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cambion-companion · 1 year

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Imagine Aemond cuddling from behind while he carefully shoves his cock inside and comforts you by saying things like “I know you’re tired my love, just go to sleep, I’ll take care of this.” and keeps fucking you slowly while he gropes your entire body 🥺

Yep, I've literally been wanting to write something like this for SO long so thank you for this prompt Nonny!

A drabble to get you hot and bothered hehe

Aemond x fem!reader | smut | 18+ only

The mattress dipped behind where you were curled comfortably, rousing you from your slumber. As you stirred, a warm hand was placed atop your hip, the familiar scent of your husband filling your nostrils.

"I know you're tired, my love." Aemond purred in your ear, his lips ghosting down the arch of your neck.

"Hmm." You hummed, pressing back against his evident arousal, feeling his dexterous fingers bunching your nightgown around your waist.

"Let me do this." He whispered, capturing your lips with his own as you turned your head sleepily toward him.

Exhausted as you were, you still felt the familiar heat begin to pool in your core, Aemond hummed in approval as his fingers probed at your slickening folds. He coaxed your leg up, opening yourself better for the tip of his cock as he began pressing into you slowly.

You sighed in pleasure, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow, your eyes closing as Aemond took his time filling you up. He was still within you as your walls stretched to accommodate his girth.

"You're so warm." He murmured, almost to himself. "Molded by the gods just for me."

Your fingers dug into the soft mattress as Aemond began rocking into you, his pace languid and gentle. Despite your pleasure, the urge to sleep was stronger still, and you felt your mind begin to drift even as a weak mewl escaped your parted lips.

"Hush, my ember. Just sleep while I take care of this."

You felt his hands caressing your curves, palming the swell of your breasts, running along the soft flesh of your stomach, applying gentle pressure over your womb as he continued to make sleepy love to you.

Your mind began to drift, caught in hazy half-sleep; pleasurable dreams flitting along the edges of your conscious.

Aemond held you close against him as he neared his release, trying to hold back his desire to fuck deep and fast into your cunt as it tightened around him. He could tell you were barely awake, your moans almost inaudible. With a gasp of his own Aemond buried his cock to the hilt within your clenching walls, whether in dream or wakefulness, he had made you orgasm. The feeling of you milking his member was something he would never grow used to, nor take for granted. He waited for the spasms of your quim to subside before resuming his movements, it only took several more strokes before he was coming undone, spilling himself into you, his lips parting in a silent groan.

He did not withdraw from your heat, instead electing to settle in next to you, spooning your body against his, with his cock still sheathed within your cunt. Aemond's hand found your belly, pressing once more against where he hoped his seed would take root. He kissed your neck, listening to your even breathing, the sweet little snores that escaped your mouth. If Aemond had his way, come the morning he would wake you up in much the same way he had rocked you to sleep.

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beyondthisdarkhouse · 1 year

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Feeling really nostalgic about July 17-18, 2008, the last time I believed in Joss Whedon

It was just cool, you know? Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog dropped in three separate pieces over the course of the week. We'd get 15 minutes of story, and then two days to froth over the whys and wherefores in Livejournal comments before the next piece came out. And those days were so good.

Buffy fans are so fucking smart, y'all. They could combine academic rigor with unselfconscious fangirl squee. Squee was a hermeneutical method, a mode of interrogating the text--one we often dismiss and diminish, because if there's anything grosser than teenage girls getting goopy over a vampire they like, it's 30 or 50 or 70-year-old women getting goopy over a vampire they like. But it's similar to what I've seen called a "redemptive reading". You approach a piece of media specifically looking for its best parts, the pieces you love the best, and you allow yourself to fully embody the joy of liking something and caroling your joy to other people who like it too. In a perpetually burned-out time, squee can be like a desert oasis.

So the people who liked Buffy and Angel and Firefly watched Doctor Horrible in a manner both squeeful and intersectionally feminist, and saw all the amazing interesting things it was doing, showing how insecure geek masculinity fundamentally self-sabotages the main character, Billy, because the relationship he wants has been there in reach for months, and it's his own perception that he needs to be an alpha male warrior that has kept him from it. It interrogated the entire genre of costumed heroes, with two men thumping their chests and comparing their dick sizes, and none of them doing anything as direct and helpful for their society as Penny, the woman who stands on sidewalks collecting signatures to help a homeless shelter.

Part II came out on July 17, and the series would end with Part III on July 19. So on July 18, I spent most of the day reading Livejournal comments about it. There were all these theories: Maybe Penny was secretly Bad Horse, the archvillain whose approval Billy has craved since the beginning. Maybe she will collapse the love triangle with Billy's rival, Captain Hammer, by acting on her clearly-demonstrated discomfort and dumping him. Maybe Billy will learn that relationships are based on intimacy, not being The Best. Maybe Penny will become a superhero and replace Captain Hammer as Billy's nemesis. Maybe Billy will succeed and rule the world and give Penny Australia.

And then... none of those things happened. Joss Whedon ended the series in a way less progressive, less imaginative, less cool, than even the most half-baked fan theory out there. The story opened up possibilities to break out of an old, tired, toxic set of stories around men and women and sex and heroics, and then hid under a rock rather than change a single one of them.

July 19 was the day I concluded that while Joss Whedon might have his own baggage to work through about toxic masculinity, and artists have the right to make work meaningful to them, he wasn't making art that was meaningful to me. And I basically stopped expecting anything of him.

And then, for years, Buffy fans, educated and squeeful feminists and sharp pop culture critics, got told they were crazy histrionic SJWs for thinking Whedon didn't shit solid gold. For years. (I recently saw a video essay that included the line, "If you have the phrase 'mewling quim' branded onto your memory, you probably need some Metamucil" and, ouch, rude.)

There was so much excitement! A lot of us actually believed in the guy (although even then, there was enough evidence for many people to suspect what we now know to be 100% true about him.)

We wanted it to be good. We wanted to enjoy it.

I miss that feeling.

#joss whedon tw #dr horrible's sing along blog

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lullabyes22-blog · 28 days

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Snippet - In Trade - Mal de Mer

Mal de Mer on AO3

NSFW - Oral sex, oversensitivity, dirty talk.

Snippet:

Her voice comes huskier than she's heard it. "And in trade?"

"What trade?"

"You never offer something for nothing. Not—not unless there's a catch."

"No catch." He eases her back onto the vanity. "Just a taste."

"Silco, I really can't..."

"Sssh. Just a taste, petal." His hands, parting her thighs, are as gentle as his voice. "You trust me, don't you?"

Her breath jitters. "...Yes."

She can see the effect of her words: the dark energy uncoiling in his body, making his good eyelid heavy, his prick stir. And Mel, her own body priming itself to a fever pitch, wonders if she's playing with fire—or ready to catch her death.

Then he's kissing her. Hungrily, yes. But with enough hot restraint to dizzy her. As if, after weeks of having her, a single night has unhinged him.

Or perhaps it's not the having, but the keeping.

Keeping, and not letting go.

She lets him waltz her back against the wide sink. His body, crowding her, is a wall of sinew. A wall, and a door: somewhere she can slip in, and let the rest of the world, for a little while, slip away. He lifts her up against the basin, the marble a hard chill against her bare bottom. His palms, cupping her knees, coax her thighs apart. The kiss deepens: a slick suction, his teeth teasing her, her tongue curling against his.

Then he breaks the seal. She gasps—a little half-sob—as his mouth works its way down her body, tasting her flesh with unsparing relish. Her bruises are a constellation of stars. He maps them, one by one, with lips and tongue, down between her thighs, where the throb is the headiest.

"Let's have a look," he breathes. "Open wide. There's my treasure."

His thumbs, spreading her carefully, reveal the swollen folds. Her breath escapes on a broken mewl. She's sore: a flush, like a bad sunburn, from the inside out. The wetness, though, is an endless pulse.

His touch is breathtakingly soft.

"My poor petal. Such a sweet little quim, and such a hard night." The flat of his tongue, lapping the seam, draws a cry. "There. Is that better?"

"Silco…"

"Yes?" Another lick, slow and full and thorough. Mel's head falls back on a whimper. "Does it hurt?"

"No—I—oh—"

"Mmmm." His growl, reverberating through her flesh, is a liquid vibration. "Let me make it up to you, hm? I'd no business being so greedy last night. Taking this lovely cunt without mercy." His tongue tip, tracing circles, is a slick whisper. "No more of that. Only this. Only for you."

"Silco..."

"All day. All night. For however long it takes." Another lick, and Mel's hips, reflexively, roll to meet him. "That's it. Show me where you need it. Where's the ache?"

"Inside." Her voice wavers. "Deep."

"Deep, hm?" He suckles, openmouthed, and her thighs quiver, ankles crossing at his back. "Shall I kiss you there, too?"

"Yes, gods—"

"Sssh. Keep those legs open." His teeth close, with a tiny bite, on her inner thigh. "Let me make it better."

And, dark-eyed, he descends.

Mel's cry of rapture dissolves in the sunlight.

Last night, he'd been a man possessed with the need to lay claim. Today, in the golden glow, he is a man, laying his need at the altar.

He worships her: tongue curling deep; lips suckling wetly. The dark crown of his head, nestled between her thighs, imprints an indelible rhythm against her flesh. The pleasure is too saturated for Mel to bear. There is no climb; no climax. Only a continuous tide that rises, and swells, rises and swells.

She is his, and his alone, and her desire is the only language he speaks. The only thing, save for her unspooling cries, that is real.

"That's it," he breathes, eyes lifting to hers. "Let it out, petal."

She does. Threading her fingers into his hair, she lets it all go. The last vestiges of the empty space. The shame, the loss, the sorrow. The past: a distant island, receding from the horizon. Herself, laid bare, and breaking to the surface. Cresting, past her body, to the sea.

To the sun.

Gentleness, she learns, can cut the deepest of all. But also set the worst wound to rights.

Especially when it’s from a man who knows all the places where the ache resides.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane mel #mel medarda #melco #silco x mel #mal de mer #snippet

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wheredafandomat · 1 year

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Agent bred by frost giant king | Mission gone wrong

@thatfreakycouple

18+ | contains smut. NSFW

For this video, there are multiple cameras set up in the small gym room no one uses that you and Loki had made into a secret sex dungeon complete with a bed, a bed that you were currently tied to. Ankles and wrists bound, you gasp as Loki enters, the thick leather of his boots causing a slight echo. Turning your head, your eyes meet as he steps towards you, full Asgardian battle gear adorning his body.

“Where are your avengers now, pretty one?” He asks, voice stern and sultry as he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. “Or have you not called them?” He adds causing you to bite your lip “oooh, you haven’t?” He continues, his expression turning into an amused one as his cheek hollow slightly on the oooh “perhaps you don’t want them here” he sniggers “you don’t want them to witness how much of a mewling quim you are.”

“What are you going to do to me?” You plead, voice high pitch.

“Nothing you won’t enjoy.” He smirks, sitting on the bed and continuing to stroke your cheek, the camera above you both giving the perfect view of your faces as your eyes linger one one another’s, Loki’s hand venturing lower, caressing your collar bone as you sigh contently before he cups one of your breasts, massaging it through the material of your black leather catsuit, your eyes falling closed. His fingers grip the zip of your suit before he begins tugging it down, you seemingly snapping back to reality as you fight against your restraints.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I require an heir” Loki answers nonchalantly, his hand venturing between your legs causing you to buck your hips “and you’d be perfect.”

In a very erotic display of his power, Loki rids himself of his clothes, standing proudly in all his glory. He’s hard now, his cock seemingly bigger as he strokes it. You lick your lips, Loki smirking as you do so. He practically tears the rest of your suit off leaving you bare as he straddles you.

“I-it’s not going to fit.” You gasp.

“What do you require?” Loki questions.

“I need to be” you begin, pausing as you look away with a small smile, biting your lip, your eye catching the camera for a split second “wet” you finish, looking back up at Loki.

“I see.” Loki responds, moving further down the bed before pulling your knees apart and diving straight between your legs with his tongue leaving you writhing against the bed as you moan, Loki flattening his tongue against your pussy.

“Fuck fuck fuckk.” You whimper, grinding your hips against his face as he circles your clit with his tongue. Your eyes roll back exaggeratedly as your head falls back against the pillow, your restraints shaking as you try to break free from them. Once his face is slick with your arousal, Loki pauses his movements, eyeing your wet cunt as he moves slightly to the left allowing the camera directly in line with you at the end of the bed the perfect view. Satisfied, he rips the restraints off of your ankles before you wrap your legs around his waist as he moves above you, pressing his cock against your entrance.

“Now, you’re going to take it like the whore you are and give me an heir to my throne.” He speaks ominously before pushing inside of you. “So tight.” He says between gritted teeth.

“You’re stretching me so good.” You almost cry.

“Taking me so well.” He praises, bottoming out before pulling out and slamming inside of you again ensuring that it’s hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall. He continues fucking you like this, loudly as you scream out in rapture. The obscene sound of your wet pussy coupled with Loki thrusting in and out of it almost made you smile as you imagined how it sounded through the camera.

“Want me to cum inside this tight pussy? Hmm?” Loki asks, almost breathlessly.

“I want you to fuck me from behind.” You answer, Loki slowing his movements to a gentle grind.

“If I untie your hands, you won’t even try and fight me, you want this, you want me to fill you, you want to be my whore don’t you. Say it.”

“I want to be your whore.”

“Louder.” He instructs, stilling his moments.

“I want to be your whore!” You almost scream before Loki effortlessly rips the restraints from your wrists off. You quickly roll over, lifting your hips slightly before Loki enters you, fucking you from behind as he wraps his arm around your torso, lifting you higher.

“It’s soo big, too biggg.” You moan, facing the camera infront of you, mouth open, eyes hooded.

“Not long left traitorous whore, I can feel it coming.” Loki all but growls, fastening his pace before he reaches his climax, hips stuttering as he cums inside of you. Your body falls limp against the bed whilst Loki spills every last drop inside of you. “Good girl, that’s my good girl.”

Literally destroy me

Tags:

@lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @xorpsbane @sailorholly

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki drabble #loki smut drabble #loki x avenger reader #loki imagine

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azzuredragonstrikemain · 9 months

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Hades /Poseidon x Reader who is in a coma for two years Pt1.

AN: Art doesn't belong to me I found on Pinterest. RoR/SnV doesn't belong to me either I just came up with the story.

------

Hades sat in a chair his face forlorn as his lavender eyes traveled to the bed. The sun shone through the curtains yet it did not rouse the one he wanted to see most. On the bed there lay a beautiful woman, her (s/c) skin shimmered in the morning light. Her fairy like smile and features always seemed to brighten his most darkest of days. Gently taking hold of her frail hand he lifted it to his face gently rubbing it against his cheek. "My dear sweet (Y/N) please wake up soon." he murmured.

Lavender eyes closed as they envisioned his lovely spring rubbing her thumbs across his cheek. Opening them again, the King of Helheim brows sank in depression. (Y/n) laid there unmoving, just the sound of her soul breathing was his only response.

A soft whoosh alerted Hades that the two had a visitor. Deft footsteps made their way towards the two rulers. Hades without even looking already knew who it was. Green boots stopped just three steps behind the god. "She's the same the nurses say that her vitals are still stable." Hades told. The god behind him hummed in acknowledgement. "As there been any movement?"

The gods voice was cold yet it held a quiet undertone. Tilting his head back the God of the underworld gazed at his younger brother. "No their has not been any movement from her." notify his brother. The blonde haired god nodded as his blue eyes watched his brother turn back to his wife. While the two men sat in silence another stood in the hallway, her (bf e/c) hues gazed on in sadness. Oh my dear friend, please pull through we all need you here. Big brother still needs you. she prayed.

"Can you believe her?"

The woman' pointed ears pricked at the voice. "I know it's so disgusting." another stated. The woman without turning her head, narrowed her eyes at the two nymphs. "Faking an illness just so she can get attention. How typical." the first one laughed. "Yes, I quite agree. If only that silly flower nymph had added a little more poison then we would've had a chance of taking h-" before anyone of them could finish the deafening sound of the ocean raged outside. The two nymphs huddled together their fearful hues turning to the woman.

Wind blew around (h/l) (h/c) hair, making it appear as if the goddess was in her husband' domain. "You wretches." her voice seething with anger and hatred. The goddess was now fully facing them her fists clenched in a tight fist while the wind that swirled around her grew more violent. Looking behind the oceanic being they could see an armada of salt water crocodiles forming."Prepare to face the wrath of the ocean you mewling quimes!" she yelled.

The two nymphs screamed as they ran. The ocean goddess not far behind began yelling profanities and insults at them while the crocodiles snapped at their feet.

Both Gods turned to the commotion outside. "It seems your wife is as loving as ever to her dear sister in law, isn't she Poseidon." Hades joked. Poseidon made no comment on his brother' remark instead he followed the echoing sounds of chaos and rage.

The king of the underworld laughed in silence but his smile soon shifted into a frown. Veering his attention back to his wife, he softly squeezed her hand. Eyes holding sadness again.

Somewhere else in the halls of Valhalla, the queen of the oceans had cornered the two nymphs. The two dreaded what fate the Queen of the oceans would reign down upon them. The crocodiles inched forward "Cease this pointless squabble."

The great reptilians turned to see there king, "Poseidon why in Valhalla would you order theEE - HEY!" the god of the seas had grabbed (bf Y/n) by one of her shoulders and started dragging her back to the room. "Poseidon what are doing? You dummy!" they exclaimed. The god of gods ignored her as he made the crocodiles disappear back to their homes.

The two nymphs that had cowered in fear where now standing up and smiling in triumph. "My my did you see that?" one asked. The other nodded, "Yes I did. Hey maybe," before she could even finish the floor below them had opened. Screaming the two nymphs fell into the depths of the earth.

Back in his wife' room Hades had threaded his fingers with her own but the loud boom of the earth closing had caused him to look at his brother who had just re-entered the room. He was about to say something when a twitch made him freeze. Hades' lilac eyes held hope as he whipped his head in your direction.

(e/c) orbs gingerly opened as they took in their surroundings. She could hear the one sided argument of her brother and sister in law. Turning their head to the side, she smiled as she lightly gripped the hand in hers. "My love, why the tears?"

The king of the underworld was shedding tears as he gazed at you. Lifting the hand that held yours, he deftly kissed it. Sooner than he could speak he heard a voice behind him. "(Y/NNNN)!" his sister in law zoomed past him and was on the other side of you clutching, as gently as they could, your other hand. Gazing to look at them, you smiled. Big fat tears were rolling down their big (bf e/c) doe eyes.

Smiling even more, you slightly laughed at their behavior. Hades also chuckled at the action but his smile grew more as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it. "Welcome back my lovely (Y/N)."

__________

This is for the sunshine that I follow on this platform. They recently had surgery and Idk why but some people think that she faked it. Well I'm gonna put out my feelings bc I recently lost someone due to cancer. She hid it from us because she didn't want us to worry. I'm still mourning. Also sorry if I made Hades out of character, I mainly write for Poseidon or some other character like him. I hopped you liked it.

#snv hades x reader #MINA IS A STRONG PERSON!#DO NOT DIS ON HER YOU 😡#snv x reader #getwellsoon

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alyceinwonderland777 · 6 months

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When Loki will finally snap at Sylvie:

*After the 100th time that she tells him to shut up*

Loki: *Grabs her by her cape* Now listen to me you little loser! I'm officially sick of you! You are a petty, ignorant, heartless person with a microscopic brain! You have a lot of nerve saying you don't want to see me when I'm the one who should never want to see you again after what you did to me! You're just a stupid, miserable, insufferable egomaniac! Oh and for the record, you suck at kissing! I would definitely rather hang myself than do that "thing" again! I never loved you! I felt strong empathy towards you and I stupidly mistook it for love! I hate you! I hate you with all of myself! I wish I never met you! *Lets her go*

Sylvie: *Looks at him with a shocked expression* L-Loki I...

Loki: Oh and I might add, you're ugly! Extremely ugly! While you were kissing me I was keeping myself from throwing up on your face!

Sylvie: I'm sorry, I...

Loki: *Cuts her off* Go to hell, you mewling quim!

*Everyone is shocked*

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Sylvie #Sylvie Laufeydottir #anti sylki #sylki negativity #anger #repressed anger #TVA #Time Variance Authority #Loki series #loki season 2 #Tom Hiddleston #Sophia Di Martino #marvel #mcu #I like Sylvie but let's admit it she treated him like trash

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badmirvcle · 2 years

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Childish - [Prince Paul x Reader] (1/?)

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: (Catherine the Great) Prince Paul x Fem!Reader / Y/N

Genre(s): Slow burn, (Slight) angst, Mutual Pining

Warnings: Strong Language, Adult Situations, (Eventual) Smut || MINORS DNI || (More warnings will be added as chapters are updated).

Summary: You’ve known Paul your whole life - known that you were to belong to him one day. He’s always gotten what he wanted, so why make it easy for him?

A/N: I haven’t written anything in yeeearrsss so apologies for being rusty! I’m thinking of making this a mini series (maybe 3/ 4 chapters?) I love slow burns but not THAT slow, y’know?

Paul is rambling about something you don’t care for again.

“Do they not know the difference?” you mumbled with thinly veiled disinterest.

Something about the line of succession in Russia, you suppose. As always. If not this, then a myriad of complaints about his mother. You prayed he would find a hobby soon. Nevertheless, you played along.

“It appears that they do not.” he huffed.

“Then perhaps they are ignorant. I suppose they are yet to realise that you are ordained by god. Born to rule. The epitome of Russian male excellence and mediocre height-” you chirp as you slowly sway from side to side to mask your restlessness. You could play this game with him for hours.

“-Oh, you suppose, do you?” His face brightens incrementally for a moment. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he wanted to reach out and grab you each time you leaned in close to him, reaching out to delicately grasp a flower’s petals between the tips of your fingers.

“Yes, suppose I do.” As you look away back toward the palace and your watchful mother for a moment, he seizes the opportunity to glance down at your cleavage and let out a quiet, but deep sigh.

The childish back and forth had been going on for almost an hour now. Pettily poking and prodding at whatever words the other strung together in order to force a pleasant conversation. Neither of you knew any other way to be. This was supposed to be a ‘calming stroll’ through the gardens, yet you found yourself unable to breathe your frustration out - constricted by your corset and Paul’s face centimetres from your own, relentlessly taunting you gleefully. You both must have known what this farce really was - a chemistry read. Your mother, off to one side smiling behind her fan with one of the Empresses' ladies, eyeing you both like a hawk. You were having none of it.

“Well.” He continues. “There we have it. May I say no more, lest I waste my precious breath on you.”

You glower at his proud display of childish petulance. You shouldn’t be having fun with this - you’d been informed that it wasn’t lady-like, apparently.

“Why must you be this way? It is not the fault of your father, nor your mother - what accursed thing possessed you in your childhood to have you turn out so intolerable?”

He gawked in stunned silence for a moment, before his eyes brightened and a smile broke out across his boyish face. You hated when he did that. He looked almost pretty.

'Oh here we go' you thought, begrudgingly.

“And what mewling quim did you crawl out of to foster you into the vicious harpy that you are?” finishing off with a sly smile and a smug side-eye.

For a moment, you find him handsome.

Although you hated to admonish it, that was eloquently done. Quite a sophisticated level of snark from him. Touché.

You feign a gasp as your hand is dramatically flung to your forehead and you bend yourself back as far as your silk prison of a dress would allow you, falsifying weak knees.

“Paul! My mother speaks only highly of you, how unbecoming of a gentleman. However shall we join our two houses now? Bring harmony to our court?”

In all honesty, you couldn’t for the life of you remember what you were quarrelling about in the first place - It was irrelevant now. You were bored. Or perhaps it had slipped from your mind so easily because you had caught sight of how the Tsaverich had been eyeing your lips as you spat poison his way.

“On the subject of court and harmony..” You begin, coyly. Paul raises a well-groomed brow at you.

“Your mother- the Empress has expressed a growing interest in my future betrothal. Seems she wishes to see me making some other poor soul’s life a living hell”. You foolishly seemed to think that by jesting about the topic it would soothe the thunderstorm forming over his soft, but reddening face.

“Of course she has. Can’t have me keeping the company of any friends, can she? However would she keep her control over me then?” He attempts to steady his breathing before he stutters out an irritated laugh under his breath. “Besides…are we not already engaged? You are to be mine, she cannot take you then.” He chances a glance at you before he continues on with his train of thought.

You feel your neck flush a warm pink, slightly taken aback at the all too familiar subject being brought up again.

“It has always been a suggestion by our mothers, yes. But surely that is all it is, all it has ever been? We were children then! You; 8 and I only 6 and if I recall correctly, that was the first and last time that we got along” you reasoned, with a huff. “Surely neither of us are so desperate yet.”

Daggers. He’s glaring daggers now. Brilliant. As much as you generally enjoyed taking a hammer to the Prince’s peace, the sudden shift in topics had left you feeling queasy. It was now or never, if you didn’t royally piss him off now then he would be chasing you down the halls until he had you cornered both physically and metaphorically with a ring cutting off the circulation of your left hand. On the surface, you understood what your mothers had intended for the two of you and why - had Paul become any other man and you any other woman, you would have made a handsome pair. But as things were, you would never work. You could not. You drove each other wild and not in the exciting way and you didn’t feel like developing wrinkles by the age of 20 from the stress.

You hadn’t realised that you’d both stopped walking in favour of staring at each other in open-mouthed silence, and it was beginning to become uncomfortable.

‘Please don’t ask, please don’t ask me, please please’ maybe the mental chanting would work to cast a spell of protection to evade the elephant that’s been in the room since you were both barely out of your infancy.

“I will be seeing you at the ball then, I presume? Not one to pass up the chance to sink your claws into your next potential victim, little devil.”

You successfully mask your sigh of relief through a tight smile.

Oh, he seemed proud of that one. His lips were doing that sinister little side smirk you hated so much that you couldn’t look away. And he noticed. He absolutely noticed. So he held it there to tease you.

Little devil.

“Would you miss me too much if I decided not to? Could you bear the loneliness, my sweet Prince?” you purred as you took an unnecessarily deep and exaggerated curtsey, aware of the eye-full he was getting.

An equally exaggerated eye roll and he was back to his usual bratty self.

“Couldn’t stand to miss witnessing you hunting those poor men down for sport” he laughs softly, almost to himself. “Besides, it will be a welcome distraction, perhaps you’ll cause enough of a ruckus so that I may avoid my mother’s beady gaze for the evening and find some fun in a quiet corner for myself.”

He looks at you excitedly, almost as if he were a child who knew something you did not.

But a child you were not. Sex was hardly beyond your comprehension.

You’re not exactly sure what caused the sudden flush over your chest and the following hot anger, but before you could reason with yourself you found your own voice strained and spitting venom.

“Make your best effort to avoid the headache of bringing along some bastard for both our sakes while you’re off having this ‘fun’.” You scowl. “I would hate to give anyone any more reason to chain us together under the eyes of god. No getting out of that one I’m afraid, so do try to keep yourself out of the wrong maid”

Ah, that was a tad cruel.

“I wasn’t planning on- planning to-” Paul found himself floundering now, desperate for his eyes to not betray him and sink back down to watch your lips curve smoothly as you whispered your increasingly harsh ‘japes’.

You’re jealous.

He’s flustered, but not in the way you found yourself wanting him to be. Where that sudden thought came from, you would ruminate in the privacy of your chamber tonight.

‘Little devil’ you mused again. You liked that.

“No? Good. Now, I have other matters to attend to, I must be off.” You really didn’t want to leave him so soon, his reactions were starting to get interesting.

“Now just a moment-” Without thinking, he’s extending his arm to reach blindly for your hand, never once breaking eye contact. Are his eyes becoming glassy? He’s adorable, you want to see him like this more often, you think.

Now you’re feeling mean.

A chance to make him panic.

Maybe you can make him cry.

“Can’t keep your mother waiting, we have much to discuss. Good day, Tsarevich.”

“Tsarevna.” He mumbles softly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he looks down at his feet in a slight bow.

But you catch none of it - already marching back toward your grinning mother and her ever growing gaggle of gossipers. She looks proud, at least. Most likely mistaking the physical closeness of yourself and Paul to be playful attempts at stealing shy kisses, rather than hissing curses to each other through an awkward tension you’d never experienced before. Well, not with him of all people.

“My darling girl-” she sings softly into your ear as she embraces you just a tad too tightly to call it lovingly.

“Matushka” you attempt to bow your head slightly in gentle acknowledgement.

“I see your outing went well with your Prince, he couldn’t keep his gaze off of you - not even for a moment, we all found it so absolutely precious.” Her eyes flicker back down the gravel path and to Paul for the briefest moment before meeting your anxious but expectant gaze again. “Whatever spell you have cast over him, keep that up. We shall make a Princess of you yet, it was meant to be as our Patriarch told your father and I on the day we-”

“-On the first day you brought me to court - yes mother, god forbid I ever forget my true purpose here.”

“Good girl. Now, I’ve been informed that the Empress personally invited you to a joint dress fitting for the festivities. You shouldn’t keep her waiting and you can’t afford to miss this appointment, you must aim to be the most eye-catching cherub in the room - mustn't let another steal his affections.”

It hurt. You were hurt. As much as you willed it to be different, it would never be. You were not brought here to make friends, to find your place. You were here to be groomed into the position of Tsarevna - the future wife of Tsarevich Paul. As immature as you knew you had been, you knew deep down that this is why you had never allowed yourself to become close to him in the way you had wanted to - you wanted to be his friend so desperately, whilst growing up. You just could not allow yourself to blindly follow the path that had been designed for you by your puppet-master parents and their equally scheming Empress.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have much in the way of control over your life, but you’ll take the small victories by making the desires of your betters just that little bit more difficult to attain. They cannot force your happiness, therefore it had been decided by you that should you be forever chained to Paul - you would have him live to regret it.

Of course, that had been the plan. Throughout your childhood, you had always found Paul to be rather unpleasant to look at. The way his face would scrunch up in tandem with his fists whenever he had a temper-tantrum, his cheeks and neck turning an ugly shade of plum as his anger rose - which was constant. You had always towered over him - he was a shy little thing, shook like a leaf at the slightest confrontation from the other children. This led to you becoming his protector, naturally. He was never quite the Prince who was supposed to sweep you off of your feet one day.

Every summer, you would make the lengthy trip back to the palace and make good with the lords and ladies of court, be sweet to the royal family, unwittingly court their son and then be on your way back home with your parents and nanny. That is, until your father received an invitation for a permanent position at court and your mother - a long time friend to the Empress, to be welcomed into her tight-knit circle of vipers-in-waiting.

3 years had passed since you had last found yourself here, you had quite been enjoying your education in France and felt reluctant to return.

Yet, somehow. At some point, the rug had been swept from under your feet. That morning, as Catherine had come to greet you all for the final time at the main entryway to the palace, the eyes you had met 100 times over her shoulder were not the same angry little black dots that you had grown so familiar with. Instead, your breathing had stilled as you struggled to maintain a mask of polite indifference.

Were they always so big, like a baby deer’s? So vibrant. Did you spot flecks of gold now that he was out here standing in the sun? His jaw had sharpened too - and he was taller, taller than you. Much taller than you and broad. Now possessing a strange but alluring confidence - no, arrogance that really should not have had you standing there, openly staring with not a single word forming in your mouth or brain. Paul was handsome. 3 years and he was handsome.

Not one to usually be self-conscious, you suddenly find your eyes flitting over yourself. Did you fill out your dress nicely? Was the light shade of lilac adorning your tightly-fitted gown a fashionable choice? Was the wind carrying your perfume and was it to his liking or perhaps it was too overwhelming?

Unbeknownst to you, Paul was suffering through his own internal crisis. You had made it no secret to him in your adolescence just how unbecoming his face and attitude was, how your own face soured around him and how it was doing something similar in this moment. His mother was talking but all he could hear was white noise and his own stifled breathing as he rapidly and openly scanned over you. In some twist of fate, the two of you had shared a thought that morning as you stood together, bowing to each other in your matching shades of purple as if you were two flowers from the same meadow. A romantic thought had crossed his mind for a moment, but only for a moment - of this being fate. A romantic however, he was not as he’d let the notion slip away from his mind as easily as it had entered.

A/N ii: this one goes out to all of my argumentative girlies, fighting means flirting here & you’re in a safe space to be as mean as you want to your boy toys <3

#childish fanfic #you waaaaant eachother #reader hates Paul’s wig #she’s just waiting for the right moment to tell him #prince paul x reader #joseph quinn #x reader #catherine the great #mini series #joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn x reader #prince paul

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deviantredhead · 1 year

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It's a party and you're invited!

Thursday March 9th is a day for glorious celebration: Loki's Mewling Quims, the original, best, and oldest Loki server is turning three!

Are you looking to join a vibrant community where we celebrate the god of mischief? We boast a plethora of writers and roleplayers that not only appreciate Loki but Tom Hiddleston, the MCU, Norse Mythology and so much more. Join over 400 lovers of Loki in celebration run by our very own @king-lokilaufeyson!

#loki #tom hiddleston #loki's mewling quims #discord #third anniversary

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unusual-raccoon · 9 months

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Aerys wins the rebellion and celebrates by ravaging Lucerys on the iron throne in front of the captured defeated lords of the rebellion?

Ooh, Anon 🤤. This one, this one got me. NSFW ficlet under the cut. Warnings; cousin incest, public sex, intersex velaryons, vaginal sex, clit slapping, overstimulation, blood play, biting

to call it a victory, would be unjust. the rebellion had been crushed. Lords that had been guilty of treason against their king had been gathered in the throne room. the likes of houses baratheon, stark, tully and lannister were knelt upon the ground, bound. the remaining complement of his kingsguard had secured the room, among them, his white bull - Gerold Hightower.

despite the efforts of children playing at war - for a northern girl, no less - a Targaryen king still sat the iron throne... a king and his consort.

"wider," Aerys growled against sweat-dampened white curls. his teeth caught upon the tender flesh of his cousin's neck with a starved sound, the taste of iron bursting across his tongue. Lucerys' trousers adorned the throne room floor, pale white thighs are exposed, wet with nectar, spread wide - though not wide enough.

"let them see," he commanded, his hips ground higher into the warm embrace of his cousin's quim - stretched around him.

Lucerys' head sank back, indolent, against Aerys's shoulder.

obediently, willowy legs were thrust as far as his throne might permit, mewling as streaks of crimson spilled in spidery rivulets down the pale flesh. he sucked more readily from the wounds upon the curve of Lucerys' neck, smiling with red-stained teeth at their captive audience. higher and harder he sought release in his cousin's quim. Lucerys bounced in his lap, cooing delicious sounds that hung thick in the air and dripped syrupy from the walls.

his hips rose off the throne in a heedless, savage rhythm. the wet clap of skin on skin, tacky with blood, echoed through the throne room.

his cousin toyed with his pretty little cock, tugged it between his thumb and forefinger as Aerys filled him. his delicate jaw was adorned with pearls of stray, delighted tears.

Rhaegar had fallen in battle. and so too had his legacy been pruned.

he should've been wed to Monford - not some dornish whore, Aerys thought with spite. Lucerys keened a beautiful sound where Aerys struck the aching bud above his quim, his thighs trembled, fresh blood dripping down to bird-boned ankles.

he was without a son, without an heir.

Rhaella had fled to dragonstone following young Viserys' death when kings landing had fallen under an ultimately failed siege, and had remained there with half of the Velaryon fleet and a newborn babe. a girl.

the royalist force, while eventually victorious, had sustained losses in this war. to remain victorious they needed to grow once more, to shore up their succession, multiply, and return their blood - the blood of old Valyria - to glory.

let their enemies bear witness.

"sons," he panted against Lucerys' nape, "you will give me sons."

his cousin babbled, round rear thrust back against Aerys' thighs. quim clenching, in view for all to see.

"pure Valyrian sons."

"ah! - yes, yesss, my king."

"and they shall give each other sons," Aerys panted as Lucerys yowled, the slick walls of his dripping quim were drawn claustrophobically tight around the girth of the king's cock.

Aerys hissed between blood-stained teeth. he witnessed the way bound men squirmed in shame and disgust...and several in arousal.

Lucerys' peak was upon him with a cry, shattering in Aerys' lap, dripping sweat, blood, tears, and come. his stones tensed, swollen and aching, and ripe with generations to come. a new legacy.

Aerys rubbed a clawed hand at the flat plane of Lucerys' stomach, splitting the soft flesh with sharp nails, thin cherry red blood smeared between them; Lucerys whimpered a weak little moan. he snarled, hips pumping in a slow, deep pace as bloated his consort's womb with the future of their house.

Lucerys trembled, dripping seed. Aerys slapped at his aching bud once more, rubbing a few rough circles into the slick flesh until his cousin wept and shivered through a second release.

none in their captive audience appeared more repulsed than his old friend...Tywin Lannister.

he summoned forth his pyromancer with a snap of his fingers, a large narrow-mouth glass flask in his grasp. the contents sloshed viscous, and noxious and green.

"Ser Gerold," Aerys panted, rubbing an idle hand across the swell of Lucerys' belly. his pretty, little cousin mewled a quiet sound as the knight stood before them.

"bring me your traitor brother-in-arms, Jaime Lannister."

#my writing #my ficlet #lucaerys #lucaerys ii #aerys ii x lucerys ii #answered asks #answered anon #anon <3 #thanks anon!

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hot-celebrity-lover · 1 year

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Please, Kate. Squat over my face like this and make me eat your mewling quim.

#romantic #love #movie #celebrity crush #celebrity #Crush #Kate Beckinsale #English #British #Hollywood #Icon #Wishful Thinking #One can only dream

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worstloki · 1 year

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thinking about how if all of Loki and Natasha's conversation in Avengers 1 was projection instead of just most of it it implies so much about what was used against him by Thanos.

Yes, the idea of sending someone with a way out "as a balm" after trying torture to make him cooperate.

"I'd say I've expanded his mind" as if Loki asked what the scepter did, what it was doing.

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" when she wants to know if Clint will be intact after it's over, a refusal to answer when Thor may wonder the same of him and not like the answer.

"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?" we already know Thanos would use Thor's life against Loki. We already know Loki's bargain included sparing Midgard from Thanos, but not Asgard.

LOKI: Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man? NATASHA: Regimes fall every day. I tend not to weep over that LOKI: What is it you want?

Could Loki have faced a choice for Asgard and chosen only Thor? A direct parallel, including however Loki does/doesn't identify as Asgardian, and his mindset in conquering. He's not got conviction and she mirrors that nonchalance here.

Loki asking "Can you? Can you wipe out that much red?" and listing her crimes is another line usually understood as projection. Loki has his list too, and doesn't think great of it. "Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer. Pathetic!"

"You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers." is a pretty apt description of Asgard. But could it describe Sanctuary too? What did Loki have to do to prove his loyalty to Thanos before being judged worthy of the scepter, of a bargain at all, and to retrieve a whole infinity stone for him at the cost of one?

"You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!" This is generally understood as blanket guilt/regret but he says it so angrily it's often dismissed in favour of just snitching on HYDRA within SHIELD. Re: What did Loki have to DO while under Thanos?

LOKI: I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear! And when he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!

Assuming Thor is the one Loki would bargain to save, is this a threat that has been made to Loki before? Is it what Loki knows would come of a successful bargain with Thanos? Being hurt by Thor is what he's feared before, but does it hold true even after the events of Thor 1? The idea of Thor being used against Loki being an intimate way to kill, while also acknowledging that Thor might not want to do it and might realize what he's done and hate it?

#''No. You brought the monster." is interesting because it happens right after Natasha refers to Loki as a monster #it helps support that Loki was projecting but the idea that the monster was brought #rather than already there #so could also be read as a reminder that Loki has enough awareness to define a monster for actions committed #rather than just his race in Thor 1 #Loki refers to Hulk as a 'mindless beast making play he's still a man' but like Hulk is known for destruction at that point #and there's nothing saying he knows Banner to be the other form iirc #idk I've just been thinking about the ''Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear!'' line #like bruh that's so SPECIFIC #what did Thanos DO #what was Loki THINKING during Thor 1 #*shakes bars* TELL ME #headcanons galore i reckon #too bad the MCU didn't try to cash in on ANYTHING

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