the overload chuckled at the impulsive action.

It would help if you had forced yourself up; you should've put up more of a fight as his hand on your hip lowered to slip under your skirt and up your inner thigh. It would help if you had leaped away, ran, or done anything to distance yourself and Alastor.

Yet, all you could manage was a soft, “Please don't..” as he touched you, but your plead received no compliance. Your body betrayed your consciousness; arousal pooled on his deft digits as he pushed two past your lace panties and straight into your eager cunt. The unusual invasion had your walls clamping down hard, spasming with need as he roughly curled his clawed fingers forward, and you yelped in shock at the immediate assault of your sweet spot. You weren't accustomed to being stretched by anyone else besides yourself, used to your fingers, but constantly thinking of having Alastor’s inside of you instead.

He was anything but a gentle demon, so you'd conclude that he'd be brutal in bed, but it still overwhelmed you. “You're not convincing me very well, little one.” his free hand found your face, clutching it tight as he dragged your head up to pull you closer. You whimpered as his nails pricked your soft skin, adding to the mix of agony and amazement you felt while he stretched your cunt in an unpredictable pattern.

“I. I don't feel anything for you. I’m not lying-ah! Nngh! Mm..” you writhed in his grasp, trying to pull away but only amplifying the friction of his hand against your cunt. Alastor pressed his palm to your clit, dragging a surprised scream from you as he rubbed slow circles on it. You lost it then, mind shutting off as he edged you tirelessly, and the added pressure on your bundle of nerves collided with the fullness his fingers provided.

Alastor hovered his lips above yours, drinking in your sultry whines and bashful moans. The fear never faded from your eyes; battling the lust that threatened to take its place and seeing the conflict in your innocent nature had his blood running hot.

Ruin you.

He wanted nothing more than to chip away at your indifferent demeanor, know just how soft and gullible you could be for him, and figure out how to abuse it until your soulbinding contract extended to ownership of your body.

His cock twitched to life at the thought of fucking you, dumb; hearing you admit over and over again that your affection for him knew no bounds doused his being in pure excitement.

A growl rumbled in Alaster's chest; his antlers grew larger with every desperate moan you let out, and his ears twitched upon hearing them reach a higher pitch.

You were dangerously close to your end, thighs quivering from the force of his hand thrusting against your slippery folds, slick dribbling down your inner thighs, which created an absolute mess on his lap.

“Look where your sweet little lie got you, my dear. Desperate for pleasure and willing to whore yourself out to me to prove a pathetic point..” The coil in your stomach wound tighter as the owner of your soul belittled you; the harsh word should've wounded you and made your senses reignite, but all it achieved was bringing tears to your eyes.

Bit by bit, your self-esteem declined, dulling the pride that ruled your heart and scattering to the furthest parts of your brain as he curled his fingers forward against a spongy sweet spot. “Oh fuck!” you shouted, trying to raise your hips away from him as a dizzying high rushed through your veins, steadying yourself by fisting the lapel of his suit for dear life. Alsstor turned his gaze downward, breathing in the scent of your cum with a pleased him vibrating in his chest as the creamy liquid drenched his hand, “Never imagined a tiny thing like you could make such a mess .” He slowed his pace, milking your cunt for all it was worth, marveling at how much cum he could extract from you with just his touch.

You shivered violently, choking on wanton screams and feeling lightheaded as he continued to stretch your gummy walls. If he didn't let up soon, you'd unravel again, faster than the first time, and so with the last bit of your self-awareness, you slumped forward into his chest before pulling your head to whisper in his ear.

“Wanna feel you, please.. I'll say whatever you wanna hear. Just fill me up, please.” The hold you had on his coat tightened, your claws elongating as a feverish need built in your core again, intensifying as Alastor nipped at your ear. You jolted, whimpering as his fangs drew blood from you, and the roar of white noise died down to allow his average voice clarity as he muttered into your skin. “Begging becomes you, my dear.”

The satisfied laugh he let out burned you, consumed you entirely, and though it felt cruel to hear it, you smiled proudly.

Your desperation pleased him. That was all you cared to know or think of as he withdrew his slender, blackened fingers from your generously stretched entrance. He left you empty, dripping with excitement and purring in his ear for more.

“Mmm, sweet, you are a little one. You should have a taste as well,” Alastor lapped at his hand, tongue lazily running from the heel of his palm to the tip of his claws, savoring your essence with a widening grin before pushing a single-digit pad on your lips. “Mphm,” you whine as you suck, eyes rolling as the mixture of your drool, his saliva, and the lingering residue of your cum dissipates onto your tongue like melting honey. He watched you intently, finding your willingness adorable, “Yes, just like that little one. Give me your all…show me how filthy you can be..”

His praise was enough to make you come again, untouched but gushing as if he'd shoved his fingers back inside you. The blush on your cheeks grew, shy whines spilling past your spit-slick lips, muffled as he replaced his hand with his own. Alastors tongue found yours, forcing it to compete for dominance, though it was apparent you were far from intelligent thought, and you let him explore your mouth as he pleased.

Borboun, blood, & brimstone.

That's what the Radio Demon tasted like, and you greedily accepted one heated kiss after the next, mewling and trembling as he sunk his fangs into your bottom lip. The deliberate pain he inflicted shocked you into a stupor; blood doused your tongue and consequently coated his as well. Alastor groaned in delight as you squirmed against helplessly, fearing the taste of your blood and afraid he'd draw more of it if you didn't break yourself away from him. He let you struggle, pants tightening at his crotch, an almost painful pulse coursing through his cock as your small body tried to peel away from him.

“Careful, little one,” he disconnects the kiss, breath fanning over your swollen lips as he warns you, and fear gets the better of you then.

Alastor could hurt you.

He would if it pleased him.

You'd crossed a line into territory no bound soul should ever do with its captor.

The limits you set not longer applied, thrown to the wind as the stag turned you in his lap, ripping your skirt and panties to shreds with a pass of his claws. You watched the fabric float to the floor at his feet, unconsciously shaking as he snaked his arms around your chest and waist, hugging you close like a puppet tied to his strings. You were exactly that, a frightful little thing who could barely think straight as he reached to undo the front of his pants, pulling his cock free with a heavy growl in your ear.

Your eyes went wide, feeling his length against your Lowe back, warm, throbbing, and not a size you could take in one go -let alone for the first time. “That's not going to fit-,” He rutted against you, silencing your apprehension with a statiky groan, “Nonsense, sweetheart. You've done splendidly for me so far. I know you'll be just fine..” Alastor had lost control of his voice, letting it slip into normalcy as lust clouded his judgment, and the minuscule deviation made you dizzy.

Did you entice him that much to the point he faltered in his persona?

Fascinating.

A shallow giggle left your lips as he mumbled obscenities into your ear, switching between adamant praise and shameless degradation while his shadow tendrils materialized around your thighs. You squealed quietly as they dug into your skin, lifting you off his lap just high enough to hover your count over his cock. “Take a breath, darling,” Alastair whispered, a hint of care in his tone, and you craned your head to give him a curious look, “Why-?! Alastor! Fuck, wait!-” You yelped as his shadows pulled you down onto him with force, knocking the wind out of your chest and gradually splitting your cunt open to fit him entirely.

It hurt like hell, as if you were being ripped down the middle, but as quickly as the agony began, pleasure burned in its wake. Alastair felt it first, antlers doubling my size as his claws dug into your skin and his patience waning thin. Your creamy walls engulfed him deliciously, a feeling he could only describe as heavenly, intensifying with every resistant jut of your hips.

“S’ too much! Al, please,” you cry, out of breath and lightheaded. One glance downward, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to take much more, a small mound already visible in your stomach and your cunt squelching as he shifted underneath you. “Oh, but you feel so divine, little one.” He coos in your ear, growling a curse when you sink on his cock inch by inch, and your hands fly to grip at his larger ones that rest over your breasts and abdomen.

His encouragement rings in your ears like bells, diverting your frenzied doubts long enough for your body to be tense, allowing his shadows to bring you down.

Thank satan, I’m dead already, or this would surely be my end…

Alastor groaned loudly, head tipping back, crackling waves of white noise emitting from him as you took all he had to offer. “Knew you could do it, baby. Fuck, I’m so proud…of you,” the overload drawled lazily, smiling softly as you went weak against him, mindlessly rolling your hips to take him deeper.

To hell with thinking about anything. You found no use for it being stuffed full with no choice of escape.

You thought about him all day.

Did what he asked of you, obediently and without complaint.

Caring for him was bound to happen; craving to know what it felt like to have him all to yourself couldn’t be helped, so why deny this glorious opportunity to quell both desires?

Strings attached or not, you wanted him and couldn’t bear lying about it any longer.

A sick smile etched its way onto your face, spreading wide as you took control of your hips, setting a timid pace to get accustomed to his size. Alastor huffed a laugh, head tucked in your shoulder, fangs nipping at any skin he could reach while you slid up and down his length. It was no easy task for a fragile demoness like yourself, the little strength you had dwindled quicker every time the head of his cock hit your cervix. Yet, you couldn't stop moaning louder, slamming down harder to feel the burning stretch that followed tingles of pleasure as your warm walls committed the very shape of him to memory.

Alastor peered at your face, red eyes glowing as they zeroed in on your twisted expressions—satisfaction, pain, determination, and desperation.

He'd never imagined you to make such faces, used to seeing your usual sweet smile that could melt the coldest heart or the delicate frown you'd present when something didn't go your way. You hid a lot from others, him exceedingly, and he couldn't be you for it.

However, if this is what you looked like, delirious and nearly fucked out, he wouldn't mind seeing you express yourself in his presence.

All that need in your eyes when you levered your head back, the stars in them when he began to meet your tired thrusts with vigorous ones of his own, and the blissful scream you let out in gratitude amounted to a resolution he'd previously set aside.

Owning your soul would never be enough.

No, the radio demon needed a tangible claim to you, a mark of some sort to let every being in hell know your body belonged to him.

“Tell me, do you wish to be mine, Y/n?…” he held your gaze, hands finding your hips to slow the rise of them, and you immediately whined an answer to his question from the loss of friction. “Yes..w-whatever you want from me, I'll g-give it… hmm.” your skin crawled as the knot in your stomach begged to slip free, enduring solid strokes from the demon holding you, shamelessly covering you into another deal.

One that'd leave more than a green chain around your neck.

Alastors ears twitched at your confession, signaling his amusement, but the action went unnoticed by you as he hovered a hand over your chest. “A wise choice, my dear,” he muses, a green glow passing from your palm to the center of your chest, eliciting an intricate sigil on your skin. You glanced down, admiring the distinctive red markings on your skin, and you could only describe the sight as endearing.

He hummed as you clung tighter to him, trying to speak but giving up as he relented his steady strokes to rapid thrusts. Your mouth fell open, back arching away from his chest as you erupted into a fit of high-pitched moans. It crossed your mind for a second that the entirety of hell might hear you, that heaven might very well know his name solely from your screams, but you could care less.

Alastor did not seem to mind either, grunting and growling in your ear lowly. The tremor of his overlay shattering as his cock twit he'd inside you and his grin pulling itself taut as your slippery cunt suffocated it in response. You were close, deathly aware of it too, but intended to last as long as he did.

Intended, but ultimately unsuccessful.

“For the love of- Alastor!” you groaned incredulously, losing your grip on reality as his shadows wrapped around your knees, bringing them in close together before pressing into your chest. The new angle made you feel every vein in his cock, how it fits just right in your womb, how hard it could press into your sweet spot.

It made you delirious within seconds, your horns revealing themselves and nails digging into the back of his hands viciously as your high reached its peak.

“Fuck!” Alastor hissed, disregarding his aversion to cursing while you came, walls holding him in with a vice-like grip. A shaky whine tumbled from you as your essence leaked out, coating his comic in a thick sheen and turning cold as it trickled down your skin.

There was so much of it, more than you were used to, but it made it all the easier for him to continue slamming up into you. “M’ going to come again if you don't stop,” you mumbled dazedly, body going weak as overstimulation raced through it, but Alastor paid your warning no mind. “Then so be it, little one,” he purred, voice more profound than usual as it ran in your head. You smiled mischievously, giddy after coming down from an intense high and on the verge of another as he used you like a ragdoll.

Your delighted giggles stirred Alastor, creating a lethal combination with your unapologetic smile as he chased his release. The red markings on your chest caught his eye, dimly glowing under his scrutiny and a visual reminder to you both what this exchange meant.

You reached a hand up to trace over the sigil on your chest, shivering as he watched your fingertips gingerly graze his binding on you. The docile action drew him over the edge, buried to the hilt inside you as he painted your walls white. You writhed in pleasure, mewling softly as your stomach swelled slightly, and your thighs shook from the intensity of your reaching end in the midst of his.

Alastor inhaled sharply, radio waves humming through the air as he finished, refusing to pull out of you entirely until he was sure you'd taken every drop of his cum. The specters on your legs vanished, leaving you to slump back into his chest, and you considered falling to the floor in fear he'd put you there himself.

You were surprised when he didn't do so, opting to settle his head in the crook of your neck while trying to catch his breath for a moment before sitting straight up again. Alastor let a beat of silence pass, straightening himself up to look decent but not saying a word to you as the air of lust evaporated. You frowned, a little hurt he wasn't speaking, but primarily concerned if you disappointed him.

You went to stand up, head hanging low as you considered what to do or say, but a force tugged you back down into his lap. The mark on your chest stung a bit, only calming when you felt his arm wrap around your waist, “M’ sorry!” you quickly rushed out an apology, afraid of his possible wrath, but he merely chuckled at your sudden fear.

“There's no need to fret, little one. I mean, you no harm from here on out so long as you remain at my side..” the stag emphasized his demand by trailing a hand from the cum induced hump in your abdomen to the etchings on your chest. A timid blush rose in your cheeks as the radio demon hummed melodically, admiring his work on you as he snapped his fingers. The room was no longer stuffy, spacious, and filled with his scent.

Your eyes trailed the expanse of the new view, familiar with it despite only visiting his room once before for a few moments. It felt cozier than you remembered, or maybe exhaustion was getting to you.

Whatever the case was, you were simply happy to be in his space, perplexed by the arrangement but grateful for it nonetheless. Alastor held you steady in his arms, letting you marvel at the room as he guided you toward the nearest sofa. “You don't have a bed?” you asked him innocently, concerned that he wasn't getting proper rest, but he didn't seem to be bothered by your questioning.

“I'm not one to rest often, my dear.” he sat you down on the plush couch, smile softening as you stared up at him, ears flattening while worry clouded your tired eyes. “How do you not sleep, Alastor? Aren't you ever tried?..” you looked him up and down, blushing as he laughed, “Are you always this curious, little one, or does your special interest in me make you bolder than usual?”

“N-no, it's just that…” you paused, watching as he summoned himself to change clothes, doing the same for you with a wave of his hand. Alastor took his time addressing, waiting for you to continue explaining with a knowing smile plastered on his face.

You avoided staring at him as he changed, catching a glimpse of scars on his body as he slipped on a white dress shirt, and you swore it looked just as good on him as the red and black one he always wore did.

“Don't keep me waiting, doll. Speak.” He scolded, amused by your stalling but not a fan of unfinished sentences. You gulped, becoming skittish as his command hung in the air, but complying within seconds

“I just hoped to spend a little more time with you. Besides what we just…” you couldn't put it into words, biting your tongue at the recent memory, and you half expected Alastor to disregard your implication, but he did nothing of the sort.

“The seal I've placed on you won't allow you to leave my side unless I explicitly give my permission. If you're asking to stay the night with me, I can assure you I've already decided you'll do so.”

You blinked, smiling wide as he rested a hand on your head, petting you just as he'd done in the hotel lobby.

“I don't think I'd ever want to leave your side anyway,” you mumbled absentmindedly, leaning into his touch as he crouched down to be eye level with you, “So, it's settled then. You'll need no one else besides me, correct?”

You nod, eyes lighting up with pure submission, “Yes, sir.”

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxx

Someone said Alastor stands when he sleeps and just stares at a wall in his room and I think that's fucking haliarous. Imagine walking in on him sleeping and he literally flinches from shock and falls backward on his ass cause he doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until someone startles him. In all honesty he is me and I'm him cause I don't sleep either. ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He’s so…corny but fucking cute so I’ll let it slide THIS TIME… also I love it when his eyes narrow like oh my god yes glare at meeee silly red takes mann! ❤️ credit to creator!

#Spotify #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #human alastor #alastor hartfelt #alastor headcanons #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor smut #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fan character #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic writing #fanfic #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #alastor human #bd/sm kink #bd/sm community #sir kink

[kckt88]

Closer II

Summary:

Both Aemond and Lucaela deal with the concequences of their mating as certain revelations come to light.

Warning(s): Language, Angst, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V, Knotting, Marriage, Pregnancy, Child Birth, Character Death.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON

INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 6623

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

"You fool!" Otto roared, his voice echoing off the walls of his chambers. "You can't keep your damn knot in your breeches, can you? Irreversibly tying yourself to Rhaenyra's daughter, of all people!"

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own frustration mounting as he bore the brunt of his grandfather's wrath. "I never intended for this to happen, grandfather," he protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "But Lucaela-she's my mate. I couldn't deny our bond any longer."

"Your mate be damned!" Otto spat, his fists clenching at his sides. "Do you realize what you've done? You've single-handedly destroyed any chance we had of securing the throne for your brother. All because you couldn't control your urges, I thought I had to worry about your brother, not you”.

"Grandsire-“ muttered Aemond.

Otto's mind raced as he tried to salvage the remnants of his meticulously laid plans, the very foundations of which now seemed to crumble beneath his feet. With Rhaenyra and Daemon demanding that Aemond marry Lucaela, Otto saw a sliver of opportunity amidst the chaos.

"If we can't control the situation," he mused aloud, his voice heavy with frustration, "Perhaps we can manipulate it to our advantage."

Rhaenyra's attachment to her daughter was well-known, a weakness that could be exploited if handled with care. If Lucaela became a pawn in their political game, they might be able to force Rhaenyra to come to terms and bend to their will.

"Force her hand," Otto murmured to himself, his mind churning with possibilities. "Use Lucaela as leverage to ensure Rhaenyra's compliance."

The Alpha within Aemond roared in protest as he listened to his grandfather's plans for Lucaela. Deep within him, a primal instinct surged, rejecting Otto's manipulative schemes with a ferocity that matched the flames of a dragon.

"No," Aemond growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I will not allow Lucaela to be used as a pawn in your games”.

Otto's gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Aemond, his own resolve unyielding in the face of his grandson's defiance. "You are willing to risk everything," he countered, his voice laced with frustration, "Your own life, the lives of your brothers and sister, the life of your mother, all for the sake of this bond?"

Aemond squared his shoulders and shook his head, his grandsire’s words playing on a loop in his mind.

But the Alpha inside him was furious, demanding that he protect his mate.

"If Rhaenyra is crowned queen, we will all be in danger. She will see us as threats to her rule, and she will stop at nothing to eliminate us."

“Grandsire-there has to be another way“ muttered Aemond.

Otto shook his head, his expression grim. "What of the realm?" he challenged. "Do you not care about the stability of the Seven Kingdoms? Aegon is the King’s firstborn son, the crown is his by right”.

"But at what cost?" Aemond shot back, his tone fierce. "Do we sacrifice everything we hold dear in the name of political expediency? I refuse to let Lucaela suffer for our ambitions, to see her used as a pawn in a game of thrones."

“I implore you to see reason Aemond-a living contender invites challenge. We must work together to secure your brother’s succession,” said Otto.

“Not at the cost of Lucy-“

"You're being used, Aemond," declared Otto, his tone cold and unforgiving. "Can't you see? Lucaela deliberately placed herself in front of you, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to resist her scent."

Aemond's jaw clenched at the accusation, his Alpha instincts bristling with indignation. "You speak as if Lucaela is some kind of manipulative pawn," he countered, his voice sharp with defiance. "But she is my mate. Our bond is stronger than any scheme Rhaenyra could concoct."

Otto shook his head, his expression incredulous. "You only lost one eye how could you be so blind" he scoffed. "Do you honestly believe Lucaela's actions are purely out of love? She is her mother’s daughter, and she’s been raised by Daemon. You think it's a coincidence that she presented herself to you on the day of the Driftmark petition?"

Aemond's chest tightened at the implication, his mind reeling with the possibility that he had been deceived. But even as doubt crept into his thoughts, he refused to entertain the notion that Lucaela's feelings for him were anything less than genuine.

"You don't understand” he asserted, his tone firm and resolute. "Through our bond, I can feel her emotions, her feelings for me. They are genuine, I would know if they were false."

“A fools notion” scoffed Otto.

His Alpha instincts surged within him, reinforcing his conviction with a primal certainty that Otto could not hope to comprehend. "You speak of manipulation and deceit, but you underestimate the power of our connection," Aemond continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I can feel her love for me. No scheme or plot could fabricate such emotion."

Otto's scepticism faltered slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he regarded his grandson. But he quickly regained his composure, his resolve unyielding in the face of Aemond's protestations.

"Feelings can be fickle, Aemond," he cautioned, his voice tinged with warning. "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment”.

But Aemond remained steadfast, his faith in Lucaela unwavering despite the doubts cast upon their relationship. "I trust in our bond, grandsire," he declared, his voice ringing with determination. "No matter the challenges we face, I will stand by Lucaela's side”.

Otto's voice carried a solemn warning as he fixed Aemond with a steely gaze. "When the time comes, Aemond," he said, his tone grave, "You had better pray to the Seven that your bond with Lucaela will be enough to save not only your life but the lives of your siblings as well."

As he rounded a corner, Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted him. There she was, Lucaela, radiant and alluring as ever, standing in the company of her stepfather, Daemon. His presence sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through Aemond, the Alpha within him bristling at the sight of another Alpha in such close proximity to his mate.

For a moment, Aemond stood rooted to the spot, torn between the conflicting urges warring within him. On one hand, the desire to assert his claim over Lucaela burned fiercely within him, driving him to emphasise his dominance over any who would dare to encroach upon their bond.

But on the other hand, a voice of reason whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences of giving in to his primal instincts.

With a deep breath, Aemond forced himself to calm, the turmoil within him subsiding slightly as he approached Lucaela and Daemon. "Lucaela," he greeted her, his voice husky with desire yet tempered with restraint. "I was hoping to find you."

Lucaela turned to him, her eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. "Aemond," she replied, a smile gracing her lips.

" I was wandering when you’d have the courage to show your face after defiling my stepdaughter” said Daemon, his hand wrapping around the pommel of Dark Sister.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the barb, his Alpha instincts bristling at the insult. "Things will be set right by our marriage," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. "Of course, of course," he replied, his tone oozing with insincerity. "Nothing like a hasty ceremony to make up for your indiscretions, eh?"

But before Aemond could respond, Daemon continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "I do hope your grandsire hasn’t taken the news too hard, now that you can’t be sold off to forge alliances" he taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I suppose his carefully laid plans will have to be put on hold now that you've tied yourself to my stepdaughter."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, the Alpha within him roaring with fury at Daemon's jibes.

Just as he was about to respond, Aemond felt a surge of panic course through him, a jolt of raw emotion that cut through the haze of his thoughts like a knife. It was Lucaela, her distress echoing through their bond with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced back to his grandfather's words, the insinuation that Lucaela had deliberately placed herself in his path, tempting him with her presence.

Could it be true? Had she orchestrated their meeting, knowing full well the effect she would have on him?

The doubt gnawed at him, a relentless whisper in the back of his mind as he struggled to make sense of the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.

“L-Lucaela” exclaimed Aemond, his hand reaching up to his mating mark that had now started to sting.

Lucaela stared at Aemond for a moment before she turned and fled, her steps quick and determined as she disappeared back inside the Red Keep. Without a moment's hesitation, he followed, his instincts driving him forward with a single-minded purpose.

"Lucaela, wait!" he called after her, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the keep. But she did not stop, her form disappearing around a corner as she continued to flee from him.

With a surge of determination, Aemond quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors as he chased after her.

Finally, he caught up to her just outside her chambers, his chest heaving as he reached out to gently grasp her arm, turning her to face him. "Lucy, please," he pleaded, his voice filled with urgency. "Tell me what's wrong. Why did you run?"

Lucaela's eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty as she looked up at him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I-I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of their hearts.

But Aemond refused to let her push him away. "You can't or you won't?" he pressed, his voice tinged with frustration and desperation.

As Aemond searched her eyes for answers, Lucaela's resolve crumbled under the weight of his gaze. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself to confess the truth that had been weighing on her.

"Aemond," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "Daemon found out about Otto's scheming-about your family's plans to usurp the throne and have Aegon crowned instead of my mother."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the revelation, the implications of Daemon's discovery sinking in with a sickening sense of dread. "How?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Lucaela swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. "Someone overheard a conversation between Otto and one of his advisors and word got back to Daemon," she confessed, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart.

“What does that have to do with me?” asked Aemond.

"After Daemon found out about Otto's plans, he knows that you and Vhagar are Otto’s biggest asset.  He-he told me to place myself in front of you, to allow nature to take its course."

Aemond's eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling at the implications of her words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Lucaela swallowed hard, the truth spilling from her lips like poison. "He knew that as a newly presented Omega, no unmated Alpha could resist me," she confessed, her voice shaking with shame. "He told me to use that to my advantage, to tempt you into-into succumbing to your desires."

A wave of anger surged through Aemond, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he struggled to process the betrayal that lay before him. "And you-you went along with it?" he demanded; his voice laced with accusation.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she met his gaze, her own heart breaking at the pain she had caused him. "I-I didn't know what else to do," she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. "I thought-I thought I was helping, that I was ensuring my mother’s claim”

How could you?" he demanded; his voice thick with emotion. "How could you deceive me like this, Lucy? To use our bond for your own gain, to manipulate me-“

But before he could finish his tirade, Lucaela scoffed, her own frustration boiling over at his accusations. "And what about Otto's scheming to usurp the throne?" she shot back, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Did you really think that Daemon would stand idly by while your grandsire plotted to undermine my mother’s claim?"

Aemond recoiled at the venom in her words, the truth of her accusations striking him like a blow to the chest.

"Lucaela, I-" he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words.

But she held up a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. "I'm not excusing what I did, Aemond," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But usurping the throne from the named heir, it’s wrong”.

"In order for your mother to secure her reign, she would have to eliminate any potential threats to her power. Aegon, Me even Daeron. A living contender invites challenge," he continued, his voice heavy with resignation. "And in Rhaenyra's eyes, any one of us could be seen as a threat to her rule”.

Lucaela's eyes flashed with indignation, her voice rising with anger as she countered Aemond's grim assessment. "How dare you, Aemond," she spat, her words sharp with frustration. "My mother would never harm anyone. You are her blood. You would be part of her rule as Queen, not victims of her ambition."

“Did she not demand that I be sharply questioned-to discover where I heard slanders against her bastards” snapped Aemond.

The fire in her eyes burned bright, fuelled by a fierce loyalty to her mother and a deep-seated belief in her righteousness. "Otto has dripped his poison in your ear," she accused, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've let his doubts cloud your judgment, but I refuse to let you believe such lies."

“How can I be assured that they are lies” replied Aemond.

"Aemond, please," she implored, her tone softened with earnestness. "Search our bond. Feel the truth in my words. My mother has no intention of harming you or your siblings."

Aemond hesitated, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air between them. But as he gazed into Lucaela's eyes, he saw nothing, but sincerity reflected back at him, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within his soul.

Closing his eye, Aemond reached out through their bond, searching for the truth amidst the tumult of emotions that swirled within him. And as he delved deeper, he felt a sense of clarity wash over him, a profound realization that cut through the fog of doubt and uncertainty.

Lucaela wasn't lying. Her mother, Rhaenyra, harboured no ill intentions toward him or his siblings. It was a truth that resonated deep within him, anchoring him in the certainty of their shared bond.

Aemond pressed his forehead against Lucaela's, their bond pulsing with the intensity of their shared emotions. "My grandsire told me that crowning Rhaenyra would divide the Seven Kingdoms and start a war," he murmured, his voice heavy with concern.

But Lucaela shook her head, her eyes filled with a solemn conviction. "Usurping the throne is what will start a war," she countered, her voice steady despite the turmoil that raged within her.

“I’m worried Lucy-“

“Aemond, please listen to me," she implored, her gaze pleading with him to understand. "My mother is the named heir. It is her birthright, recognized by law. To challenge her claim would only sow further discord and violence only begets more violence. If you take the throne by force, it will only lead to bloodshed and chaos."

Aemond's expression softened as he regarded Lucaela, her sincerity and wisdom shining through in her words. "But what if-“

“-The House of the Dragon needs to stand together as one. Let the realm see us united, witness our strength and unity."

She reached out to take his hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "We can show the realm that we are not divided by ambition or greed," she continued, her voice filled with conviction. "That we are bound by blood and loyalty, and that together, we are stronger than any external threat."

“I want to believe you-” whispered Aemond.

“What do you think would happen to us-to me if Aegon was crowned King? It works both ways Aemond, my life would be forfeit as would that of my mother, stepfather and brothers-Otto wouldn’t let us live” whispered Lucaela.

The Alpha inside Aemond bristled with anger at the thought of Lucaela being killed, as angry as he was at her scheming, he knew she was right.

The only thing to do was make a choice-believe his Omega and trust that her word was true, or side with his grandsire and stand on the precipice of war.

In the end it was the Alpha inside who made the choice.

"My Alpha, issa zaldrīzes," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress against his senses (My dragon).

The bond between them pulsed with a primal energy, igniting a fierce longing within Aemond's heart. The Alpha inside him roaring to life, demanding that he seek to make amends with his mate, to bridge the divide that had grown between them.

Unable to resist the pull of their bond any longer, Aemond leaned in close, his lips brushing against Lucaela's ear as he whispered his own confession. "My Omega, I need you" he breathed, his voice husky with desire and regret.

“Then take me Alpha-claim what belongs to you. Now and always” whimpered Lucaela.

Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

He spun Lucaela around and pressed her face against the wall, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other quickly untying the laces of his breeches.

Aemond nudged her ankle with his foot, signalling for her to open her legs wider.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Lucaela moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Not having the patience to properly prepare her, Aemond spat into his hand.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the hard length of himself, eyeing his Omega with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she bent forward for him.

He pulls aside her small clothes as he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!�� growls Aemond.

Lucaela can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

Then he withdraws from her and spins her around, lifting her into his arms, his mouth pressed against hers as he quickly thrusts back inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Lucaela.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

“P-Please Alpha-“ wailed Lucaela.

Aemond digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Lucaela’s hips, pulling her body against his as he thrusts forward, his singular eye focused on where they are joined.

His cock shining with her slick, the knot beginning to swell at the base, but he doesn’t want to finish not yet, not like this. So he withdraws from her again, making her whimper in frustration.

But Aemond ignores her as he lays her on the chaise lounge and falls to his knees.

Sliding his calloused hands up her legs, bunching the fabric of her small clothes in his hand before he rips them from her body.

“Aemond” shrieked Lucaela as Aemond’s mouth descends on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into his Omega’s dripping core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could.

Still gasping, Lucaela clutched at his head with one hand, her other digging into the fabric of the chaise.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Lucaela ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat; a sound that she didn’t hear very often. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Lucaela gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak– But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Lucaela, the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks.

“Be a good little Omega and take what your Alpha gives you” said Aemond as he reached for the laces of her dress before he grew impatient and tore it from her body, leaving her breasts bared.

His tongue licking at the stiffened rosy peak.

“P-Please. Alpha” sobbed Lucaela as she felt his hard cock sliding against her folds.

“Hmm” growled Aemond as he wrapped his hand around his wife’s throat and sheathed himself inside her once more.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Lucaela.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his Omega was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, his fingers digging into the flesh of her throat, using her as leverage as he repeatedly plunged his cock into her cunny, over, thrilled to hear Lucaela’s moans of need echoing around their chambers.

His thrusts, brutal and unrelenting.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond.

Lucaela’s. screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Gods, he needed to spill his seed, to see her swollen with his pup. But he wanted to watch her ride him to completion.

So, with his cock still nestled inside her, Aemond manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with Lucaela on his lap.

“Give me another-I want you to come on my cock again” growled Aemond.

Lucaela ripped open the cotton shirt he was wearing and ran her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, her nails digging into his pale skin.

“Oh” gasped Lucaela as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on Lucaela’s hips and marvelled at his Omega as she rode him.

Lucaela dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaela as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Lucaela’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her second peak approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Lucaela as she felt Aemond’s knot slip inside her.

 “God. Lucy-my Lucy” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside her, collapsing against the chaise, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses. Meanwhile his Omega had collapsed against him, her face pressed into his neck.

Kings Landing was a buzz with activity. The guests were arriving, the preparations had been made and it was finally here. The day Lucaela and Aemond would stand together in the great sept and get married.

Lucaela was so nervous that she decided to skip breakfast, as she wasn’t sure that she could actually stomach food.

After bathing, Lucaela’s maids began to help her get ready. Her dark hair was brushed and twisted into elegant braids and the Valyrian steel necklace that had once been gifted to her mother by Daemon was placed around her neck.

The cool metal resting against the mating bite that already marred her pale skin.

Her wedding dress had a fitted sleeveless bodice with a modest neckline. The skirts flaring out behind her like a cloud.

As soon as the gown had been buttoned and her maiden cloak tied, there was a soft knock at the door.

It was her mother.

“You look beautiful” gasped Rhaenyra as she looked her daughter up and down.

“Thank you” replied Lucaela smiling.

“I’ve come to escort you to the sept and Daemon will walk you down the aisle”.

“D-Do I look like a bride mother?” asked Lucaela.

“You look perfect my sweet girl-but tell me is this what you truly desire?”

“Yes mother-“ replied Lucaela.

“I do not agree with Daemon’s scheming-“ said Rhaenyra as she took her daughters hand.

“It was for a purpose mother-I was always meant to marry for allegiance”.

“I hate that you have done this for me-“ replied Rhaenyra.

“I do not. You are my mother and my future Queen, I would see myself from this world if it meant you were safe” said Lucaela firmly.

“My sweet girl what a precious gift you are-“ exclaimed Rhaenyra as she pressed a series of kisses to Lucaela’s face.

“Aemond isn’t all bad mama-he makes me feel desired” whispered Lucaela blushing.

“I can see the marks of Aemond’s desire for you” quipped Rhaenyra.

“Mama” gasped Lucaela.

“Right, shall we get going. It’s almost time” said Rhaenyra brightly.

The sept was decorated beautifully, but it all paled in comparison to Aemond who was stood beside the High Septon.

He was elegantly dressed, his black tunic decorated with silver dragons and his Targaryen cloak tied loosely around his shoulders. His long hair tied back in its usual half up, half down style.

The horns signalled the beginning of the ceremony and begrudgingly Lucaela took Daemon’s arm.

“You look beautiful my daughter” muttered Daemon.

“Thank you, father,” replied Lucaela.

“Be mindful Lucy-Desperate men are dangerous” whispered Daemon as he nodded towards Otto and Larys Strong who were muttering to one another.

“I had assumed that the traitors would have been dealt with already”.

“In due time-I cannot wipe out half of the Kings council, we must be vigilant and strike when the cunts least expect it” said Daemon.

“Mother must be persuaded to remain in Kings Landing, returning to Dragonstone isn’t the solution” said Lucaela softly.

“I agree” uttered Daemon.

“Thank you for escorting the bride Prince Daemon. If you would be so kind as to wait for the Princess to remove her maiden cloak” said the Septon.

Lucaela undid the ties of her maiden cloak and handed it to Daemon who nodded respectfully to the Septon and took his seat next to Rhaenyra.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” said the Septon loudly.

Aemond removed the cloak bearing the colours of house Targaryen and draped it around Lucaela’ shoulders.

Aemond then took Lucaela’ hand and smiled as the Septon tied their hands together by a ribbon.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Now you may look upon one another and say these vows together” exclaimed the Septon.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days” said Lucaela, her lip wobbling slightly.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days” declared Aemond loudly.

“The vows have been spoken. You may kiss your bride”.

Aemond hesitated for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucaela’ lips.

“ñuhon” whispered Aemond as he pulled away (Mine).

The grand feast in the throne room of the Red Keep was a sight to behold, a dazzling display of opulence and extravagance befitting the union of two noble houses. The room was alive with music and laughter, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of exotic dishes and fine wines.

Aemond and Lucaela sat side by side at the head table, their fingers intertwined as they shared stolen glances and whispered words of love. But despite the festivities that surrounded them, the Alpha inside Aemond was restless, his senses ablaze with the primal urge to claim his mate.

As the night wore on and the feast reached its crescendo, Aemond found himself increasingly unable to resist the pull of his desires. The mating bite on Lucaela's neck called to him like a siren's song, its intoxicating scent sending waves of arousal coursing through him.

Desperation clawed at Aemond's senses as he struggled to maintain his composure, the need to reclaim his Omega growing more urgent with each passing moment. But amidst the revelry of the celebration, he knew that they would need to wait until they were alone, until they could be together in the privacy of their chambers.

Suddenly Aemond’s senses sharpened, a strange scent tickling at the edges of his awareness. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but to Aemond, it was unmistakable.

Nosing Lucaela's mating mark, he inhaled deeply, his heart pounding with anticipation. And then he caught it—the faintest hint of milk, sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the scent of their bond.

With a surge of excitement, Aemond turned to Lucaela, his eyes shining with joy. "Lucy," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "You're carrying my pup."

Lucaela's eyes widened in disbelief, her hand instinctively moving to rest against her stomach. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Aemond nodded eagerly, his heart soaring with pride. "I can scent it as your Alpha, the scent of milk is unmistakable," he explained, his voice filled with excitement.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she processed the news, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "Aemond," she breathed, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "I can't believe it”

The Alpha inside Aemond surged with a primal delight, a fierce sense of pride and joy coursing through him like wildfire. To pup his sweet Omega mate was a dream he had scarcely dared to imagine.

As he gazed upon Lucaela, his heart swelled with love and adoration, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and cherish her and their unborn pup with every fibre of his being.

With gentle caresses and tender words, Aemond showered Lucaela with affection, his touch a promise of the unwavering devotion and support he would offer her as they embarked on this new journey together.

As Aemond and Lucaela reveled in the joy of their news, their moment of intimacy was suddenly interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Aegon. With a mischievous grin, Aegon sauntered over, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Well, well, well," he declared with a playful smirk. "I think it's time you two lovebirds got a room, don't you?"

Aemond's scowl deepened at his brother's teasing, but before he could retort, Lucaela gently squeezed his hand, a knowing smile playing at her lips. With a soft chuckle, she rose to her feet, her gaze locked with his.

"Shall we, my love?" she whispered, her voice laced with laughter.

Aemond's heart swelled with affection as he returned her smile, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and care for her above all else. With a nod, he rose to his feet, his hand entwined with Lucaela's as they made their way out of the crowded hall

-Months Later-

In the dim light of the birthing chamber, Lucaela's laboured breaths echoed against the stone walls, her grip on Aemond's hand tightening with each wave of pain.

Aemond stood by her side, his heart heavy with worry yet brimming with pride as he watched over her, offering words of comfort and encouragement with every contraction. "You're doing amazing, my love," he whispered, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of pain. "Just a little longer, and our pup will be in your arms."

With each passing moment, Lucaela's strength grew, her resolve unwavering as she pushed through the agony with unwavering determination. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, their pup emerged into the world, a tiny bundle of life cradled in Lucaela's arms.

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he beheld his newborn pup, his heart overflowing with an indescribable sense of joy and wonder. "He's beautiful," he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Lucaela smiled through her exhaustion as she gazed down at their son, her fingers gently caressing his soft, newborn skin. "Aeron," she whispered, her voice filled with love as she spoke his name for the first time.

As Aeron let out his first cries, a sense of awe washed over them, a profound realization settling in their hearts. For even in his first moments of life, he emitted a scent similar to that of his father—Aeron was destined to be an Alpha.

As Aemond cradled his newborn son in his arms for the first time, his heart swelled with a love so fierce and profound that it felt as though it might burst from his chest.

"My son," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "My precious Aeron. My boy"

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked upon the small, features of his son, the exact mirror of his own, his fingers gently tracing the delicate curve of his cheek. In that moment, he vowed that Aeron would always know his attention, his kindness, and his love and devotion.

"You will grow up strong and brave," he murmured, his voice a soft promise. "I will teach you to be honourable and just, to stand up for what is right and to protect those you love."

With each word, Aemond felt a sense of purpose settle within him, a determination to be the father his son deserved. For Aeron was not just his son—he was his legacy, his hope for the future, a symbol of the love and bond that he shared with Lucaela.

As the joyous celebration of new life echoed throughout the halls of the Red Keep, a solemn hush fell over the chambers of King Viserys Targaryen.

Beside him stood his loyal attendants, their faces etched with sorrow as they watched over their beloved King in his final moments.

“With a final, gentle exhale, Viserys' hand went limp, his eyes closing.

"Aemma," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he reached out through the darkness, his thoughts drifting to the wife he had lost so many years ago.

"Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. "The First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

With a graceful movement, the High Septon lowered the golden crown onto Rhaenyra's brow, the weight of it settling like a mantle of authority upon her shoulders. And as the crown gleamed in the dim light of the sept, Rhaenyra felt a sense of pride and purpose swell within her heart.

"And her Consort King, Daemon of House Targaryen," he declared, his words ringing out with solemnity. "May their union be blessed by the Seven, and may they rule with wisdom and justice for all the days of their reign."

A ripple of applause swept through the crowd as Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a knowing glance, their hands clasped together in a silent vow of unity.

In the quiet chambers of their quarters, Aemond stood watch over his mate as she recovered from giving brith. Beside them lay their newborn son, Aeron, his tiny form cradled in the warmth of his mother's embrace.

Despite the grandeur of the occasion unfolding within the walls of the Red Keep, Aemond had made a solemn vow to remain by Lucaela's side, his protective instincts as an Alpha driving him to ensure her safety and that of their pup.

And so, as the sound of cheering crowds echoed through the castle walls, Aemond and Lucaela remained cocooned in the quiet sanctuary of their chambers, though they may have missed the pomp and pageantry of Rhaenyra's coronation, Aemond knew in his heart that their absence was a small price to pay for the precious moments they shared as a family.

But as Aemond gazed out of the window, his thoughts were consumed by the weight of uncertainty that hung heavy upon his shoulders. With Rhaenyra now crowned as Queen, the future seemed more uncertain than ever before.

Would their lives be in jeopardy under her rule, or would Lucaela's assurances of her mother's intentions hold true?

The memory of his grandfather's warnings echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Otto Hightower's schemes had been thwarted, but the threat to their family still lingered, a dark spectre looming on the horizon.

Lucaela stirred from her slumber, her presence a comforting balm amidst the storm of his thoughts. As he turned to look at her, her eyes fluttered open, and she reached out to take his hand in hers, her touch a silent reassurance of their bond.

"Are you alright, my love?"

Aemond forced a smile, though the worry still gnawed at his heart. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice strained. "Just-thinking."

Lucaela's brow furrowed with worry as she squeezed his hand gently. "Whatever happens, we will face it together," she said, her voice filled with determination.

As Daemon sat next to his wife, his sharp eyes trained on the trio of men engaged in hushed conversation across the room. Otto Hightower, Larys Strong, Jasper Wylde, and Tyland Lannister—men whose ambitions and treachery simmered beneath the surface, threatening to undermine the fragile peace of the realm.

As Daemon's gaze met theirs, they offered him a hesitant smile, a silent acknowledgment of their unease of what the future would bring. But Daemon remained stoic, his expression unreadable as he raised his goblet of wine in a silent toast.

The time had come to confront the traitors who sought to plot against his wife, Queen Rhaenyra. With a sense of purpose coursing through his veins, Daemon wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword, the weight of it a comforting presence at his side.

The blood of the treasonous cunts would serve as a warning to all who dared to oppose Rhaenyra's rule. With steely resolve, Daemon vowed to root out the rot that festered within their midst, to ensure that justice was served, and the realm remained united under his wife's rightful reign.

As he took another sip of wine, the taste of it bitter upon his tongue, Daemon knew that the road ahead would be fraught with peril. But with his sword in hand and his wife's reign to defend, he would stop at nothing to protect what was rightfully hers.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut #hotd #alpha omega

[clara-eternal]

My new muse is a work in progress, but I'm getting close to having her blog done. Need to work on her carrd, but her bio is nearly done (wanna fine tune it a bit more). Her stats and graphics are sorted. Her URL is claimed, so get ready for Raphael's favourite pet and my vampire baby, Darkness. Bio (so far) below.

Darkness's journey began in sorrow, marked by the untimely departure of her parents. At the tender age of six, she mourned the loss of her mother, and by twelve, her father's absence left her alone to navigate the harsh realities of life. Cast adrift, she sought refuge in the streets, where survival demanded wit and cunning.

It was here, amidst the cobblestones and shadows, that Darkness honed her skills, weaving through the alleys with the agility of a cat and the guile of a serpent. Soon, her reputation caught the attention of a young Gortash. Together, they danced on the edge of danger, orchestrating schemes that lined their pockets and forged alliances with the powerful and corrupt.

But as Gortash's ambitions swelled, so too did his cruelty. Darkness watched with growing unease as he descended into tyranny, his once noble intentions tarnished by greed and ruthlessness. Terrified of the repercussions of abandoning him, she found herself trapped in a prison of her own making until a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of Raphael.

With promises of freedom and opulence, Raphael offered Darkness an escape from her shackles, a chance to break free from the suffocating grip of Gortash's tyranny. Tempted by the allure of a better life, she willingly plunged into Raphael's employ, trading one master for another in a desperate bid for freedom.

Initially, the arrangement seemed favorable, with Raphael granting her a semblance of freedom in exchange for her services. Yet, beneath Raphael's silver-tongued promises lurked a darker truth, one she discovered too late. Caught in a web of manipulation and deceit, she found herself ensnared in a scheme orchestrated by her new benefactor.

It was a job like no other that led her to the fangs of a vampire in the shadowy alleys of Yartar. Betrayed and ensnared in a web of deceit, Darkness found herself transformed into a spawn. The realization dawned upon her – she had unwittingly bound herself to Raphael for eternity, her soul forfeit in a contract signed in desperation.

Now, condemned to an eternity of servitude, Darkness roams the realms as a pawn in Raphael's grand design, her every move dictated by the whims of her infernal master. Whether dwelling in the gilded halls of the House of Hope or traversing the wilds of Faerun, she remains ever vigilant, using her charms and skills to appease the devil and fulfill his bidding. Yet beneath her facade of compliance lies a flicker of defiance, a spark of rebellion that refuses to be extinguished, a testament to the indomitable spirit of one who walks eternally in the shadows.

#🐇 ooc. #✨️ my shinies

[finalmoment]

strongly negative criticism of religion under the cut / traumaposting

the idea that religious beliefs and practices should be allowed to exist free of critique, an idea that rests on the concept of "sacredness" which marks certain topics as being exempt from mockery, criticism, and challenge...is very insidious. i can acknowledge that critique is itself does not happen in a vacuum and directing a disproportionate amount of it at, say, muslims at a time when global islamophobia is on the rise is a way of masking islamophobia under other banners (feminist / progressive ones, generally) - that indigenous religious practices have also targeted in this way as a way to proselytize christianity... that still shouldnt allow anything to exist beyond challenge.

there is no amount of marginalisation that entitles you to hold religious views that justify discrimination against other people, at the end of the day. and proselytization/conversion isn't the only vector of harm contained in religious belief, beyond even its effects on the behavior of people who believe. hinduism is the easiest example of what im saying. while indians, as racially marginalized and colonized people on a global scale, experience oppression, many indians also benefit from the caste system, which is an explicitly caste practice that has superseded hinduism and spread to other religions in india. brahminical hinduism does not convert or proselytize, however. it is an inherently exclusionary practice. that is, there is practically no way to "become" brahmin in an official, sanctioned sense. you are either born one or not, as with all castes. the conversion mechanism of hinduism is more accurately an appropriative one; it subsumes other religious traditions and practices into hinduism, and these communities are accorded a place in the caste hierarchy without their consent.

this is why, when people say that people should respect all religions, im inherently suspicious. what is "respect"? i do not believe what you believe. i have no allegiance to the things you hold sacred. nothing is inherently sacred. why should i accede to your beliefs about the world, simply to comfort you? why should i pretend it makes sense or that it's equally valid? what are you demanding respect for? is it something intangible and unknowable, in which case why should i care, or is it something material, in which case your rights entitle you to non-interference (i will defend your right to do as you please, in the same way that i will defend someone's right to do drugs or take hormones or wear what they like), or is it a practice that continues only because it always has, without consideration for what this practice signifies or who it leaves out?

religious people, in my experience w them, tend to be prone to a persistent fragility of thought. not only do they want to believe whatever it is they believe, they also want me to act like this is a sensible thing to believe and act on, and they're highly injured when i won't play along. like no, i don't want to do your rituals so you can pretend that we're homogeneous in our beliefs, so that you are freed from the inconvenience of divergence or critique. i don't want to act like there's a reason more sensible (or, "scientific") for doing these things than tradition, or that tradition is explanation enough. and i don't want to cede to the idea that i am the oppressive element because i don't agree with them, and that their attempts to bring me in line are neutral and even positive (god is totally real, and even if you don't think so you can still be religious :D)

there is no end to these musings. i just find myself often exhausted with religious people, and i have had to spend most of my life subject to their stupid beliefs and stupid whims and their panicked attempts at reinforcing compliance when i object to whatever is going on.

#notes #atheism

[rriavian]

WIP Snippet - Unofficial Business Part 2

It's been a while since I've posted any snippets on tumblr so thought I'd post this. Been ill for the past few weeks and wanted to at least do something useful today. So I'm looking at my WIPs and decided to write a bit of chapter 2 of that Corintheus sickfic I posted a while ago (link here).

-

Dream is insistent.

The Corinthian stays firm. “Just conjure it yourself.”

“No. You will make it for me.”

Now that is far different than simply calling it into being, plucking it from a human dream to settle here. Why would Dream want that? What could be gained from having it made for him? The Corinthian doesn’t know, finds his thoughts conflict—subservience, obedience and ownership, but also care, comfort, being given it—debates the risk of picking between the two potential motives. He doesn’t want to think about whether there’s anything in them that he’s willing to accept. It can be avoided entirely if he plays this right.

Perhaps he can make Dream choose instead.

“I’ll have to leave to do that.” The Corinthian muses, casual, unbothered; lazily continuing his rhythmic stroking of Dream’s hair, completing the twist into a sweet little tug, a calculated movement he ensures doesn’t seem that way. He waits, lets his words catch on Dream’s skin, allows them to sink beneath it before he continues.

“You don’t want me to leave do you?”

“I want soup.” Dream replies. 

It’s mumbled sourly against the Corinthian’s chest.

He’s not uncertain but some of that demand is swayed, still so very obstinate but this particular method of persuasion is actually working its magic. The reminder that he’d asked for this, the emphasis on touch drawing his attention to it, taking advantage of all that greed the Corinthian knows Dream keeps so well hidden. It can remain so because it’s never challenged, never denied, an appetite that only unwinds itself free to hiss and spit when it finds resistance. The Corinthian may not be able to dent Dream’s authority, may not be a match for him in a fair fight, but perhaps the King can be convinced to win a battle against himself.

It seems giving Dream what he wants can open all sorts of doors.

“Hmm. You want soup?” The Corinthian thinks of further distraction, a way to soften this stubborn little thing even further, to render him putty in his hands. To make him moldable. He tilts Dream’s head up, raises his other hand to thumb at his lips, gets them to part so he can feel the breeze of his King’s breath against his skin. “Are you sure?”

The instant order for obedience, the demand for deferential compliance, doesn’t come.

There’s no rebuke for this push back, for daring delay, for daring to not only question him but make him ask again. Instead Dream’s eyes lift to meet his, lashes arching upwards; held fast, pink lips forced to mold around his finger, the crystal of his fevered blush adding a wide eyed innocence the Corinthian wants to lick from head to toe. 

“Still thinking?” He says, sweet in his King’s favoured flavour, sweet because it’s not really sweet at all. “C’mon, you know you don’t really want me to leave…”

#the corinthian #dream of the endless #corintheus #fic progress #getting back into writing is hard #but I've added 1000 ish words across a couple of different wips #so progress is being made

[kaiwewi]

Hey!

Can I please get a little prisoner x guard with a little abuse warning for the action? 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

A Deal With the Devil

Synopsis: Villain's agreement with the warden of the local prison grants them any number of get-out-of-jail cards. But those don't come free, and the price continues to rise.

tw: nsfw, sex, abuse, non-con, implied self-harm

It had been a good arrangement, in the beginning.

Villain had been impressed when the warden had been thoughtful enough to bring lube and protection. The warden had been so very gentle with them too, that first time. Safer sex. Good sex even. Much better than they’d expected when they’d offered their body to the warden in return for assistance with a prison break.

Fucking for freedom.

A mutually beneficial arrangement.

Not much of a sacrifice, then.

Little had Villain known prison breaks were going to become a regular occurrence in their life.

“41 days on the run this time, that’s a new record,” the warden mused, grabbing a fistful of Villain’s hair. “You sure took your sweet time out there. A bit rude if you ask me.

“I missed you, Villain, and we both know I’m not the patient sort.”

That was an understatement.

Even though they had gathered enough experience in reading the warden’s tone by now to know what was coming, they still gasped audibly when the warden yanked their head back.

“Now listen, you little whore. If you want my help again, you’d better satisfy me.”

To think Villain used to like the touch of those hands, the sound of that voice. But not anymore. The gentle look that used to be in those eyes had long since been replaced by a leer that made their throat close up as if they’d swallowed something sticky and awful.

Bile burned the back of their mouth with every kiss the warden forced on them.

It was their own fault, really. They’d asked for it. They’d wanted this deal. The warden was probably justified in asking for more than just a simple fuck in return. After all, the warden was taking a risk breaking them out, a bigger one each time. Demanding a higher payment only made sense under such circumstances, didn’t it?

Villain winced, grimacing at the dark splotches and teeth marks the warden had left on their upper arm and shoulder, the scratches running across their chest in angry red lines. The abused skin stung and throbbed with every careless movement.

The warden tsked. “Displeased, are you? I have every right to mark you. As long as you need me more than I need you, I practically own you.”

Villain was grabbed by the throat and slammed down into the mattress. They opened their mouth to protest, then closed it again without uttering a word.

No, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was fine. They were only doing this as payment. A service for a service. Whatever it took to get them out of here, they’d endure it somehow. Freedom was invaluable after all. What were a few bruises anyway? It would be worth it.

Besides, this wasn’t the worst the warden had done.

As Villain had discovered over the last few months, the warden had a lot of dark dirty fantasies. But when the warden had brought up the first ideas, those hadn’t sounded so bad. Handcuffs and a blindfold to enhance the experience? Sure, why not. Some variety was good, right? Novelty was exciting, wasn’t it?

Merely a bit of harmless fun.

If only it had stopped there.

Ropes, gags, whips, chains, toys, role-play…

Somewhere along the line, Villain had stopped being comfortable with the suggestions. And yet, a deal was a deal. They needed the warden’s compliance or they’d be stuck in this shithole forever. What were a few hours of discomfort?

For a lack of better alternatives, they'd simply kept their head down and their mouth shut. Even as suggestions had turned into demands, they couldn’t really afford to fight back; the prize for disobedience was too high.

One of the warden’s hands slipped down to Villain’s crotch, fingers drawing patterns on sensitive skin.

The suddenly affectionate touch – a stark contrast to the rough ferocity with which they’d been handled just a moment ago – made Villain’s insides twist and revolt. The overwhelming sense of wrongness weighed on their stomach like a burning junk of lead.

“Wait,” they tried, “you don’t have to do this. It’s unnecessary.”

“Oh, I know.” The warden’s smile was all teeth. “But I want to see your face when I make you come.”

Villain glared, even as their body twitched and jerked under this mockery of pleasure.

The warden chuckled. “Don’t think I haven’t realised how much you hate me. I bet you’d love to tear me apart right now, wouldn’t you? If only you didn’t so desperately need me, huh?”

When Villain tried to turn their head, the warden grabbed their chin and forced eye contact. The warden’s other hand kept stroking them rhythmically. Infuriating. Disgusting.

Hungry eyes burned into theirs, a predator watching its prey.

Their heart pounded in their chest like it wanted them to flee or fight, to do something. Anything but this! But there was no point in fighting back, nothing to be gained by complaining, and they had too much to lose.

All of this was their own damn fault.

Their throat constricted painfully. Memories flashed before their eyes, of that one time when the warden had strangled them until they’d passed out.

There was no room and not enough air. Just touch. Too warm. Too much. Pain. Pleasure. Panic. Stop. Just stop. Please.

A moan slipped past Villain’s lips. Gross. So gross.

Their eyes stung and the image of the warden’s nasty smirk mere inches from their face began to blur. The air that barely reached their lungs was ripe with the warden’s foul breath. Nauseating. It seared their insides, burned their throat.

No. No, no, no. Stop. Please. Don’t.

Their hands clawed at the fabric of the bedsheet, until their nails felt close to being torn off. And even that wasn’t enough to drown out that hated sensation. Their body writhed under the unbidden touches. Moans. Whimpers. Tears.

But it would be worth it. It would be worth it. It would. It had to be.

All their muscles tensed, then quivered as they climaxed to the sound of the warden cackling above them.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the warden growled into their ear. “You hating it this much makes it a million times hotter.”

The warden let go of their chin then, grabbed their hips instead, and started moving again. They went harder and faster this time, grunting and groaning with the effort. Like some disgusting beast.

While the warden fucked them, Villain lay there unmoving, limp and unresponsive beside the occasional sob or shudder shaking their body. Their eyes searched for that spot on the wall that vaguely resembled a cat, but their vision was too blurry to distinguish it from all the other holes and dents in the surface of the cold grey concrete.

As the warden finally finished and pulled back, Villain heaved a small sigh of relief.

Maybe it would all be over now. Come tomorrow, they’d be free again. They’d just have to stay out of trouble this time – be even more careful, smarter about their schemes, avoid confrontations with that hero who’d caught them the other ten times.

They’d escape. They could do it. This time would be different.

Eleven did sound like a lucky number, didn’t it?

And then all of this would have been worth it. They’d never have to see the warden again, nor that disgusting smirk that crept onto the warden’s face as they turned around in the door frame and winked at Villain.

“Pleasure doing business with you, love. I hope you’ll enjoy your little excursion. But don’t forget that I’m expecting you back by the end of next month. You’d better not keep me waiting this time.”

The door slammed shut between them, leaving Villain alone with their racing thoughts and another one of the warden’s loosely-veiled threats.

The end of next month... barely five weeks from now.

They barely managed to get up and stumble the few metres to the bathroom before they threw up.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

No. This was unbearable after all. Whatever else happened – whatever they’d have to do – they just couldn’t end up in this cell again!

Each time it only got worse.

Last time, they’d spent hours sitting curled-up and sobbing in the corner of the running shower and all the water in the world couldn’t have cleansed them of the warden’s presence.

What good was freedom when the warden’s touch lingered in each and every centimetre of their skin like a tattoo done with toxic ink, imbedded too deep to let itself be removed no matter how much one scraped and scratched and scrubbed at the surface?

At the end of the day, it wasn’t worth it.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

#snippet #heroes and villains #whump #nsfwhump #villain whumpee #villain whump #prisoner x guard #villain #prison guard #self blame #self harm implied #tw noncon #tw abuse #request #writeblr #writing #writing snippet #wrote this months ago #finally posting it #took me forever #sorry for the wait

[dcbbw]

Wednesday WIPs

It is 10pm ET on a Wednesday night, and I am so behind on deadlines here and in the real world, it is not even funny. But I have been making (very little) headway on a few fics that again, did not get posted when I thought they would.

I’m hopeful to have at least two stories posted before the weekend is over if life can ease up just the tiniest bit.

I do have two sneak snippets to share, mostly to prove I still exist in the tumblr world.

As always, everything is in a state of flux, and final publication will be revised, edited, and may vary from what’s posted today.

Everything is below the cut. Happy reading!

Coitus Interruptus (Riley ask; pairing is #Riam)

The couple had a rare weekend free; their sons were at Applewood visiting with Regina and their Aunt Lena. Both had plans for the weekend.  

Neither had communicated their plans with the other. 

Liam had plans for his wife that involved no clothes, no work phones, and lots of sex.  

He wasn’t chancing an argument. 

“AND you had breakfast this morning, so not starving,” he quickly changed the subject. 

“Do you know how long ago THAT was?” Riley demanded.  

Liam did know. Riley had eaten breakfast aboard the royal family’s private rail coach at 8am. It was now 11:30am. 

“You call TWO pancakes and ONE sausage patty breakfast?? THAT is NOT breakfast! A snack at most.” 

Riley’s plans involved eating food she wouldn’t have to share, simping over Gong Yoo, and finding a new hiding place for her snack wagon and hamper.  

Ever since Liam’s children had entered the picture, Riley had no food to herself any longer. From the moment of conception, his kids had been nothing but crumb snatchers stealing all her food. If they had been her children, they wouldn’t do her like that.  

Riley often wondered how she ended up a single mother and sole food source to kids that weren’t even hers.  

Liam moved closer to his wife, his lips ghosting her jawline. His thumb grazed against her nipple, hidden beneath a red cotton camisole tunic and black sports bra. His lips curved as he felt it harden beneath his touch.  

Riley slapped his hand away. “I’m trying to make a phone call!” she chided snappishly. 

“To WHO?” Liam demanded as he rubbed the offended spot on the back of his hand.  

“The kitchens! I need sustenance!” 

“We’ll be home in a matter of minutes,” the King argued. “You can order from the rooms, and we can … pass the time until it’s delivered.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively as his palm rubbed her thigh.  

Riley stared at her husband; her expression was neither agreeable nor amenable.  

We’re hungry for two different things, she thought. I’m Team Chicken Kiev. 

Siren Song (for #HYAW which is long over).

Set in my Three’s Company AU where Damien, F!Kai, and Asian M!Hayden are in a throuple. The PM gang are drawn into Eros intrigue not through the Sirens Project, but one that shows the Androids aren’t the ones who are inhuman. Not a one-shot, and will quite possibly piss off 2-3 fandoms.

Eros 

“Cecile, is everything prepared for the noon meeting?” Rowan West asked, his flame-blue eyes going between the newspaper on his desk, and the wall-mounted television.  

Cecile Contreras rolled her eyes slightly as she glanced up from her phone. “But of course, Rowan. We’ll be convening in the Empire Conference Room, and lunch will be delivered at 11:45. Old World Deli will be catering.” 

The founder and CEO of Eros Incorporated was skimming over an article about a non-profit hospital network that was being investigated for non-compliance with federal, state, and local laws by demanding and eventually harassing low-income patients who were protected against payment for payment … in full, sometimes for services not rendered.  

The network was working frantically to sell off their facilities while destroying evidence of any wrongdoing.  

“St. Frank’s may be the smartest investment I’ve ever acquired,” he mused.  

“The smartest move you ever made was buying Edenbrook from Leland, then offering Ethan Ramsey the chance to head his own hospital, and be Western LLC’s Chairman of the Board,” his department head observed.  

“He’d better not fuck this deal up,” Rowan growled.  

“Stop being paranoid, Rowan! All he has to do is give the board a check. This is Ramsey’s chance to achieve his every dream. Project Hybrid exceeds the Siren Project in every way imaginable. He won’t let anything go wrong,” Cecile Contreras assured her boss.  

The chirping of her phone caught her attention; she glanced down, a satisfied smile slowly curving her lips as she read the text message.  

Mission accomplished 

Cecile raised an eyebrow in approval. Harley was proving to be useful in more ways than one.  

Three floors beneath Rowan’s office, his Chief Technology Officer lounged in his Deputy Assistant’s doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Khaan Mousavi’s lips held a small smile as he watched Sloane Washington go through her just-arrived-at-the-office-routine: Placing a bag of greasy breakfast and a cup of hot green tea on her desk; slipping out of her sweater coat and hanging it on a wall hook; fishing her phone out of her slouchy denim patchwork purse before placing the handbag in her bottom left desk drawer. Sitting in her chair before swiveling to face him, a sunny smile on her face.  

“Good morning, boss!” 

As if they hadn’t woken up in the same bed, rode the same train, and arrived at the office together.  

Fraternization was frowned upon at Eros.  

Khaan took in his girlfriend’s creamy café au lait-colored skin, her bright brown eyes hidden behind fashionable glasses, and her braided hair done in an elaborate topknot. She was beautiful.  

“Tonight is boys’ night out with Hamza,” he reminded her. “Pizza, movies, maybe some bowling.” 

Sloane nodded as she sipped her milky tea. “I know. I’ll be at Hayden’s; it’s his birthday!” 

Khaan frowned slightly. “Is there going to be a party? My son and I love parties!” 

Sloane giggled. “You won’t like this one. Kai’s cooking and Steve’s lemon bars, followed by me performing routine maintenance on Hayden before Damien and Kai whisk him away upstate.” 

Khaan frowned good-naturedly. “Kai is not the best cook. Someone needs to convince Damien and Nadia to order pizzas.” he looked pointedly at Sloane.  

His girlfriend shook her head slightly, a half-grin on her lips. “I’m a tech geek, not a party planner.” 

She opened her laptop, prepared to log on. Instead, her brow furrowed as she saw the folded piece of paper sitting on her keyboard. Her boyfriend saw and made his way inside her office.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder.  

Tagging:  @jared2612 @ao719 @burnsoslow @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @cmestrella @liamrhysstalker2020  @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet  @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @phoenixrising308 @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @foreverethereal123 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @jovialyouthmusic @21-wishes @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @bbrandy2002 @eversoaringqueen12 @queenmiarys @lizzybeth1986​

#dcbbw writes #more WIPs #riley x liam #trh fanfiction #perfect match #hyaw

[agentrouka-blog]

Hypothetically, how do you think the young children of the various free folk leaders (Tormund Giantsbane, Morna Whitemask, The Great Walrus, etc) would turn out if they were sent away to the various castles of the North (and maybe even a few First Men families in the Vale and Riverlands) as wards/hostages, after being let through the Wall and migrating into the Gift? This is assuming these kids get the full highborn hostage treatment, but imagine that due to the successful throwing back of The Others, they get to return to their families once they turn 16 - how do you think this process changes or affects them?

Hi anon!

Ward and hostage are not interchangable terms. One is based on a voluntary alliance and is supposed to signify a mutual trust and obligation. The other is a show of force and a constant implicit threat.

Ned in the Vale was a ward.

Theon at Winterfell was a hostage.

As a long term plan for ensuring compliance by the wildings settling in the Gifts... it might work, sort of, but it might also create more problems than it solves. It sets an ugly tone for a relationship that should be mutually beneficial. Ned wanted to revive the Gifts with settlers. The wildlings and the North have a tense history, true. But would hostages help that, truly?

We know the perspective of exactly one hostage, and that’s Theon, and even though he lived with the reasonably friendly Starks, it left him emotionally traumatized. 

Would it be different for the children of the wildlings? They would be culturally alienated from their families, be marked by experiences and relationships that their own families cannot at all relate to. Unlike with a wardship, which is voluntary, safe and practiced among cultural peers, generally, this is a divisive move forced on people who had been allies, if they had fought and defeated the Others together.

The mountain clans are familiar with the practice.

The northmen glanced at one another. “Hostages,” mused The Norrey. “Tormund has agreed to this?” 

It was that, or watch his people die. “My blood price, he called it,” said Jon Snow, “but he will pay.” 

“Aye, and why not?” Old Flint stomped his cane against the ice. “Wards, we always called them, when Winterfell demanded boys of us, but they were hostages, and none the worse for it.” 

“None but them whose sires displeased the Kings o’ Winter,” said The Norrey. “Those came home shorter by a head. So you tell me, boy … if these wildling friends o’ yours prove false, do you have the belly to do what needs be done?” 

Ask Janos Slynt. “Tormund Giantsbane knows better than to try me. I may seem a green boy in your eyes, Lord Norrey, but I am still a son of Eddard Stark.”  (ADWD, Jon XI)

Jon refused to murder the old man at Queenscrown and he thinks he'll murder an innocent kid for the crimes of their people? Really? And what would that do to him? What does that do to any lord holding a hostage?

The mountain clans have an ambivalent take on the practice, Norrey more than Flint. The Kings of Winter are three centuries gone, and still he remembers. And the Starks used to make good on their threats, too. Yikes.

We know who Eddard Stark's hostage was. We know what it did to him. And what he did to them.

I don’t think this would be a good move, copying from the past. It worked with the mountain clans more or less, but it decidedly didn’t go well with Theon, and I don’t doubt it would leave a lot of people traumatized and relations grim for a long time. 

Actual wardships, voluntary and safe, would work much better at forging personal bonds that create long-term stability. The kids would visit home, could leave if they wanted, form friendships without fear, and still know their own roots to be respected. Like Ned or Domeric in the Vale, or Ned Dayne serving as Beric's squire, or even the Walders at Winterfell (if they had proper adult supervision and guidance...)

I'm sorry if this is a boring answer without the kind of speculation you may be looking for. I just can't separate the concept of hostages from what GRRM has been implying about it so heavily in the books: it's bad.

#what if #resettling the gifts #hostage #wildlings #wildling culture #wards

[nightmarecountry-a]

“ look at me. “ dream @ corinth 2

send   “ look at me. “   for my muse’s reaction to yours grabbing mine by the chin and forcing mine to look at them during a tense / highly emotional moment. 

There they are again, the old warring instincts: one hissing at him to fight at every turn, the other demanding his compliance. Leftovers, he thinks, from his predecessor, but he wonders sometimes if this is a necessary part of his design - if the Corinthian, like the humans it serves, has to be at war with itself.

Morpheus' grip closes on his jaw, directing his nightmare's gaze to his own. The Corinthian scowls into fathomless stars for a moment before the feeling of closeness with his creator settles him.

Their bond thrums: shame-rage-need. The Corinthian, leaning into his touch, half-considers biting him just to see what would happen. Another remnant from his predecessor: he has to push as far as his creator will allow, sometimes.

(Unlike the first Corinthian, the second feels a strange relief when Dream pushes back.)

#ic. #v: the remake #flcraiscn: dream #flcraiscn #[ you get three paragraphs of nothing but introspection. congrats. ] #[ i imagine they were arguing about something INCREDIBLY FUCKING STUPID ] #[ and the corinthian was just LOSING HIS MIND ]

[theoldhempfarmer]

The War against Hemp Derived Cannabinoids…

Dateline: 2-25-24

Presently Middle Tennessee is wafflingly between Winter and Spring, today Nature has decided that its Spring with high temperatures about 66 degrees F. Which is preferable to sub freezing temperatures but by golly it jacks with fauna and flora alike. Which really doesn’t bother my mini crop of Arugula but for the last couple years the warmer than usual weather baited the fruit trees into flowering but then slamming with colder than normal weather killing the blossoms, so no fruit. Anyway this morning, The Old Hemp Farmer is enjoying the Springlike conditions and a cup organic Indonesian coffee and some Costa Rican Cacao fortified with Tennessee homegrown CBD/THC extract. Yours truly will acknowledge that is column is a few days late but the time was spent to get my podcast Full Contact Cannabis researched, produced and edited, we kind of had to Squeeze this in because my co-host and Post Producer Mark Stepp has been doing a gang of high profile projects (think Super Bowl and soon the Oscars.) Anyway it dropped on Thursday. Some of my Full Contact Cannabis research has led to this morning’s musings. Stepp and I talked about the crackdown in Tennessee on certain Hemp Derived Cannabinoids and as research for the podcast I started checking on what others states are doing in regards, to THCa and D8 THC. Well my Tennessee Cannabis brethren, the badly crafted Cannabis law HB0403/SB0378 isn’t personal. Right now, it seems like almost everybody that isn’t either producing or selling Hemp Derived Cannabinoids absolutely hates them.

And when I say almost everyone, The Old Hemp Farmer means almost everyone. The legal Recreational Cannabis industry absolutely hates Hemp Derived Cannabinoids because they don’t have the same compliancy standards, with lower cost for licensing and way more taxes. So slowly almost all of the Recreational states have or getting ready to crackdown on D8 THC and its buddies. Meanwhile, the pushback on Hemp Derived Cannabinoids in non-Recreational States has become a Tsunami. There isn’t a Hemp only state that isn’t trying to close the loophole in the 2018 Farm Bill that basically legalized all Cannabinoids except D9 THC. A lot of folks hate that I call it a loophole but Senator Mitch McConnell never intended for people to go around smoking big spliffs of THCa Flower, trust me on that. So now all of these mostly Conservative states are quickly enacting really bad legislation trying to control stuff made from Hemp that gets you buzzed. This futile attempt to put the Hemp Derived Cannabinoid Genie back in the bottle would be comical if it wasn’t so tragic. Their solution to stem the demand for Cannabinoids? Make a bunch of people criminals because huge amount of folks will start accessing an all to willing Cannabis Black Market that is primed and ready to fill demand. One of the things that Lee Crabtree (Tennessee homegrown partner emeritus) and have pondered about is the fact thousands of Tennesseans that have that bought legal product on June 30th overnight on July 1st become criminals. In Tennessee, possession of a half ounce of marijuana or less is a misdemeanor punishable by up to one year in jail and maximum fine of $2,500, kind of sucks, doesn’t it?

The final group of folks that seems to be on a Holy War against Hemp Derived Cannabinoids are the “Hemp is going to change the World” folks that use to throw Recreational Cannabis under the bus, declaring that Hemp was good, high THC Cannabis was bad. When Recreational Cannabis turned out to be quite popular, the Hemp organizations had to find another scapegoat for why Hemp still hasn’t gone mainstream. So folks at magazines like Hemp Today have started to editorialize that all Hemp Derived Cannabinoids are dangerous and threat to the public, lumping all D8 THC/D9 THC manufactures as money grubbing parasites living off the poor naive souls with an addiction to D8 THC gummies. Some of the dialogue sounds strangely xenophobic, “all of the CBD used to make D8 comes from China” which is so sad. Do these folks know how many Hemp Farmers were only able to recoup some of the huge investment of 2019/2020? If these same folks truly cared about farmers they wouldn’t be going around encouraging them to now grow textile Hemp, which ironically they would have to compete with Chinese Hemp Textile industry, that has done it longer and more economically.

All of the above sounds quite daunting to anyone (like Mr. Crabtree and I) in the Hemp Derived Cannabinoid business but maybe this meant to be, separating the “chaff from the wheat”. Believe it or not I still get calls from people wanting to get into “The Hemp THC Game” and my new mantra is, “if anything can stop you, let it.” Anyway as always, Hemp Dawgs and Hemp Puppies keep one eye on the weather and the other eye on the market.

Visit our Tennessee homegrown web site to try our great products: https://www.tnhomegrown.com

The Wife's web site: https://www.theoldhempfarmerswife.com

Our Podcast - Full Contact Cannabis: https://fullcontactcannabis.podbean.com

#theoldhempfarmer #cannabinoids #cannabisbusiness #tennesseehomegrown #theoldhempfarmerswife #cannabis #cannabisindustry #d8 #cannabis culture #cannabis dispensary

[lucianodevries]

Luciano de Vries: Mastering the Art of Multi-Industry Success

Luciano de Vries epitomizes the quintessence of entrepreneurial dexterity, his saga of success stretching across a constellation of industries and continents. As the visionary co-founder of Gaet Investment Holding, de Vries’ narrative unfurls not as a predestined pursuit of business dominance, but as a serendipitous foray into the entrepreneurial realm, driven by an innate talent for sales and a pragmatic response to market demands.

The tale of de Vries is marked by an exceptional ability to identify and capitalize on market inefficiencies, a skill that has enabled him to cultivate a diverse portfolio of thriving businesses. From real estate to transportation, event planning to financial management, his ventures are united by a common thread — a strategic embrace of delegation and multitasking as indispensable ingredients for commercial triumph.

In reflecting on his journey, de Vries shares, "The essence of my ventures lies in the ability to foresee market trends and swiftly adapt. Each enterprise we've nurtured stemmed from recognizing an opportunity where others saw an impasse. Our growth strategy has always been about agile adaptation, leveraging each company's strengths to support and fuel the others."

His ascent from a law student to an entrepreneurial juggernaut was not a product of youthful ambition but an evolutionary process driven by adeptness and opportunity. "I never envisioned myself at the forefront of an industrial tapestry," de Vries muses. "It began with a simple job that evolved into a relentless pursuit of efficiency and growth. Every new venture was a natural progression, a step further in mastering the complex dance of supply chain and demand."

The strategic proliferation of de Vries’ empire is a testament to his philosophy of addressing inefficiencies head-on. He recalls a pivotal moment, stating, "We confronted a glaring inefficiency with a logistics provider — a scenario that could've stunted our growth. It was a defining moment, a catalyst that propelled us to innovate. Our solution was to internalize the service, transforming a challenge into a profitable new avenue."

Navigating the complexities of expansion, de Vries emphasizes the significance of understanding human psychology and the limitations that come with it. "Founders often fall prey to the illusion that they can be omnipresent within their companies. This misconception can stifle growth," he explains. "The art of leadership is knowing when to take a step back and let expertise guide your operations."

In his sage-like approach to business growth, de Vries has distilled his methodology into a replicable science. He stresses the importance of a meticulous, standardized strategy, particularly when confronting the legal and regulatory landscapes of international markets. "We approach each new market with a rigorous legal framework as our foundation. It’s the groundwork upon which we build our marketing strategies and customer relations," he asserts.

"Adherence to a well-conceived plan has been the cornerstone of our international success," Luciano de Vries remarks. "It is a delicate balance of leveraging legal compliance as a springboard for marketing, discerning where demand surges, and allocating our resources to capture and nurture these markets effectively."

As his story continues to unfold, Luciano de Vries’ multifaceted approach to business serves as an emblematic guide for aspiring entrepreneurs. It is a narrative that transcends the mere accumulation of wealth, illustrating a profound understanding of market dynamics, the judicious deployment of human capital, and the power of a visionary leader to orchestrate a symphony of industry-spanning success.

#lucianodevries

[silksworn]

[religion] One could say threads of similarity run between dark gods; the desire to dominate and rule chief among them. If Gods ever deigned to fight — and not send their worshipers in their stead as they oft do— one must also wonder whether Bane or the Spider Queen would come out the victor.... Ah, but you don't follow Her tenants anymore, do you? One could wonder whether Gortash follows the tenants of his God faithfully when he smiles at you, calm as one can be when surrounded by the piling corpses of the dead.

"The Black Lord or the Dark Mother?" As many gods do, their folios do overlap in the most basic of manners. God-Lord and God-Queen, both equally terrible and malevolent. Both demanding utter worship and dominion. Imagining the ravaging the world would face in the middle of even a petty dispute between the two is chilling.

Iraestra rolled a (18 + 4 Religion) 22 ! @fatewoven

"An interesting - if entirely blasphemous question should it be uttered aloud in the Underdark. If I still bloodied my knees at the Spider Bitch's altar, then I should by all rights cut out your wagging tongue and give it as an offering. Hm, no. You are a male, and an iblith no less, so I do fear the cost would be even steeper," Iraestra contemplates Enver critically, allowing the threat of violence done to drip treacle-slow into the air. She drums her fingers in thought against her chin. "Maybe your tongue and both your hands, if you are so fond of The Black Hand. Lolth would find the humor in that.

"If only for my own satisfaction I would like to imagine Bane the victor. Little else would taste sweeter to me. I do wonder though - what does your Lord think of your musings? Would he also condemn them, thinking it akin to the mortal sin of doubting him? Lolth certainly would. She demands utter and complete compliance — in every word, in every action. Will you soon be smited for your daring?"

Make a [SKILL] check!

#fatewoven #GODS ABOVE WHY IS SHE ALWAYS SO WORDY WITH HIM #shut up iraestra pls less talking.... #but anyway this was a fun one i wuv it #also as soon as i remembered that one of lolth's less pleasant titles is spider bitch i was like ah yes #iraestra would absolutely use that #☾ verse 3 ! ❛ —— ( cultist )

[colecassiidy]

some more small hc's:

Cole's ambidextrous with his shooting; though left had always been his first and dominant hand before he lost it. This skill mostly came about more as a thing to prove to himself that he could do it pre-war, and became more refined over time post war and pre-DL. He used to carry two pistols; just in case. He has experience with rifles to hunt game, but these, too, are mostly analog types without the glitter and glow of modern technology.

im not sure if i ever explicitly stated in a post yet, but he used to be able to play guitar and the now-and-then a banjo; these were things lying around in the DL hideout that they managed to pick off from some of their heists. It's not masterful, kinda sloppy, but he's got the confidence (and some practice) to pull off some folksy tunes with the right kind of crowd. He really only plays when he's had a few drinks. Hasn't really played since DL and refuses to be badgered into it in post. He likes the sensation of the vibrating strings, the sounds that floats into the air. Back in the days of said DL, he could be found aimlessly strumming - and soaking up the notes that he'd eventually learn to string together into something cohesive.

I see a lot of fics where he's dropping pet names (e.i. darling), but I'll admit that I won't be integraing that into my portrayal-- i'm really not sure why it doesn't click with me, but he will probably give your muse a nickname at some point. They will likely either be fond or fondly needling.

Cole's loyal, but he's not loyal to a fault. He trusts his gut first and foremost and won't ever quite let loyalty blind or cloud his judgement. It's why he left Blackwatch, why there was a falling apart with Ashe. His old man demanded a lot of it - used it as a point of manipulation - and Cole's learned to be wary of it when people use it to shut others down into compliancy. He hates being deemed a traitor but he'll shoulder it. He'll shoulder a lot of blame; whether or not he genuinely feels it is variable to the situation at hand.

#Hc: head up in the clouds;; #hc: general #hc: skills #//adding to that pt of loyalty tho he just... has a very strong sense of self #//which is interesting bc being around narcissists - they will sort of seek to destroy ur sense of independence and boundaries #//but cole sort of just drove head first into idgaf abt ur bs - but also like it wasnt EASY it was a struggle and there were fights #//anyway back to the sense of self thing - he cant be made apologetic of it #//two of these are responses to fanon;; first one is extrapolated from his og splash art where he's got peacekeeper and the other firearm #//idk there is a love for ride-or-die loyalty but from what i see of his actions; no he will not blindly follow u into the dark #//which idk kinda makes it when he does do it somewhat more meaningful to me ig

[4joonkookie]

27 Candles

💜 Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

💜 Words: 3.5K

💜 Summary:

A 12 hour diary of Namjoon’s 27th birthday.

💜 Tags/Warnings:

Smut, angst, breakup, DaddyJoon, Dom/sub, Daddykink, collars, Daddy/Babygirl, birthday sex, breakup sex, makeup sex, blindfolded sex, butt play, rough sex, spanking, riding, grinding, dirty talk, back scratching, fluff, Happy Birthday to the only man I’d call Daddy, not beta read, wish I had more time.

2:30 PM

After spending hours agonizing over your approach, you call Namjoon to wish him a happy birthday. It’s been a while since you’ve heard his voice. The low rumble sends vibrations through your body.

“We should celebrate,” you insist, exposing your ulterior motive.

“What do you want to do?” he muses.

You're quiet for a while, then take a deep breath.

“It's your birthday. I want you to tell me.”

The request is bold, but subtle enough. He lets out a low laugh, a knowing one, and clears his throat.

“Yeah?” his voice lowers, probably in an area with others. “You wanna be my good girl? Be good to me?”

“Yes,” you reply, just as low though, no one is around you. “I want you to have what you want for your birthday.”

Arousal pools in your belly while you fidget with your nervous hands.

“I like that idea,” he hums. “So I'll come by the apartment when I'm done?”

“No,” you assert, disrupting your compliance. “Can I see your new place?”.

He’s had his own place for over a month now but the place you shared is still “the apartment”.

“Sure, there’s not much there. It’s basically empty,” he replies.

You assure him that's just fine. Adjusting to living in “the” apartment without him has been hard enough. A new, less familiar place might make it easier. A place not-so-lived-in.

A place he can’t leave you again.

He’s quiet for a long time again before speaking.

“Is this a good idea?” he asks, in the exhale of a heavy sigh. His tone has changed, reality settling in.

“No,” you confirm, shaking your head although you’re alone.

The line is hushed, again. The silence is heavy with all of the unspoken “I miss you”, “I need you”, “something is missing without you”.

You both know where this goes, neither having the strength to step away.

3:37 PM

When the elevators open to his apartment corridor, there is a young woman kneeling at the door. Heart pounding, you walk slowly, keeping your head down and avoid eye contact altogether when she stands and begins to walk toward you. You quickly turn your head and breathe a sigh of relief to see her disappear behind the elevator doors.

A decorative basket sits at the front doorstep. You snatch it up, enter the lock code quickly and shut the door behind you.

The basket holds a bottle of champagne on dry ice. Also, a pair of lace panties. Two fixture items, surrounded by decorative flowers, candies and a notecard.

The note is a handwritten message about missing Namjoon on his birthday and a promise of wearing the panties “next time”; a drawn heart and scribbled name.

You open the champagne, chug from the bottle and toss the rest to the trash, attempting to discard the jealousy panging in your gut.

The breakup was two months ago. You hadn’t exactly agreed to “be friends”, it just happened. Though, you haven’t seen each other in person since he moved his things out.

You take in the view of the place. It’s enormously empty. The refrigerator and cabinets are empty, a layer of dust covering the bottom of the inside. A laptop and recording equipment are the only things set up in the living room alongside a couch. The Bedroom has no walls and sits on a raised platform in the living room, a total bachelor pad. Condom wrappers lay on the bedside table near the unmade bed. The bathroom counter, cluttered with his products and potions. You pick up the bottles one by one, searching for what’s new about him. Finally, the closet. You choose a shirt and to put on and discard everything else.

Your phone buzzes, Namjoon saying he’ll be there in about an hour. It’s sooner than you thought but you order groceries anyway. It always takes longer for him to get home than he says.

“Home.” You think. This isn’t home.

4:58 PM

Surprisingly on time, he arrives carrying handfuls of delivered bags.

“You bought groceries?” He uses his foot to close the door behind him.

“Yes,” you reply, removing bags from his hands. “Why don’t you have groceries? Just hire someone to do it.”

“Why hire someone when you’re willing to do it for me?”

“I didn’t,” you banter. “I hired someone to do it.” You shrug.

You close the refrigerator behind you. His phone starts to ring, he silences it.

“Where did you get champagne?” He questions.

When you casually mention the name of the woman who signed the card, he stiffens. Checks his phone, frantic.

“You talked to her?” He remains calm, but you can tell he’s uneasy.

“Yeah, I ran into her dropping this off on my way in. She’s sweet,” you string him along, feeling a little bratty “She said she wishes she could’ve seen you on your birthday.”

He gives you a long look and you hold his gaze.

“Liar!” he laughs, approaching you. His demeanor is calming, his smile relieves something in that “something is missing” category.

“How do you know her name?” He asks curiously.

You stall, not wanting to admit your resentful gesture.

“Oh there was a note, I must’ve misplaced it,” you say, appearing (hopefully-to-be) absent-minded.

He reaches a hand to peek in the trash can. Before he can, his phone rings again. He silences it immediately.

“Is that her?” You ask, casual, distracting.

He shifts uncomfortably but is honest. “We were going to meet up today. I cancelled.”

You tilt your head. “You said you didn’t have plans.”

“I didn’t,” he says plainly.

You hide a shy smile, briefly ducking your head. “And if I hadn’t invited myself over?” you tease.

“I’d be wishing you had.” He gets closer and a familiar electricity buzzes through you. He rests his hands too comfortably on your back, pulling you in, hugging you too tight, smelling your hair.

“I missed you,” He nuzzles his cheek to yours, brushing against you. The moves are slow, requainting.

His lips press against yours and you feel yourself slipping back into him. You try to shake off the feeling, remembering what you discussed on the phone.

“So, what do you want?”

He follows along, seemingly eager to take the edge off of these heavy feelings for a while too. He guides you back to the wall.

You can feel the undertones changing. His gaze darkens, your body being enclosed in his arms.

A hand moves to your bare neck, strokes the soft skin. Your heartbeat quickens. After some back and forth, you ultimately decided not to wear the collar. Not his to claim anymore, anyway. He silently acknowledges the absence of it and moves to your waist.

“It was very rude of you to throw away my things just because you’re jealous.”

“Not jealous,” you pout, and his lips drag against your neck. He bites down at your words causing you to gasp. He pins your hands above your head, against the wall while continuing work on your neck.

“Say it,” he chides. “Tell me how jealous you are that someone else can be good for me.”

Your blood boils, thinking of the woman at the door, condoms on the nightstand.

“And how many good girls do you have?” You query, calmly.

He squeezes your wrists above you. “Say it. And I'll tell you.”

You sigh heavily and give in. “Ok, I’m jealous, you admit.

He giggles between kisses on your skin. “I know.”

“So? How many?” Not giving in to his touch yet, still wanting to know.

He shrinks the grip on your wrists to one hand and uses the other to brush a finger against your lip.

“There are many girls who are good to me but I have only one good girl.”

He releases your wrists and your lips crash together, tongues passing sloppily. You drink each other in after months apart.

“Don’t move,” he instructs, and pulls away. You stand still, watching him disappear into the bedroom. He quickly reemerges with hands behind his back.

“Turn around,” he says, before he can make it all the way back to you.

Without hesitation, you turn and place both hands on the wall, bracing yourself. You feel his presence behind you and it all goes black. A silky fabric drapes over your eyes, a knot being tied just behind your head.

You reach behind yourself to grab at him. “What are you doing?!” The sudden darkness is startling, shocking.

He wraps arms tight around your body to still you.

“Shhh….,” he soothes. This is what I want.” A hand slides beneath the hem of your panties, circling fingers at your wet center, free arm holding you tight to his chest.

He raises his fingers to your lips, offering a taste of yourself.

When you release his fingers, he loosens his grasp on your body and grips a hand at the back of your neck. You straighten up on two feet.

“Walk,” he demands.

After walking a ways, your back hits the mattress.

You can’t see him but his hands are hot on your skin, traveling in unseen paths. You can hear your breath, loud. The quiet in the room is loud.

It’s dark, but the fear begins to fade. All other senses are heightened.

There is a sense of right with his hands on your skin again, lips on yours again, his scent filling your nostrils again, feeling his weight above you again.

He drags his tongue slowly down the center of your body, between your breasts, over your navel and fastens his mouth to your center making you squirm as he sucks below, arms hooked around your thighs.

He licks lovingly, skillfully, and pulls away too soon. He pulls you up by your arms and guides you to sit up.

“Show me what a good girl you are?” he whispers above you. The whisper is crystal clear, echoing in your ears.

You nod into the darkness and hear him removing clothes. Cock free, he pushes the tip to your lips and pushes in slow, to the back of your throat, holding himself there.

“No hands,” he warns. He slides out just as slowly and you do your best to control your gags.

He pushes in again, too quickly and deep. You pull away, coughing and trapping his shaft with your hand.

“No.” he pushes your hand away. He grabs your chin, prying your jaw open and pushes in again. Drool spills and tears moisten the fabric over your eyes. He grabs the back of your head and pushes it flush against his pelvis, no room for grabby hands.

You choke and back off of it, using both hands this time to remove it. You cough when he pulls out, a string of saliva still connecting you.

It’s been a while since you've done this but somehow, it’s more difficult because you can’t see.

“Bend Over,” he growls.

You turn over and feel the familiar caress over your cheek before he moves, muscle memory. He lays a hard smack and you moan, spine lighting up. You smile gleefully to yourself. A familiar warmth overtakes you.

“You’re out of practice,” he taunts, “Need to remember how to behave.”

Another hit, and you cry out again. Spanks, all the more exciting and titillating behind a blindfold.

“You want to give Daddy what he wants, you said?” you hear his voice from behind you.

You nod, zoned in on your lack of vision.

You don’t sense the next hit coming, it’s so much more intense. You’ve been punished for not using words. Without hesitation, they come spilling out.

“Yes, Daddy.”

This.

This was definitely missing. Not so much that you need to be punished but that you want to be tamed.

And no one does it like him.

He slides two fingers into you from behind. You moan and buck back, bouncing on his fingers.

He leans down to lap you, licking up from your pussy and his fingers up to your ass, prodding his tongue inside the tight muscle.

He moves away and you hear the click of a bottle. Cold lube spills over your exposed skin.

Two fingers still in your pussy, He gruffly pushes a third to your bum, pouring more lube with a free hand. He pushes to the webbing of his hand and holds it, giving you time to adjust.

“Good girl loves being filled up, huh?”

You nod before catching yourself. “Yes, Daddy.”

He adds a second finger inside, two in each opening now, scissoring and stretching you open.

You sob, everything feeling that much more intense and full in the dark.

He pulls his fingers out of your body with a lewd pop.

“Are you ready to try again?.”

“Yes.” Something clicks in your mind and has your body assuming the previous position.

The shock of the sensory change and overwhelming emotion before had you too frantic, unable to focus.

Now, bridled in just the right way, he pushes into your throat with no objections from your body, only eager acceptance.

He begins thrusting at the back of your throat. You relax your jaw and control your gags. The darkness isn’t so startling anymore. It helps you focus on controlling your muscles, a meditation almost. You grip the sheets to keep your hands away.

He pulls out and you try to even your desperate breath, swallowing pooled saliva.

He tests your compliance, pushing to the back again, using two hands to hold your head down, letting your face slide off silently.

“There she is,” he strokes your hair as you wipe your mouth. “There’s my good girl.”

The praise fuels you, feeling pleased and settled.

He turns you over again and slides inside right away, slapping hips against you. You whimper and move your body with his.

You nearly ascend when he pushes his index finger into your stretched ass while still thrusting inside.

His cock thrusts against your g spot and presses against his finger behind your walls.The repeated pressure on both sides makes your knees shake. The sound you make is almost primal, body falling limp, spiraling through an orgasm.

He frees his hands and pushes your shoulders flat to the bed to slam inside. You lay, boneless as he grunts and growls through his own orgasm.

Falling beside you, he removes the blindfold and gestures for you to lay on his chest.

He pets and strokes the places he’s left marks. He slides his thumb along your worked jaw.

You didn’t realize how badly you’ve missed this feeling of safe, being claimed again.

8:09 PM

Limbs draped together laying on the bed, Namjoon carries on about his most recent lyric-writing.

Words, spilling out a mile a minute, eyes focused outward, trying to find a lyrical solution by talking aloud.

You study him, just as you always had. The same ,familiar motions and conversation but a different background.

It’s unmistakable.

It’s not any particular location that’s “lived-in”. This place echoes with empty and still smells of fresh paint.

It’s the relationship, the vibes. You and Namjoon are lived-in.

His voice, his touch. You know it’s everything you need but know it won’t last. You broke up for a reason, a dark cloud lingering over your temporary reconnection.

You try not to think of it, letting this temporary elation carry you both to the point where you must eventually take stock of what’s happening and acknowledge that you’re worse together, no matter how good it feels right now.

Despite your silent spiral, he continues talking, unbothered. You watch him, endeared, absorbing every morsel of himself he has to offer before you part again.

Eventually, he catches himself. “Sorry, should I stop?”

You climb on top of him and snag the nearby blindfold. You playfully spread it over his mouth and a giggle erupts from underneath. You slide it up to his eyes, mimicking your position from earlier. He inhales sharply and smiles.

You take his earlobe into your mouth and suck marks to his collarbone, not caring of the consequences. He doesn’t stop you, hissing and grabbing at your hair.

You relish In taking him like this, the breakup, giving you freedom to reciprocate this notion and him, the freedom to surrender to it.

You lean down and graze your teeth over his nipples, a secret sensitive spot.

He gasps and lets out a whimper. It was beautiful. You chase it again, sucking and blowing cold air over them.

Still naked, you grasp the shaft and wrap your pussy over him, eyes rolling back at the pleasing friction.

You slide up and down, chasing the high.

He’s moaning in a way you’ve never heard, the intensity of not having vision.

Still above him, you plant a foot on the ground and slide his length inside of yourself.

Your hips move above him, slowly at first. You watch him, every pant and bead of sweat dripping. You get to see him in a way you couldn’t if he could see you back.

Soon, it feels too good, dick rocking right on your spot, fast and deep. He moves his hips faster below you, a signal to speed up.

You rock back and forth, squirming and squelching on his cock, feeling a little freer that he can’t see you, but only feel you so intensely.

He sinks and drags fingernails down your back with a hiss and a moan. He keeps his nails buried in your skin and holds your hips down.

“Fuck,” he pants as you pull the blindfold loose to see him come.

His hands grab yours and you use your laced hands to brace yourself, squeezing fingers tight when you both come.

It feels like an official reuniting, coming together again. Having more even ground this time, just experiencing this together.

Now, all is right again. Doubt, drowned just a bit longer.

11:51 PM

You’re in a marathon of a conversation, catching up on the last few months.

You laugh and talk and joke, just like old times. He grabs you by the waist.

He kisses you. Long and full of expectation.

“Just remind me why.” He exhales and pushes his forehead to yours.

“No, Joonie, we can’t do this_” You feel thorns grow on your skin and try to push away.

He doesn’t remember yet. This is a beaten path. As much as you missed the four walls you shared, by the end of it all, it was suffocating. Walls, closing in.

“Please,” he pleads. “Because i’m looking at you and we’re here talking and kissing and fucking, perfect as it always was and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why we’re not together.”

You shake your head as tears burn at your eyelids.

“No, Namjoon, we cannot have this fight again…” you try to free yourself again. There’s so much more to it all than sex and conversation.

“Who’s fighting?”

“You know why we’re not together,” you argue. It was bad for a long time. We fought and fought_…”

“Maybe we didn’t try hard enough,” he interrupts.

You look at him, shake your head.

“I did.” Tears falling freely now. “We can’t see each other anymore. It’s not fair. Not to either one of us.

You laugh to yourself. “We both knew it was a bad idea. We knew we’d end up right back here.”

“And where is that?” he asks, soft tears spilling from his sharp eyes.

You don’t answer. Just offer a weak smile as you quickly dress.

“Happy Birthday.”

And just like that, it’s all over, 2 strokes to midnight.

12:13 AM

You turn on the lights to “the” empty apartment and intentionally don’t look around. Any progress you had made at making the place feel like just yours are back at square one.

Your body is heavy with regret, can’t believe you let yourself drown in him again.

You crawl under the covers and wait for it to be just not so hard, back turned away from the side of the bed that feels so devastatingly empty.

2:30 AM

You stir awake from a noise at the door. The knock sounds again, waking you completely.

You sleepily drag yourself to the door.

There he stands, eyes swollen, looking lost and vulnerable.

You stare at each other in the doorway, unable to tell if there are a million unsaid things being spoken or just emotions spilling sloppily around with no rhyme or reason.

The same electricity fires inside. Even though you can’t remember what you said when you left.

The only thing you can remember right now is how right it is that he’s here. And how wrong it was when he was gone, and how empty his side of the bed is.

You extend your hand out, inviting him in. He looks for a long time and finally accepts. You shut the door behind him, locking you both back into those four walls.

#bts smut #namjoon x y/n #namjoon smut #namjoon thirst #bts oneshot #bts drabble #namjoon one shot #namjoon drabble #bts imagines #namjoon x reader #bts fic rec #bts fic

[americxn]

Hey! I love ur writing so much. I'm happy ur a part of this community<3🥰 I was wondering if I could request a super dominant reader and James March smut?? He is so dom himself that I rly crave an uno reverse card on that. like, choking him, ordering him around, him shocked af at your dominance but enjoying it immensely, maybe even caning him with his own cane?? wekdjfksjfke 🌝 thank U in advance & it's totes ok if not, mwah have a gorgeous week<3

Satiated (James Patrick March x Fem!Reader)

this is... I don’t even know what this is but it’s not good lmao, I’m so sorry; I’ll probably rewrite this but I didn’t want to leave this request waiting for too long

wordcount: 4.3k warnings: NSFW, caning, penetration, riding, choking, swearing

“I want to try something.” You announced, shouldering open the door to your shared bathroom, James’ dark eyes flicking to you in the mirror, the scars littering the strong, pale planes of his bare back like slivers of silver in the bright light. “Yes?” He drawled, turning partly to you whilst continuing to pat his face dry with the freshly laundered hand towel in his grasp; your eyes scanned the pronounced valley of his back, trailing downwards to the loose waistline of his black slacks clinging low on his hips, his braces having been pulled from his shoulders and allowed to dangle at his thighs. Stalking for him, you took one of them in your grip, pulling on it harshly and forcing his body to angle fully towards you. He surveyed you, curiously setting his dark eyes alight, the pristine towel tumbling from his grip as he blinked at you, the force with which you had maneuvered his body utterly out of character.

  Your confidence faltered under his scrutiny but you spurred yourself to continue, reaching to his other hip for the elastic of the brace residing there and simultaneously tugging on both, James’ hips knocking into yours as you claimed his lips with your own. James bit back his dazed grunt of surprise as your lips connected to his, teetering slightly on his bare feet before allowing his eyes to flutter closed, surrendering himself to the determined warmth of your lips. You hummed at his softness, retreating slightly to reangle your head before crashing your mouth onto his with renewed vigour, giving him a mere moment to adjust to your new approach before prying his lips apart with your tongue and flooding into the heat of his mouth. Much to your delight, James shivered, his back arching slightly further into your body as you ran the tip of your tongue along the roof of his mouth before meeting his own tongue, answering to his demanding nudges with possessive ones of your own. You smiled onto his mouth, pleased with how he was responding and reaching to the waistband of his pants, ensuring to keep the kiss deep and claiming whilst your fingertips worked to unclip the brace dangling limply by his left thigh, then the one at his right hip. He didn’t even seem to notice, too indulged in simultaneously tasting you and silently willing you to taste him more, his velvety tongue brushing against yours with demanding fervour. Having successfully detached the accessory from his pants, you brought it up around the back of his neck, looping it around and holding it in a tight grip with one hand at the hollow of his throat. Detaching your lips from his, you swiped your lips softly across the tip of his nose in a lingering touch, smiling in anticipatory delight as you tugged firmly at the brace around his neck. James took a responding step forward. You evaded his advance by taking a step back of your own, his eyes alight with timorous curiosity. You passed him a wickedly sweet smile before turning, your grip tight on the thick elastic around his neck as you began walking casually back into the main room of your shared suit, James staggering after you, both full of apprehension and eagerness, enticed by the newfound domineering sway of your hips as you lead him from the bathroom. You dragged him over to the bed, giving the makeshift leash at his throat a harsh tug, eliciting a surprised intake of breath from him as you forced him closer to the mattress before you, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the wooden bedframe. Releasing the brace from his neck, James’ eyes caught on it as it fell to the floor, his gaze shifting to you as you uttered a soft praise at his cooperation, his eyes darkening even further when your fingers dropped to the front of his slacks, the clinking of his belt filling the thick silence of the room as you deftly worked to undo it. James shuddered under your touch as you moved to the buttons holding his pants together, your knees bending to follow their journey down his legs until you were knelt before his feet, your hands reaching up to grip onto his pale thighs. His chin rose as you tightened your grip, his cock twitching from the confines of his cotton underwear, trying to strain for you as your nails bit into his skin. Leaning in, you placed a single lingering kiss to his navel before rising, allowing your fingers to trail up his thighs, journeying across the material of his loose fitting underwear as you stood to your full height, the corner of your mouth curving into a self satisfied smirk at the smattering of goosebumps that rose onto his skin in the wake of your fingertips, the column of his throat working as he swallowed thickly. “May I inquire as to where this has come from?” He asked feebly, his fingers itching to take ahold of your waist. When he reached out to try you batted his hands away, offering him a reproving glance from beneath your lashes. He shrunk under your disapproving scowl, his lips closing tightly. “You’re always in charge. Now it’s my turn.” This was your only explanation before you commanded him to remove his underwear, stepping back to watch as he did as instructed, a small blush rising onto his cheeks as he fully exposed himself to you, any remaining dignity stolen as you watched on, fully clothed. You took a lingering glance at his semi-hard cock as it presented itself proudly to you, his thighs tensing under your branding gaze. Dragging your eyes back up the quilted surface of his torso, you painted a lovingly unforgiving expression onto your features, bringing your face close to his. His eyes drifted shut, lips parting slightly in anticipatory invitation, wanting to feel your mouth on his once more. Instead, you took ahold of his hips, rubbing your thumbs along the swell of protruding bone. “Where’s that cane of yours? I want to put it to good use.” Unsurity swarmed gaze but he dipped his chin in an obeying nod, shuffling around your body, the prominent muscles in his ass working as he strode to the corner of the room, retrieving the cane that was resting against the far wall; a thick sheet of arousal draped over you at his unfaltering compliance, all of your attention narrowing in on the shifting of his powerful muscles beneath his tight skin as he hurried to obey you. “Thank you.” You crooned when he hastened back across the space to you, the polished dark wood of his cane gleaming in the dim light of the room as you took it from his grasp. Reaching out a hand, you drew the tip of your finger up the centre of his torso in one long stroke, your nail scraping softly as it completed its trail up the column of his throat to his chin where your finger stilled to force his head to tilt up towards the ceiling. “I didn’t think that you would be so willing to surrender to me.” You mused quietly, applying more pressure to the bottom of his chin with your fingertip, his eyes never straying from yours as you forced his head back further, displaying the full length of his throat to you. He fumbled for words, eyes scanning yours as you pressed your body closer to his, your clothes soft against his too sensitive skin. “I’m intrigued.” He finally whispered to you, the tip of his cane striking the floor as you loosened your grip on it, leaning your weight onto it slightly. Smiling sweetly at him, you took ahold of his hips, harshly turning him and shoving him down onto the bed. His body bounced slightly atop the mattress, his elbows grappling to gain purchase on the surface of the bed to push himself up. You waited until he had rose partly onto his elbows before reaching forwards to place your palm flat between his shoulder blades and forcing him back down flat with a firm push. Giving him no time to recover, you adjusted your grip on his cane, raising it into the air before bringing it down on his bare ass with a harsh crack. His body lurched forwards in response, his stunned grunt muffled as he buried his face into the soft covers. It took him a moment to retrieve his senses following the burning lash you had laid across his bare skin, by which point you were already raining a second strike down across the pale curves of his ass. And a third. And a fourth. He groaned, his teeth latching onto the sheets beneath him in a futile effort to stay quiet as your assault on his ass continued, each strike fuelling the burn radiating across his skin. With several more strokes administered to his increasingly flushed skin, he seemed to succumb to the pain, became drunk on ecstasy, greedily feasting on the hurt you infused into him; not accustomed to being the one receiving any sort of physical punishment, his back arched of its own accord, his pert ass parting in a silent plead for more. “Pitiful.” You tutted, reached forwards to rake the tips of your fingers through the red welts highlighting the pale canvas of his skin. He mewled, toes curling in perverted bliss as you painted smaller marks onto him with your nails, relishing in the simmering warmth radiating off his abused skin under your touch. James was mumbling incoherently around the mouthful of sheets caught between his teeth as you stepped back, delivering several more strokes to his ass with the hard wood of his cane. He shrieked when you laid the final, harshest, strike on his ass, the pain both sweet and strenuous, some drool escaping from his lips and soaking into the covers beneath him. Admiring your handiwork, you gazed across the gracious curves of his ass, marred with ever deepening sangria welts rising onto the contrastingly pale mounds. Reaching for him, you lightly tapped his hip, encouraging him to turn over; he heeded your wordless request and winced as his tender ass rubbed against the soft sheets. You cooed at the sight of his fully engorged cock, the purple head swollen and dripping a pearly bead of precum, his liquid need having left a small damp patch on the covers beneath him. You let out a breathy chuckle as he lifted his hips up, rutting his cock into the air in shameless need, showing you the effects that your rough treatment of his ass had pried from him. “I didn’t think that you were so much of a whore to get off on me hurting you; you’ve proved me wrong.” Your words had a broken noise cracking from the back of his throat, suspiciously close to a whine as his cock twitched, beckoning you to give it attention. His eyes were glazed with undiluted arousal as he stared up at you, and you noted the way that his eyes flicked feverishly from your face to the cane still tightly gripped in your hand, yearning to feel its impact upon his skin once again. With a pointed smirk, you placed it on the covers beside his head, his arousal radiating off body, turning the air that coated your fingers warm. Withdrawing your hand, you turned away, ensuring that all of his focus was fixed on you as you slowly rid yourself of your own clothes, discarding each article in a neat pile by your feet until you were just as exposed as he was. He scanned your body with greed as you turned back to face him, his hips once again making a futile thrust into the empty air above him, the swollen tip of his cock screaming for attention. “I could leave you here like this.” You mused, taking a step closer to the bed. He threw his head back in premature despair at your softly spoken words. “I could make you wait for your pleasure. I could reduce you to nothing but an unending pit of desperate need; I could make you crave me.” He let out a shakily spoken “no” of disagreement. “No?” You pushed, taking another step towards his tense form on the bed. He lifted his head to watch as you crawled onto the mattress, positioning your knees on either side of his thighs, his cock straining up to reach you. “No.” He bit back in confirmation. You cocked your head as you settled onto his upper thighs, lifting a hand and brushing your thumb over his tip so gently that the touch barely registered to James, who didn’t dare take his eyes off your hand as you gathered the single drop of precum threatening to spill; lifting up onto your knees, you reached to bring your hand up to James’ mouth, who instantly closed his lips around your thumb, his tongue swirling over the soft pad of it. He groaned at the bitter taste of himself on your skin, his lips parting to allow you to withdraw the digit. You decided that you could spend hours upon hours toying with him, watching him pitifully roll his hips up into nothing, the sight of his puffy lower lip caught tightly between his teeth to prevent any undignified noises from slipping out absolutely delightful. But your own arousal was causing your patience to slip, and so you maneuvered back down his body to where his cock was stretched to attention. Lowering your core to him, you laid your palm flat to the curve of his shaft, spreading your legs in order to part your cunt before rubbing yourself along the underside of him. His eyes drifted shut, his head falling back onto the covers beneath him as you steadily rubbed him between your engorged folds, your wetness smearing onto his vein decorated shaft as you drew yourself from his head to the very base of his length, your hand flat as it held him to your pussy. A string of breathily mumbled curses fell from his parted lips; you smirked. James very rarely swore and the rare profanities only spurred you on, pressing him further against your core as you continued to rub yourself up and down him. “More.” He stated after several more moments of this, his obedient demeanour slipping as you continued to tease him, drawing out the soft pleasure you provided him with your slickness. “Sorry?” You questioned, halting your movements; with a pitiful grunt, he bucked his hips into you, trying to use you for his own pleasure. “I don’t recall allowing you to make demands.” You finished, pushing yourself slightly up on your knees to hover just out of the reach of his cock that now glistened with your juices.  “You’re playing too much.” He complained, pushing himself up onto his elbows and reaching for you. With a scowl, you slammed your palm into his throat, closing your fingers tightly around his neck and forcing his upper body back down. “Ungrateful bitch,” you spat, pinning him to the mattress by his throat. His eyes flashed in surprise as you increased the pressure of your grasp, fingertips burrowing deeper into his skin. With a flush working its way into his cheeks, he seemed to instantaneously surrender to you once more, his body settling back into the mattress as he seemed to recognise how direly he had underestimated your determination to switch the roles for once. “Maybe I didn’t cane you hard enough.” The words were carried on an exaggerated sigh as you sat back, moving to push yourself off the bed entirely. “No!” James sputtered, his lithe fingers closing around your hand that strayed from its hold around his throat as you made to stand. Pausing, you raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry. Please, just do something. I need you. I need to feel you. Please.” Your stomach twisted in sick delight as you watched the man who had never begged for anything in his life moan his defeated craving for you. Grinning down at him in savage delectation, you settled fully back onto him, taking his length in your palm and guiding him into your cunt. His jaw fell slack, his pupils seeming to dilate with pleasure, pleasure that was only magnified at the returning grasp of your hand around his throat. Sinking fully down onto him, his groan of relief was sweet to your ears. You rocked your hips experimentally, pausing to reach for the cane beside his head. He accepted it as you guided it horizontally into his mouth, his teeth closing tightly around the hard wood which groaned under the force of his bite; the cane was ornate, expensive and thus, heavy, and a dim ache spread along the length of his jaw almost immediately with his efforts of keeping its weight balanced between his teeth. Picking yourself off his cock slightly, you slid down its length once more, ensuring that he was seated fully within your slick channel before rising once more to repeat the movement. James shuddered beneath you, his eyes drifting closed and his hands closing around the wood of the cane at either side of his head. The grip of his fingers was just as tight as that of his jaw, needing something to ground him in the midst of the vast pleasure already unfurling within him. With one more rise and fall on his cock, James was bucking his hips up into you as you sunk back down his length, unable to keep still beneath your ministrations and forcing his cock to plunge even deeper inside you. Your eyes shuttered as he did so, the walls of your cunt tightening around him, attempting to pull him deeper; the urge to reprove him was strong, but the pleasure that his rutting sent skittering along your nerves was even stronger. The sensation of him fully filling you drew a broken moan from your throat and you lifted yourself up once more, only to slide slowly back down his length, repeating the unrushed action several times, drawing out the pleasure that the simple movement gave you. James let out a soft groan around the polished wood of his cane, his eyes fluttering with his tongue pinned beneath it and rendering him inarticulate. His pulse fluttered beneath the palm still pressing into his windpipe, the sheen of stubble populating the skin prickling into your touch. Your clit pulsed steadily as you seated yourself fully back onto his cock, your need to touch him, to feel him, becoming indescribable as James resumed his reciprocating action of lifting his hips up to meet yours, the two of you establishing a feverish pace, the swollen head of his cock hitting hard and deep, your movements becoming increasingly febrile. With you own pleasure mounting, the sight of his face, scrunched up with bliss, a red hue coating the skin from your harsh grip on his throat, the lightning shaped vein forking through his forehead was divine and all other thought but of that of him inside you, of the pleasure you were evidently giving him, evaded your consciousness. A breathy moan of your own drifted from your lips, James’ eyes cracking open so that he could watch you ride him through a heavy-lidded gaze, eyes glazed with gratification. You continued to pick yourself up on his cock before fully slamming down once more, again and again and again, your slick, sensitive walls pulsing around him, his head continuing to hit deep, each thrust ripping away at the bundle of pleasure glowing in the pit of your stomach, the orgasm hidden at its centre your goal as you fucked yourself on him. You clenched the inner walls of your tender cunt, letting out a shakily moaned “fuck” as it forced James’ thickness to press into the entirety of your slickness. James mewled beneath you in response, much to your satisfaction, his teeth tightening around the wood of his cane, biting down hard as you rode him closer and closer to release, the series of pleasure filled whimpers that tumbled from his lips quietened by the intrusion. You groaned deeply in response, James’ eyes almost rolling at the sight of you trailing one of your hands down to your cunt, rubbing at your clit harshly as the other hand came to grapple with one of your tits, fondling the soft mound whilst you pleased yourself. His eyes were wholly dark as he watched this, his mouth going utterly dry as you let out a soft gasp, your eyes drifting closed. Your fingertips brushed against the very bottom of his shaft as you drew ever larger, harder circles onto your clit, drawing in a hissing breath. You knew James was getting close when the fervour with which he thrusted up into you faltered, his grip on the cane turning bonewhite, his knuckles visible beneath his pale skin. Slowing your pace, you giggled in cruel, blissful amusement at the despairing groan of protest that leaked from around the cane in his mouth. “I’m tempted to finish myself off on your cock and then leave you here.” You mused softly in a honeyed tone. James shook his head to the best of his ability with his teeth latched onto his cane. “No?” You hummed in patronising question, sinking yourself even deeper onto his cock than before, your knees slipping further apart in order to fit your hips snugly onto his, grinding onto him slightly. James threw his head back, a single tear of aggravated need leaking down the side of his face. You cooed at his pitiful display of desperation, stilling fully on him as you continued to work yourself with the tips of his fingers. A small thread of drool leaked from the corner of James’ mouth at the sight. “Go on,” you groaned, deciding that you needed your own pleasure to be provided to you by his cock just as much as he needed his pleasure to be provided by your cunt. “Use my cunt. Make yourself cum.” He slammed up into you immediately, the force with which he rammed his entire length up into you nearly throwing your body off of his, both of your hands falling to rest on his torso to ensure that you remained seated on his cock. The tendons in his neck become more pronounced as he slammed into you again and again with reckless abandon, your heavy, aching tits bouncing with the force and your knees struggling to maintain purchase on the silky bed sheets. You blinked, trying to clear your blurring vision as your eyes strained to retreat into the back of your head, James’ cock stretching and filling you so perfectly that you felt intoxicated on pleasure, your toes curling and fingers trembling in their place on his flexing torso. He knew the exact angle with which he needed to pound up into you, his swollen head hitting deep, abundantly fuelling the pyre of ecstasy building within you, his breaths coming out hard and fast, fogging the polished wood of the cane lodged between his teeth. “Look at me.” You ordered when his thrusts became dangerously messily, leaning forwards to catch his tightly clenched jaw in your sweat coated palm, the muscles within feathering and twitching under your touch. His eyes locked with yours, a shuddering, drawn out groan floating from him as his hot seed spilled up into you, catalysed by the look of pure hunger he beheld in your meeting gaze. His unleashing of hot, liquid bliss had your own orgasm crashing into you, it’s force utterly euphoric as it passed through you in waves of electrifying heat. Your eyes rolled, pupils becoming lost to pleasure as the planes of James’ abdomen clenched, the tightening and pulsing of your slick walls around him drawing out his own release as you struggled to gain control of your body amidst the throes of your own, your face contorting in bliss. James was released from his orgasm with a strained grunt, his body melting back into the mattress, the tight planes of his body coated with sweat as he watched you recover from your own orgasm, completely sated beneath you, his back teeth digging into the wood of his cane further and exacerbating the ache threading through his jaw. Your fingers trembled, struggling to grapple onto his scar flecked skin, needing to grip onto something in a futile attempt to ground your mind that was lost to abundant pleasure. With a shuddering gasp, your eyes righted themselves, jaw falling slack as your muscles were released from the tight knots that your pleasure coursing through you had forced them into. Panting, you collapsed forwards, James’ skin hot beneath your lips as you planted a kiss onto the hollow of his throat. His cock softened within you, his eyes glinting with appreciation as you reached up, coaxing his fingers to loosen from the cane and withdrawing it from his lips. Shallow indentations had been left by the fierceness with which his teeth had sunk into the hard material. You crooned softly at the sight, bringing the length of the cane to his eye level to show him his handiwork. He smiled weakly, satisfied at the marks he had left, a constant reminder of the pleasure you had given him. Patting his cheek, you offered him a softly spoken praise, genuinely thanking him for handing you the power that he usually exercised so keenly before capturing his lips with your own in a sweet, healing kiss.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins @ananad1 @shlutnutt @sanni333 @mossybank (dm me to be added or removed <3)

#american horror story #american horror story fandom #american horror story fanfiction #american horror story fanfic #american horror story hotel #american horror story season 5 #american horror story james patrick march #american horror story james march #american horror story hotel cortez #ahs #ahs fandom #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanfic #ahs hotel #ahs season 5 #ahs james patrick march #ahs james march #ahs hotel cortez #jpm #american horror story jpm #ahs jpm #james patrick march #james march #james patrick march x reader #james march x reader #jpm x reader #james patrick march smut #james march smut #jpm smut #james patrick march x reader smut