#THERE ARE TOO MANY CHARACTERS LIKE THIS NEEDED TO BE MORE NARROW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cowgirlvi · 14 days ago

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mdni. sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. strap-on usage. size kink. vaginal sex. squirting. rough sex. filthy.

wc; 2,366

the first time jinx tries to ride your strap, she’s cocky—naively convinced that she’ll be a natural at it. but more than anything, she’s determined to put on a show for you. in her numerous daydreams, she pictures herself bouncing in your lap, playing with her small tits as she grinds down against you, making your head spin with the pace she sets. jinx imagines she would ride your cock so hard that the intense friction against your clit would rival a vibrator.

so when the time actually comes, you’re adjusting the harness on your hips while jinx is lying back in bed, watching you intently in her own state of undress, twirling her blue braids while deep in thought. thinking about what? you weren’t sure.

despite only being in a relationship with jinx for a month now, she has taken your strap before—many times actually—but she’s always laid there while you pleasured her, while you set the tempo, while you took care of her every need like a pampered princess.

and that’s what you called her too; your princess. at first, she liked the nickname—basking in it—feeling high when you’d call her that while fucking your cock deep inside her. until she overheard a woman gossiping with her friends, saying she broke up with her girlfriend because she was too much of a pillow princess.

jinx’s heart rate skyrocketed. she didn’t want you to leave her because you felt like you were doing all the work in this relationship. and she suspected you already felt that way with the insulting nickname you gave her.

so that’s when she decided, the next time the two of you had sex, she would get on top. she would take the initiative to make both of you feel good. she would be particularly skilled at riding cock.

now, in the present, as you’re situating the harness on your hips, jinx was wondering how to go about this. should she ask sweetly to ride your cock? should she wait until the second round of sex? should she shove you against your bed and take what she wants?

“you ready, princess?” you ask, crawling onto the bed and over jinx’s lithe body. a fire burns in her eyes, determined and angry.

surprising you, jinx shoves your shoulders until you’re splayed on your back. she’s quick to throw one of her legs over your hips, her pussy sitting flush against your strap, soaking it with her juices already. you’ve only been together a month, but jinx has the wettest pussy you’ve ever seen.

your eyes widen at the sight of jinx in your lap. the little minx’s chest is heaving, her eyes are narrowed as if you betrayed her, as if there’s a joke she isn’t in on.

”don’t—don’t call me that,” she says, her voice tight. what was once a term of endearment now feels like an insult, a jab at her character.

her heart pounds in her chest as she stares down at you. her face is tense, her eyes far away, her ears wiggling as if she’s listening to something intently. you know what this is. one of her hallucinations is interrupting, filling her mind with insecurity and anxiety, taunting her in her most vulnerable state. she’s gotten better at hiding it but you know her too well.

”sweetheart, come back to me. what is it?” you ask gently, your hands gently rubbing her plush thighs. she smacks your hands away from her skin. she covers her ears for a moment, shaking her head while her eyes are squeezed shut. “i think we should stop,” you suggest carefully.

her pink eyes snap open, staring at you with betrayal. “i want to ride you,” she declares stubbornly.

”are you sure that’s a good idea?”

”yes—it’s what i want!” she insists. her hands rest on your shoulders as she leans over you, her long nails digging into your skin. “i’m ready.”

“maybe i should finger you some more? make sure you’re stretched enough?”

“i said i’m ready,” jinx replies and she’s already grabbing your strap, rubbing it against her pussy in long strokes, getting it wet with her slick.

she grinds the strap harder against her dripping core, a harsh moan escaping her pouty lips when it catches against her little clit, but she’s determined; she’s not going to let her girlfriend dismiss her as some lazy, passive fucktoy.

jinx rises up on her knees and holds your strap beneath her, ready to impale herself on the length in its entirety. your cock looks monstrous in comparison to her tiny body.

”go slow,” you tell her and she scoffs at you like you’re crazy, pressing the head against her small opening. the girthy shaft and bulbous head completely dwarf her small folds.

she’s so wet that her pussy makes an obscene squelching noise when the head tries to pop inside her. however, the strap barely breaches her entrance before it falls against your stomach again with a wet plap. her pussy is too small to fit your cock and you’re wondering how you managed to make it fit so many times before.

”i’m not going to fucking break,” jinx says with irritation, her brows furrowed in concentration when she brings the head of your strap to her pussy again. she’s rocking and circling her hips, trying to coax her stubborn body into submission. again, your strap won’t go in. her pussy is fluttering and gripping at nothing, aching to be filled. “shit, it’s too big,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “i can’t . . . it’s— fuck!”

at this point, your strap is so soaked with juices from her cunt that it’s hard to get a grip on the phallus object. you watch, transfixed and more than a little bit concerned, as jinx tries to force the strap inside her hole again.

one of your hands reaches up to palm jinx’s breast, the one with her blue, cloudy tattoos decorating the skin around her nipple. you rub her nipple with your thumb in light strokes. “just relax, babe.” the hard peak of her nipple pebbles beneath your touch and jinx gasps. “let your body open up for me.”

she takes a shuddering breath, her big eyes squeezing shut as she focuses on the sensation of your thumb circling her nipple. slowly, she starts to relax, and at the same time she presses the head against her opening again. this time, the head slips inside her and she makes a noise of triumph.

from this angle—being impaled on your length all by herself—it feels impossibly bigger than it has in the past. despite this, jinx keeps rocking her hips gently, sucking more of your cock inside.

“hnng, fuck!” jinx pants. only half of your strap is inside her at this point and you wonder if that’s all she’ll be able to take.

her stomach and thighs clench with the exertion of holding herself up. you move both your hands to her wide hips, stroking them soothingly where her hipbones protrude.

she slides down further, only a quarter of your cock left. jinx can only whine and feel herself stretch around your thick strap, she can feel herself clenching obscenely, her inner muscles fluttering around the stocky length. you wish you could feel her powerful contractions around you for real, her wetness, the warmth of her insides.

jinx rests her hands on your chest—squeezing your tits like a stress ball— and it looks like using your chest like a toy really does relieve her of any extra tension in her body.

”oh fuck, oh god— it’s so . . . so fucking big,” she whimpers. her lips are swollen and red from her biting them.

”can’t take it, baby?” you ask breathlessly, rubbing her hips. “your pussy looks fucking ruined.”

jinx shoots you a glare but it’s not as intimidating as it’d usually be, considering that her eyes are hazy with that cockdrunk look she always gets.

stubbornly, she forces the rest of your strap inside her, her ass colliding against your thighs with a slap. and suddenly, jinx freezes in place. she’s trembling, that much is obvious, goosebump erupting all over her skin. she’s never felt so full before, so utterly stuffed and stretched and split open. the head of your strap is nestled deep inside her, kissing her cervix and making her toes curl against your bedsheets. jinx can feel every ridge and vein etched into the silicone; the texture feels deliciously abrasive against her sensitive walls.

jinx attempts to roll her hips once, before she freezes in place again. her nails are digging painfully into your breasts and you’ve never seen such a fucked-out look on her face before.

”mmffuck! aghh—! holy shit, i—i can’t—it’s too much!”

what a sight she is, shaking and trembling and whining on your cock, so sensitive and stuffed full that she can’t even move. her brain is turning to mush and her tongue sticks out dumbly while she pants, her breath coming out in harsh, desperate gasps.

“fuck, baby. you look fucked stupid and i haven’t even done anything yet,” you say in awe. you want to grip onto her small waist and piston your cock inside her, make her more dumb than she already is.

”it’s so—so deep, aghh! so big, i feel so full,” jinx babbles mindlessly, her words tumbling out in a rush of pleasure and disbelief.

“i’m gonna help you move, sweetheart. gonna make you feel good,” you promise. you feel pussydrunk— high off the view of jinx stretched so wide around your strap. it’s completely obscene and it might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

you grip onto the plush fat of her hips and slowly lift jinx off your strap. she moans and babbles the entire time, feeling the silicone drag against her walls, until you slam her back down on your cock. her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her eyes roll back in her head, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open. her tongue lolls out again stupidly, drool dripping down her chin as she pants and whines, completely out of her mind with pleasure. the sight of her, so fucked out and dazed, sends a dark thrill through you, a primal surge of lust that makes you want to ruin her completely.

you lift her off your strap once more and then allow gravity to pull her down—repeating this over and over again—and you grind up against her when she’s buried to the hilt each time, getting impossibly deeper.

”so sexy, baby—ah fuck, fuck, you hot little bitch.” your strap is pressing just right against your clit, making you squirm and unintentionally thrusting your hips, forcing the strap further inside your girlfriend. you smack her ass hard, the sound echoing throughout your bedroom, and jinx sobs.

you start to thrust harder, faster, gripping jinx’s hips tightly as you piston up into her. the bed creaks and groans beneath the two of you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal drive of your hips.

jinx face-plants into your chest. all she can do is lay against your pillowy breasts and take what you give her. the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by jinx’s high, breathy cries. your eyes burn with a feral intensity as you stare at her ass rippling over her shoulder.

”that’s it, princess. take it, take it.” and you rub jinx’s back lovingly and gently, despite the fact that you’re destroying her pussy right now.

you set a brutal, punishing pace, planting your feet against the bed so you can fuck up into her with abandon. the thick head of your strap slams against jinx’s cervix with each savage thrust and the wet, indecent sounds of jinx’s pussy being split open echos throughout the room.

“fuck me, ngh, fuck me, fuck me—ohhh!” the only thing jinx can focus on is the repetitive motion of your cock fucking deep inside her. she feels like a cocksleeve for you to use— she is a cocksleeve.

suddenly, her back arches like a cat, her chest pressed flush against your own as her body goes rigid, stiffening like a bowstring pulled taut before releasing. her pussy spasms and clenches around the thick length invading her body, along with a keening wail as her pussy squirts between your two bodies.

”mmmf—oh, shit—! please, aghhhff!” jinx shrieks as her body shakes and convulses through the force of her climax. she clings to you like a drowning woman, and her juices gush out around your strap with a powerful force, her body humps against yours while she rides out her orgasm— which applies immense pressure to your clit through your strap.

your own orgasm hits you like a freight train, the pleasure white-hot and all-consuming. there’s so much blood pumping in your ears that you can’t even hear the noises you’re making, but you assume they’re nothing short of animalistic. your throat is sore, you think you screamed but you’re not quite sure. the pleasure is so intense that it momentarily short-circuits all your senses. you’ve never come this hard before, never felt an orgasm this earth-shattering, and it makes you question the very fabrics of your reality.

jinx’s pussy milks the toy for all it’s worth before she calms down and becomes boneless on top of you. all you can hear is static as your own orgasm subsides, your sweaty skin sticking to one another. you pepper kisses along jinx’s face, her neck, her collarbones, while your hearts are pounding in tandem. you murmur words of praise and adoration against her skin—despite your tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in your mouth—and jinx hums in response.

the thick, musky scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the carnal act you’ve just engaged in.

(2/2/25)

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

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MW Reaction to You Taking the BDSM Test

Warnings: Implied Smut, MW Characters Being Down Bad & Feral, Mean! MW, Rough! MW, Dominant! MW, Submissive! MW, Teasing, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

His laugh is gruff from over your shoulder. A glower, if you listen closely enough. His hands, rough and calloused with the weight of his atrocities, clamp down on your shoulders. He squeezes them. Tight. Tighter.

“You don’t need a test to find out what you’re into, Love.”

He stands closer. From your position on the couch, you can feel something hard pressing between your shoulder blades. He rolls against you, his grip tightening. You whimper, wince, and he lets go a hum.

His hands drop from your shoulders to the front of your shirt. There, he grips the seam and rips it open. You jump, gasping, the buttons flying off into god-knows where — corners of the room, pinging off furniture.

His hands are on your chest, kneading, needing. He’s rough. He needs you now — he can’t even stop to remember to be gentle.

“I can do that,” he lowers his lips to your ear. His breath is hot.

“And more.”

König

König had sat with you while you took the test, curious to see what you’d choose — what your heart truly desired.

Of course, despite how close the two of you were, you did try to retain what little of your dignity you could by choosing answers that didn’t make you look insane. Or nymphomanic.

Little did you know that König could see right through you, his lips stretching into a smile whenever he saw your fingers itching to choose the highest values for kinks he absolutely knew you had (whether you were aware of his knowing or not).

When the test was over and you got your results, you thought you’d walked it. “See?” You showed your results to König. “Told you I wasn’t into anything—“ you searched for the term he’d used. “Extreme.”

“Oh, Maus,” König said, almost growling. Purring, perhaps. His eyes were narrowed, feline. “We both know that’s not true.”

König took your phone and placed it somewhere out of your reach. Frozen with anticipation, you gave no fight as König took you by your shoulders and laid you down, pressing you into the floor. He brought his thighs over you, caged you beneath him. His hands either side of your head, he smiled.

“You needn’t be evasive with me, Darling.” His hips dipped down. Something hard pressed against your abdomen. König’s eye twitched. ”Now then, let’s see how many of your answers were true, shall we?”

Soap

Johnny looks at you with what you could only construe as confidence. A challenge. You could feel the sly remark creeping up his throat as you tried to explain away the results of your test, trying not to paint yourself as someone whose answers suited them a little too well.

“Oh aye, Bonnie — I believe you,” came Johnny. With all the genuity in the world. “I just don’t think you do.”

When you gave him a queer look, his smile grew.

“What I’m sayin’ is you know there’s more to sex than that test’ll have you believe.”

Johnny shifted closer to you, eye-level with you. His hand came up to your chin, taking it between his fingers. He held you there.

“And I’d be more than happy to show ya what you’re missing out on.”

Valeria

“Looks like mi Cariño’s had a little too much screen time.”

She’s on you before you can even escape to your lock screen, a viper-strike hand plucking your phone from your grip and throwing it over Valeria’s shoulder. It cracks, somewhere, but her frame is all you can see as she pushes you to the floor.

“Seems like you’ve forgotten your place,” she grunts as she forces you to the ground, watching you fall flat on your backside. The carpet is enough to cushion your fall, but there isn’t a material in the known universe that can withstand the fire in Valeria’s eyes.

“Seems to me that you need to be reminded what you like.” Valeria bites her lip, coming to stand over you. Her shadow roves over you, almost as if to grope you, feel you.

She brings her boot onto your chest. Keeps you down.

“And where you like it.”

Price

“So you think I’m vanilla, Hm?” Price’s voice carried a weight you were not unfamiliar with, but the way in which he spoke suggested something unknown. His ankle sat atop his knee, arms crossed over his chest.

You’d gotten him to take the BDSM Test — “For science!” you’d told him. And, to nobody’s surprise, John’s results had come back relatively tame. Yours, however, were a different story.

John leaned back in his chair, his cigar lying in the ashtray, embers fading.

“Why don’t you come over here,” John said, voice low. He spread his legs, patted the expanse of his covered thigh. His eyes glinted with all the light of a black mirror.

“And teach this old dog some new tricks.”

Horangi

Hong-jin had seen your results by accident and had decided that teasing you about it would provide him with enough of a distraction to stop himself from salivating at the possibilities they opened.

Sure, it started off tame. The odd comment here and there about you seeming to be ‘tied up’ with whatever task you were doing, that you were doing such a good job of completing your work, etc.

Anything to get you hot under the collar.

And, luckily for Hong-jin, it worked. You came to him, frustrated and very much in need of relief.

Hong-Jin hummed, putting you on his lap. He ground his thigh between your legs, calling you his “Good little pet — behaving so well for me.”

His eyes almost seem to glimmer as he tells you how much he should reward you for being able to hold out for so long. Something to the tune of an oddly specific interest you knew you’d never told him. But that’s alright; your scores told him everything he needed to know.

Alejandro

He was NOT expecting the answers you got on your BDSM test. And you weren’t fully prepared for what you found on his.

Yes, Alejandro leans towards taking the dominant role in bed. Sure, not all the time, but enough that one look at the two of you could definitively conclude which of you wore the pants in bed.

Which, until tonight, neither of you had questioned.

“You know, Corazón,” came Alejandro. He sat beside you, not looking away from the TV. “It couldn’t hurt to…test some of our weaker areas.”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised. Then, it clicked.

“Oh,” you said, leaning closer, smiling. Knowing. Alejandro looked down at you. You could see him biting back a wide grin.

That night was spent with Alejandro bottoming while you went to town making him cry, whimper and beg for more.

Rodolfo

You’d assumed that Rodolfo’s results would be, at most, rather banal. In spite of his military background, he was gentle — loving — when it was just you, him and the late hours of the night.

So, when you saw his results and discovered that, oh you’re kind of depraved, actually (in a loving, non-judgemental way; you just weren’t expecting how much his results told you he was into), you wanted to test Rudy’s limits.

A whole day of teasing, complete with a healthy side of blue-balling, had, eventually, caused Rudy to grab you and drag you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He threw you to the bed, his strength masked by his lamb-like disposition.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. He stood over you, arms crossed over his chest. “And I know why you’re doing it. You’re trying to make me cave — trying to get me to ruin you.”

You couldn’t have put it better yourself. But he could. He approached you, came down to your level, crawling over the bed. You backed up until you hit the headboard (for the first of many times, you suspected), and Rudy, with a dark glint in his eye, gripped the headboard behind you, trapping you.

“Trust me, Amour,” he said, bringing his face level with yours, his voice low. “With the way you’re acting, you’ll be lucky if there’s anything left of you to ruin by the time I’m done with you.”

Graves

Bless your cotton socks — you’d forgotten to close the tab on Graves’ phone that had your results splashed across it. Hence, Phillip was having a good old laugh about it now in the confines of his office. Though, the longer he studied your results, the stronger the throbbing between his legs became.

Of course, he sought you out. And of course, he made now secret of your faux pas. And, of course, you tried to explain it away. ‘I took it for fun’, ‘It was for a laugh’, ‘I didn’t t think you’d find it—‘

“Ah, there we go. The truth, coveted as it is,” said Graves, smiling from ear to ear. He stepped over the threshold of your bedroom, backing you up against the edge of the bed. He kicked the door shut behind him. No escape.

“Now,” he drawled, approaching you. “You’re gonna show me exactly what you’re into, where you like it,” He stood chest-to-chest with you now, watching you lose your balance as you fell back onto the bed. He all but pounced on you, taking your wrists and pressing them into the mattress.

His eyes were ablaze with a lustful vengeance as he pressed down on you. Into you.

“Or I’m gonna fuck it outta ya.”

Gaz

“Didn’t know you were into…” Gaz squinted, looking over your results from over your shoulder. He went quiet.

“Oh…” From the corner of your eye, you saw his face turn pink. Then red. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Y-yes, well— uh— that’s a very…colourful scorecard you have there!”

Smiling, a hint of mirth in your eyes, you turned to him. You could see he was nursing a rather pressing, growing problem, and you sought to relieve him of it.

“How about you come and help me make it a bit more colourful, hm?”

At that, Gaz’s eyes widened. His tongue tied as he tried to form words — a word — anything !

Your smile grew. So did Gaz. “Oh, come on, Gaz! Big military man like you scared of a little fun?”

Let’s just say, Gaz also found himself taking the test shortly after you’d ruined him.

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

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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lyrefromthesea · 8 months ago

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Period sex with upper moons?

Akaza, Kokushibo, Douma - Period Sex

author's note: guess who's my favourite character in here and who i have personal beef with, i dare you.

pairing: Kokushibo x reader, Douma x reader, Akaza x reader

content warning: (obviously) period sex, mentions of blood, fem!reader

Kokushibo:

• though internally panicking, looked just fine when he picked up on the smell of blood

• came to check and the silent panic vanished

• will eventually know when your period starts before you know it yourself

• has no problem going down on you, but somehow always end up balls deep inside you

you whined as the man pulled two fingers out of your cunt, satisfied with the way you were dripping both blood and arousal.

he held eye contact with you as he brought the two digits to his lips, pushing them past his lips and licking the blood off.

"it's more than sweet.." he uttered, all three pairs of his eyes narrowing slightly. you held back a needy hum, seeing him glance at you.

he let his kimono slide of his shoulders, your mind occupied by the gracefulness of his actions. the cloth fell to the ground, revealing the pale body you've seen many times already.

"now let me have you.." he quietly said, steeping out of the last piece of clothing. though your eyes were focused on the clothes piled beside him, he was completely focused on you.

before you knew it, the man was over you, strong arms caging you between them. you felt your face heat up, almost making you forget the cramps you were experiencing.

"look at me." he demanded - requested. despite the embarrassment, you met his gaze, the smallest tug on his lip indicating his content state.

you held eye contact with him until he had fully sheathed himself inside you. his hand traveled over your stomach, pressing down where he suspected his cock would be.

you gasped, trying to keep yourself from arching your back. with his hand still on your stomach, he began slowly thrusting into you, watching your face for any discomfort.

"is that it? are you feeling good like this?" he whispered into your ear, his voice lightly breathy. you didn't answer - he didn't need one, not when you were squeezing around him so tightly.

Douma:

• you know he takes advantage of situations that could be good for him and this is definitely one of them

• yes, sex is something he had come to enjoy, but this was totally different

• blood, he didn't even need to do anything

• free source of food for a week, definitely will eat you out, no way he'll use his cock when he can just fuck you with his tongue

this was perfect, you were perfect, everything about this situation was perfect to him. he had you right where he wanted, right at his mercy.

you, on the other hand, were exhausted and in desperate need of a break. when did this start? you couldn't even remember how many orgasms the man - the demon - has pulled out of you.

his tongue licked a long stripe up your pussy, watching you shudder and cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. he was too focused on his actions to notice the way you were weakly tugging at his hair, trying to stop him.

"so sweet, my little follower." he muttered against you, eyes finally opening, just enough for them to be lidded. he looked at you, realizing that the blood had decreased over time.

"don't tell me you're already finished? i thought you were going to give me more - show me your respect." he laughed, knowing that you could barely react to his words.

tears had started falling down your cheeks a long time ago, not sure how to handle any following orgasm. yet you couldn't move, body cramping up every few minutes while his arms pressed you against his face.

he didn't care how messy it got, a mix of slick, spit and blood staining his lips and chin. how could he care? you were divine.

if there was anything close to a god, it had bestowed him with the pleasure of getting to taste you every month.

your weak cries pulled him out of his thoughts, feeling you convulse and tremble once more, cooing at the orgasm he pulled out of you.

"look, there's more! i knew you had it in you, little follower, now be good and give me even more." he chuckled, kissing up your thigh until he was ready to dive into eating you out again.

Akaza:

• panicked when you got your first period and he didn't know of it

• first thought: danger, first thought after finding out you were on you period: nonexistent

• knew you were in pain and does his best to help, but keeps away from sex for quite some time

• eventually gives up because he can't resist your pleading

• enjoys it, but constantly worried

you watched him wipe the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, licking the rest of his lips. the action alone made you shudder in anticipation, feeling him stand up to position himself over you.

"are you feeling better, darling?" he asked, his voice quiet, as if he knew it would hurt you. you were fragile in his eyes, at the verge of breaking whenever you felt like this.

he treated you with the outmost care, abandoning pride to ensure your comfort. feeling another cramp shoot pain through your stomach, you held onto him, squeezing your eyes shut.

"please.. i need you.." you breathlessly whispered, his warm hand coming down to rub soothing circles against your waist. his other hand helped him guide his cock towards your entrance.

"shh.. i'm here for you." he answered, rubbing his cock against the mix of your slick and blood, the action making you moan out quietly.

he let you hold onto him as he pushed in, whispering words of praise and appreciation. the man didn't stop until you took him full, quietly grunting at the way you were squeezing.

"you.. you have to relax, darling. you're squeezing me so damn tight.." he groaned, letting his head fall down.

his hand let go off your leg, rubbing circles against your clit. "a- ah.. relax for me, darling. relax so i can take care of you."

he made sure to put your pleasure above his, to ensure your safety, your comfort. you gifted him the opportunity to eat you out, to taste you in such a special way, he needed to make sure you were doing good. it was only fair in his opinion, this wasn't about him, he could hold himself back if it made you feel better.

nevertheless, you didn't mind thanking him once your period was over, making sure to give him the pleasure he made you feel.

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lokischocolatefountain · 3 months ago

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Battlefront | At Your Service

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Empress!Reader Rating: M Word count: 5.3k words Summary: General Acacius returns energized by battle when an unexpected guest makes themselves at home in his tent. Warnings: Historical inaccuracies, some historical accuracies, poor description of battle strategy. A/N: Listen, I know Rome never had a single reigning Empress. But seeing loyal husband Marcus Acacius has made me eschew historical accuracy. If Ridley Scott can have characters reading newspapers before their invention, I can have Marcus Acacius being devoted to his powerful Empress wife. I'm thinking of making it a lose series with snippets of these characters' lives together. Like my Married Javi series. So lmk if there's anything you want to read about them.

“What are you doing here?”

The sounds of battle still rang in his ears. The strategies he’d laid out playing out in his vision as he sought to identify problems he could have failed to spot. His heart was restless, every beat reminding him how high the stakes were, reminding him that every young man there was his responsibility. And then you appeared.

Like the brain cooled the body, the sight of you cooled him.

“You dare ask what I do at my own battlefront?” You asked, an eyebrow raised. He stood in place as you took small steps towards him. He rushed ahead, calling attention to his broad shoulders that narrowed down to his waist. Your pace was wholly inadequate for his liking.

“This is not the battlefront, Caesarea,” he said, stopping in front of you and taking your hand in his. “These are my private quarters.” He bowed and placed a kiss on the back of your hand, looking up at you from behind soft brown eyes you did not believe capable of inspiring fear until you witnessed him in battle.

“You forget your place, General. You have no authority to deny me entrance to my husband’s quarters,” you teased. His eyes darkened at your words and the implications they bore. Your relationship had been a delicate one since the two of you left childhood behind. But it was only more so with you on the throne and him the General at your command.

“If you wish to assert your marital rights at this moment, know I will have to as well,” he warned, his hands itching to be upon you. Unlike his soldiers, Acacius had gone many months without the touch of a woman. Some high ranking officers brought their wives and some indulged in whores. Not Acacius.

“What man asks to claim his marital rights? I believed I belonged to a man who knew what was his and conquered it.”

It was all he needed to close the distance between you. In an instant, your fearsome general, covered in the blood of enemies and grime of their land he claimed, pulled you to his chest. His large hands engulfed your face. His lips came crashing against yours, desperate and sloppy. You instinctively reached up to one, caressing his rough hand with your soft one. Teeth clashed against each other. Saliva dribbled down his lips, transferring the dried blood on his face to yours. Smearing you with evidence of his devotion. To you and to Rome.

His hard iron armor covered in leather and embossed with gold dug into your chest in his desperation to feel you. One hand slipped to your neck, holding you in place with the force of a soldier and authority of a husband. His other hand slipped to your hip, rough as he guided you towards the thin mattress on the floor.

“I must have you…” he growled into your ear as his hands groped around through your clothes. He grabbed every part of you he could think of, squeezing as though planting flags on a territory he’d already claimed.

You nodded, the gold and gems that dangled from your ears glinting under the light of the torches that illuminated his quarters.

“Good,” he muttered, pushing your coat off your shoulders, catching it before it fell to the ground and discarding it on a chair. The clips and fasteners that kept your linen, silk, and wool too intricate for his impatience, he tore through anything that did not yield. Delicate fabrics met their end at the hands of the ravenous beast he became at the battlefront, revealing delicious skin underneath. He needed this. Needed to plunge into your tight, wet hole and spend the aggressive energy that coursed through his veins.

He took whores, but that was before he wed you. Married men took other women both back home and especially when at war. As long as they were whores or any other women lower than his wife’s status. It was expected, encouraged. But he was married to the Empress. Anyone he took would be a disrespect to her. Sure, many mocked him behind his back as the Empress’ wife. It did not bother him. Not anymore.

When men depended on one’s instructions to survive each day, they ceased to question his manhood. Further, it was hard to question a man’s ability when he lead the mightiest army the world had seen to victory.

You were beautifully exposed in front of him, your veil, stola, and palla lying in defeat on the ground. Only your tunica, exposing your legs and the shape of your breasts. His lips claimed your neck, biting and sucking on everywhere he knew you favored the way he expertly mapped and attacked the vulnerabilities of enemy territory.

Every bit of skin he touched lit a fire in your belly, replacing the weeks of agonizing solitude with only your inadequate fingers for release.

Buried in your neck, he inhaled your scent, of your sweat combined with the roses and attar from Arabia. He licked, grunting when your gold necklace tainted the taste of your skin. Reaching behind you, he tugged at the fastener, growling when it proved too delicate to be undone by his large fingers. You let out a laugh before slapping his hand away and undoing the offending jewelry in one swift moment. He liked you bare. Needed to rid you of any object that interfered with his preference be it fabric or lustrous gold and gems.

You were an oasis in the desert. For a man surrounded by young men with nothing but rage and fear coursing through their veins. No bath fully cleansed him of enemy blood, mud and grime. Grace to the gods, you were not a woman repulsed by his gory state of being.

You whimpered as he forced you to the ground, laying you out on his small mattress before climbing atop. The pteruges of his armor tickled your thighs as he hovered above you.

“Marcus…I have longed for you every night,” you whispered, your words clenching his heart. You did not have the luxuries that other royal women enjoyed. The wealth and adoration came with a sword at your neck and the weight of all of Rome and her people. Rare was the opportunity to only be a woman in the arms of your husband.

“I think of you day and night. My duty to my Empress by day, my duties to my wife at night,” he said, peppering kisses along your jaw. You sighed, curving away from him to expose more of yourself for his kisses.

“Do your duty then. And allow me to do mine,” you said, reaching below to caress his thigh.

He searched under his pillow and retrieved his dagger. He tucked the tip of the cold blade under your strophium. You gasped as he cut through the layers, your breasts spilling from their restraints. Hands that for months only knew the reins of his horse and the handle of his sword relished in the softness of your breasts. He was no barbarian. He knew to treat a woman with gentle touch and loving words.

His appetite, however, was quick to defeat the gentle Acacius who was allowed his Empress’ hand in marriage. Your breasts filled his hands perfectly, like the gods had shaped them for his sake. For his touch. For his children to feed from. The image formed in the back of his mind, his child drinking from your full breasts as your belly grew with another. His cock twitched at the thought and he acted, forcing your legs apart with his knees.

Fear joined a familiar ache in the pit of your stomach as he slid the blade down your chest, resting it near your core. Your nails dug into his arm and your core throbbed with need. You yelped as he cut through your subligar. The night air caressed your cunt forcing you to feel how wet his bestial acts made you. Your hips bucked up in search of him, desperate to fill the void he’d left in his absence.

He traced the dagger further below and rested it on your thigh. His eyes exuded a hunger you’d seen only in the exotic beasts that devoured gladiators. “Stay still,” he said and placed a soothing hand on your trembling thigh as the other reigned terror on its counterpart. With your nod of understanding, he moved the blade closer and closer until–

You shrieked as the cold blade sat at the edge of your opening. Before you could comprehend, he brought it up before your eyes and licked the blunt edge. His eyes closed and a moan rumbled from his chest as he tasted your arousal.

“You drip for me, melilla.”

“I have been aching for you,” you said through trembling breaths, thinking of every night you touched yourself in his memory. He had made your body his, rending separation tartarus on land. The closest your cunt had felt of him was the ring from his pinky he placed on your middle finger before his departure.

He tossed the dagger aside and it landed with a clang. Your cunt clenched at the sound, thrilled by his animalistic want for you. He cupped your core in his hand, parted your lips and plunged two fingers inside you. It was already much more than you had in his absence, his thick fingers filling you better than your own.

“Please,” you whimpered as he worked you open, your cunt dripping around his fingers with each stroke. He was always gentle with you, but not this time. You didn’t want him gentle. In peacetime, he bowed to you as your loyal subject. In war, when he overflowed with masculine power, you wanted him forceful. Wanted him atop you, taking you with the same ruthless power he did enemy land. You wanted to be unburdened of the weight of your empire if only for a moment. Be husband and wife, not General and Empress.

His hand slipped under your head, grabbing your hair between his fingers. You hissed at the sting of his grip on your hair and reached for his arm instinctively. He withdrew his fingers, pushing them between your lips when you whined to be filled. As you tasted yourself, he aligned his cock up with your weeping entrance. You choked out a sob as he split you open with his cock, your walls burning at the stretch. Tears clouded your vision, but you blinked them away to see your dearest, handsome even in war. Your bejeweled fingers weaved through his dark curls, needing to touch the familiar parts of the man you’d so long yearned to reunite with.

His own hand and a few whores was satisfactory when he was a lone general who did not know the taste of a woman he called his own. He doubted he could find someone else to satisfy his desires now that he had you. His men found this sentiment strange as they chose to relieve their stress with whores and slaves.

None of those fools had the fucking Empress waiting for them at home.

“Look at you…” he rasped, luxuriating at the vision. You were divine. All goddess-like in your beauty even lying on his thin mattress, hair strewn across his pillow and your hairpins coming undone under his grip. No dingy military camp was worthy of a visit from such an ethereal creature. But you were no simple Lady content to stay in the palace surrounded by your riches. He doubted he could stop you from visiting him even if you weren’t the Empress but only his dear wife.

“You like me this way,” he said instead of asking. He did not need to ask. He had seen how you looked at him when he wore his armor. No stranger to combat, the blood and gore did not seem to rattle you. His other campaigns found you in the camps for celebrations. Too many times, he had to keep you at arm’s length out of respect for your station. Now that you belonged to him…

“Always… Always liked my General so. Always wanted to pounce upon you and fight those girls you chose over me.”

He snorted at the jealousy that returned to your visage though he was now all yours. “My severed head would have joined the barbarians had I defiled the Princess, my dear.”

“You should have abstained,” you said, the smile that played at your lips all he needed to know it was but a jest.

“And deprive you of the fruits of my experience with the female form?” He taunted, angling himself to stroke the particularly sensitive place inside you. Your lips opened in a small circle, whatever witty remark you’d concocted now dissolved into a pathetic moan.

He pawed at your breasts, his large hands and the loss of etiquette making you feel mauled by a beast. You pushed up from the ground and into his hands, sobbing as he tugged your nipples, adding to the pain of penetration. He took you in long, hard thrusts, your needy cunt pulling him back in each time he withdrew. Each stroke soothed the pain he bestowed, eased by how he had you leaking around him.

“I need, I need… please,” you begged, too occupied by your lust to find better words.

“Anything you want, Carissima,” he whimpered, bending down and claiming your lips. He smelled of war. Of mud and blood and something vile that should repulse you. He did not kiss like he usually did. Did not explore you and drink your sweet sounds. He took you, forced your lips apart and invaded with his tongue. He bit and drew blood, the taste of iron adding to the familiar taste of your beloved.

“Anything,” he growled, filling you deeper. “I will make you feel me between your legs for days. Make you wince in pain when you ride your horse,” he said, his hot breath and the threat making you shudder. “Would you like that? Like the people who bow to you smell me on you? Make you strategize with my seed dripping down your legs under your dress?”

“Macrus, want…please” you blubbered, your intelligence leaving from his vicious ravaging. Your thighs burned from how wide he spread you to fit himself between your legs. It was an agonizing stretch without the aid of any oils, without his lips easing you open for his thickness. But none of it mattered for you ached more with longing.

Fully immersed in you, he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as though he were meditating. He was heavy, his large frame that mowed through enemy men and swung weighty swords through necks now being used to contain you. He took your breath away not only with his stature but with his beauty. You liked to believe him sculpted by the gods to put you in his thrall. To tame the wild princess into the tempered Empress Rome needed.

You needed him to move, to fuck you so thoroughly you would feel him with every move you made until you could reunite once again. But you did not have heart to push him. Not when he looked like a devotee at the shrine of his goddess.

All men thought of in the midst of war was the people they left behind. It did not change when one rose to command the entire Roman army. He opened his eyes, sighing with relief when he found you still there beneath him. He had dreamt so many times lying all alone that he was home with you. He dreamt that the war had ended and he was sat by your side as you read scrolls from senators and discussed fucking sanitation of all things. He dreamt of you returning to his arms, of your kisses and your tight cunt holding him inside you. You were never there when he woke up.

He pinned your wrists above your head, desperate to contain you so he wouldn’t be separated from you again.

This was no dream. Even dreams of you didn’t feel as elysian as your true form. He fucked you in short thrusts, grinding against your clit as he did. You dug your heels into his lower back, your hips rising up to meet his thrusts. He cupped your cheek in one hand and you melted into his touch, confounded by his contradictions. He brought your hand between your bodies and you took his direction, rubbing your clit as he returned to a brutal pace.

He grabbed your hip for purchase, his other hand mauling your breast. His balls slapped against your skin, the lewd sounds of skin against skin sounding through the camp.

You cried his name as he rammed into you over and over until you could no longer find an ounce of regard for propriety in you. Word would’ve spread that you were here. Everyone knew the General to be fiercely loyal. Now they would know it was their Empress in the tent moaning like a whore taking their General’s cock. You clenched tight around him at the scandalous thought, wrapping your arms around him to anchor yourself to reality.

He pulled you up off the ground and onto his lap, bouncing you up and down his cock as you kept yourself wrapped around him. You grabbed his hair and pressed yourself against his chest. His dark brown eyes bored into yours, soft even as he fucked you with animalistic vigor. You kissed him, his growl devolving into a mewl like a lion tamed. Your heart beat against your ribs, longing to escape its confines to find the man it belonged to.

You trailed kisses across every bit of exposed skin. The patch above his jaw where his beard never grew called out to your lips and you rewarded it with kisses. He returned them, his strong aquiline nose pressing against your cheekbone.

Full of him, the world disappeared from your thoughts. Your hips moved of its own accord, taking him deeper as he bounced you up and down his cock.

“What d’you think they would say?” he taunted, breathless from the exertion. “Their unshakable Empress being used by her husband in the camps. Your perfect hair tangled, your jewels on the ground,” he growled and you simply mewled, the shame coursing through you only aiding him as he hammered into you.

“Answer me,” he commanded, punctuating the words with harsh thrust. You opened and closed your mouth, eyes trained on his fiery ones as he demanded what he made you incapable of doing. A sob emerged deep from your chest, the only sign you were present in your body.

He let out a mocking laugh. “All of Rome bows to your rousing speeches yet you become mute with a cock stuffing you full.”

You whimpered his name, or you thought you did. You couldn’t be sure of anything in this state. Your thighs shook from the force of his thrusts and your hip hurt where his fingers dug in. Sounds you did not know yourself capable of producing escaped your lips. The fire in your belly blazed wilder and your vision blackened. You felt the pressure wind tighter and tighter. You threw your head back in pleasure, whimpering when you felt his lips on your neck. He lapped at your skin, devouring your natural taste and your sweat. He nipped and bit, mumbling words of praise you couldn’t make out in your dazed state.

His name mixed with curses flowed from your lips as pleasure hit you like lightning. You felt your back hit the floor, your legs folded up as he rammed into you. Your hole spasmed around him as he continued taking you for himself but you lay limp, spent. His warm sticky spend spurted inside you, dripping out onto your thighs and his thin mattress as he buried himself deep before collapsing on top.

He tucked his head in the nape of your neck, panting as you both came down to Earth from the heavens. His body weighed heavy on you, as did his armor. He took the breath out of your lungs but you did not want to be without him. It was the antidote for your aching heart.

“That was quite the welcome, General,” you said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I did not receive such treatment the last time.”

“You were the crown princess when you last visited me in the battlefront.”

“Ah. You needed me on the throne before serving me this way?” You teased, knowing full well how it pained him to restrain himself from having you before he won approval for your hand in marriage.

“I needed the Emperor to not have my head for defiling his daughter so,” he said, rolling you over and pulling you down by your arms against his chest when you attempted to sit up. You giggled as he placed kisses all over, delighted by how playful he became once he took his aggressive energy out on you.

“He should not have given his General his daughter’s hand in marriage if he was worried about that.”

“Mmm, I don’t know dear. The princess was quite insistent she would only wed the General. Threatened to be caught in the General’s bed if denied.”

“Yes. I hope you are grateful,” you said, giving him your hand adorned in rings, the one he gave you from his little finger gleaming brighter than the rest. He took your hand and kissed it, his eyes so soft with love and devotion for you that you could hardly reconcile them with the hunger they exuded just moments before. The words were merely a jest, but he was indeed grateful.

He was celebrated for his prowess in battle. For the many victories he brought Rome. Many men deluded themselves into the belief that this entitled them a victory of the princess’ hand. Not Acacius. Though your hearts reached out for one other through the years, you were the only one with the courage to act upon it. The one to show the Emperor why only he would be the right companion to a woman on Rome’s throne. For that, he would forever be grateful.

“How goes the battle?” you asked, getting up and depriving him of your warmth. He grabbed a scrap of fabric that was once your tunica and tossed it at you. You caught it and whispered a thank you before cleaning yourself up.

“Who is asking? My Empress or my wife?” He asked, propping himself up with his hands.

“Would your answers vary?”

“They would.”

“Give me both answers, General. Husband.” You asked, wrapping your furs around you and sitting back on his chair.

“Caesarea,” he said, finally rising up. Something shifted between you. Your voice had altered from its girlish relaxed state. Wool covered your body. You were perched on his seat while he stood in front of you in submission to your authority. “We anticipated many deaths from illness but have been spared such tragedy by the grace of the gods. The Eastern front has advanced into the barbarians' territory and they have retreated. However, I expect them to recuperate and retaliate. Our men are advancing faster to take advantage of their momentary retreat. The Northern front is not faring well. Not as we’d hoped. We have received intelligence that the barbarians have armed even women and children to attack.”

“What is your next course of action?”

“We’ve sent troops up North and we need more men to replace them. I was hoping you would grant approval for a few more men from our reserves.”

“How many?”

“One century and a centurion to replace the ones I sent north, and twenty cavalrymen.”

“And how soon do you need them?”

“We can not hold out longer than seven days. Or we stand to lose ground in the East.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Seven days are… It is not enough time. I must send word with Decimus and the men would take time to arrive.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you have told the men you’ve sent North to limit casualties. We are to rule over these people once you have conquered their land. I imagine killing their wives and children wouldn’t endear them to us.”

“I have, yes. They are under the leadership of a good man- Faunus. He trained under me. I know him to be determined and level headed. Has children of his own as well.”

“Being a father doesn’t stop many men from killing children. They simply learn not to see those children as children at all.”

“I have seen that too.”

“I trust your judgment, Marcus. Let us hope you are right about Faunus and his men. What of the rations? Are they adequate?”

“I hear more grains are coming our way from the last harvest. If true, we will not be in want of food.”

“It is, indeed. Is there anything else my General needs?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No. Nothing that needs your immediate attention.”

“Well, then tell me what answer you would give your wife. About how the war is going.”

He smiled, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing at the permission to change role from General to husband. He stepped closer to you and caged you in with his hands on the armrests. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips and felt you relax. As he spoke, he peppered kisses across your face, enjoying his effect on you. “I would tell you that the end of the war is closer than it was the last time I wrote you. That I long for you every hour I spend in this wretched place. I would reassure you that I am unharmed and ask you to prepare our home for my arrival.”

“Are you?”

He tilted his head in question, making you clarify yourself, “Unharmed. I need to see.”

“Is that why you have come so far? To ensure I am unharmed?”

“Perhaps. I did not want my men to believe their Empress had forgotten them. I come bearing gifts. Letters from families who have not accompanied officers. Fresh fruits and nuts. Toys and books for the children. Some hearings to handle as you said in your letters. To boost morale.”

“You have already succeeded with me there, my dear. My morale is higher than ever,” he said, nipping playfully at your ear and making you giggle. “Back to bed now,” he said and you obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing him to carry you.

“A happy General makes for happy soldiers.”

“Perhaps I’m not happy enough,” he said, laying you out on his bed, gentle unlike the man he was a while ago. “You must do more, my dearest. For the sake of the poor soldiers.”

You giggled and pulled him down to your chest, sighing when his weight settled on you. You traced the gold plating on his armor with a finger idly, saying, “Oh, iff it is for the soldiers…”

He laughed with you and the two of you lied together, quietly taking each other in. Other high ranking men in your army had the privilege of bringing their families to the barracks, but not your husband. You hadn’t the duty to keep your home but to keep your empire. Though opposition to having you on the throne had begun to dwindle, you did not feel secure in your position. You couldn’t afford peace of mind. There was disease and conflicts awaiting your attention. Plebeians to care for without angering the patricians. Marcus unburdened you of all worries about the war for you knew he would bring victory to Rome. But you worried as wives did about whether their husbands would return at all.

“I will be here for four days,” you spoke up, needing a distraction from your burgeoning fears. “I must see to a few disagreements. Inspect the troops. Maybe I will even polish your swords like a good wife ought to.”

“Oh? What else will you do?”

You squinted, thinking of what else the women in the barracks did for their men that you knew to do. You couldn’t cook. Didn’t know to wash clothes. Did not yet have children to raise. You could spar with him, but that was frowned upon and not at all wifely.

“Clean your quarters?”

“My quarters are clean, Princess,” he laughed softly. You pushed at his chest playfully but he didn’t budge. It had been a long time since you could push him around physically.

“I am not a Princess anymore.”

“I meant it as a term of endearment, not as your title.”

“Surely there is something I can do. I will have time aside from my duties to our people.”

“When you do, mea vita…” he whispered, hot breath tickling your ear. “Lie back here and open your legs for me.”

“Whatever for?” You teased, wearing an expression of confusion as you pretended to think of the answers.

“To do your duty to your husband. To please me,” he said, parting your coat and cupping your sex in his hand. He swept his ejaculate that dripped down your thighs and pushed it back inside you. He wanted it to take. Wanted you full and round with his child when he arrived in Rome victorious. It was their duty, yes. But he wanted children for more than duty and legacy’s sake. He wanted to experience the joy he witnessed in his men when they shared stories of their fatherhood. He could recall a time when he fought only to sate his bloodlust. Since you became more than his friend, more than his Princess, he began fighting to return home to you. He wanted one day to fight with his children in mind.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you with practiced ease. You trembled, sensitive from his rough use, but did not pull away. You needed this.

“Have I not pleased you enough?” You asked, only half teasing. You did not have much experience with carnal pleasure. There were a few men and several women in your past. But the men were not interested in teaching you to please them. It wasn’t entirely their fault, of course. You did not want to please anyone before Marcus. It was a source of insecurity. You’d seen how women swarmed him since he developed from a little boy who sparred with you to a broad shouldered man with a deep voice. What if you were inadequate?

“You are simply too delectable, my dear. Each time I believe myself satisfied, I only want more of you.”

“I have duties to Rome. I can’t always be in your bed.” That was another insecurity you had. That he would find you lacking in wifely duties as compared to other women, those who did not have Rome on their shoulders.

“We barely had each other a week before I was sent here.”

“Mmm… She sounds cruel, your Empress. Separating you from your new wife so early.” He could see how you sought to bury your fears with humor. Duty to Rome and your love plagued you despite reassurances of his unconditional support. The elders often turned their nose up at you, found you lacking as a woman. Though you’d proven yourself both in battle and in administration, old men set in their ways refused to accept you as Empress. Many already whispered about you not having conceived a child.

“She is not cruel. My Empress,” he said, smiling. He wouldn't have you doubting his trust in you, be it as Empress or wife. Everyone was you tartarus, but he would only be your peace. “She is just. She is brave and kind with intellect as sharp as the tip of my sword. The right person to lead Rome into prosperity.”

You melted into his arms and he held you close to his chest, heavy with the weight of doing right by the Roman Princess who lent little Acacius her sword when he couldn’t afford one.

⌘ ⌘ ⌘

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fear-is-truth · 16 days ago

Note

Hiiii! I love your writing so so much! Dunno if you take requests anymore but I need your opinion regarding this idea: Nam gyu and virgin reader. Bc I feel like he has this corruption kink going on and that he would be even more possessive knowing he s the readers first . Lemme me know what you think 💭 Have a lovely day 🫶🏻🫶🏻

warnings ┆ MDNI 18+．loss of virginity．f!reader．corruption k!nk． character study ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ·

oh, NAM-GYU is screwed. completely, irreversibly gone. you let him be your first. him. as if he didn’t already have a stranglehold on you before, as if he didn’t already feel that sharp twist of possessiveness every time you so much as breathed near someone else—now, it’s worse.

now, he’s gripping your chin and making you look at him as he presses deeper. oh, he knew you’d be tight—he’d thought about this many, many times, jerked himself off to the idea more times than he could count—but shit, he wasn’t prepared for this. for the way your walls squeezed around him like you were trying to wring the life out of his cock, for the kittenish little gasps you let out with every slow inch he pushed inside. you’re shaking, nails digging into his arms, like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.

he’s marking you, inside and out. carving the shape of his cock into your virgin walls so you’ll never forget. because that’s what he wants—you ruined, sore, aching from the stretch of him, carrying the ghost of his touch every time you so much as move tomorrow.

and fuck, that gets to him. more than the drugs.

“too much?” nam-gyu asks, but the smirk on his face tells you he’s enjoying this way too much. enjoying how your body is struggling to accommodate him, how every time he pulls out just a little, your walls clench around tighter like you’re begging him to stay.

“no, please don’t stop,”

despite your request, he knows should go slow, act like a gentleman (even though he is far from one). he forces himself to still, just for a second, just to give you a chance to adjust, but god, the way your plushy walls flutter around him makes his brain short-circuit. fuck, he can’t—his hips snap forward, just once, just to test how much more you can take, and when your head tips back and your lips part in a wrecked moan, something inside him breaks.

“you like that?” his voice is rough, almost mocking. “letting me ruin you like this?”

you nod, that dazed, blissed out look in your eyes, and fuck, the sight makes his stomach tighten, his cock twitch inside you, and his patience snaps. hips rut forward, burying himself in one brutal thrust, and you cry out. right hand shoot up, fingers wrapping around your throat. his thumb strokes idly over your pulse, feels it racing under his palm.

“fuck, you’re mine now, aren’t you?”

and when you finally manage to nod again, eyes glazed, lips trembling—when you whisper a breathless, “yes”—his hand slides down, fingers finding that sensitive little bundle of nerves between your thighs, and you jerk, a whimper spilling from your lips. slanted eyes narrow to slits; and the grin on stretching across his lips is wolfish.

you’re all his. his to ruin, his to keep.

character study ⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

inferiority complex / possessiveness

nam-gyu isn’t exactly secure in himself. sure he acts like he is, but deep down, there’s this this constant feeling that he has something to prove. he hates feeling lesser, hates the idea of being compared, hates the thought of not being enough. so the fact that he gets to be your first? that’s huge for him. it’s a way to claim something entirely for himself. no one else has had you like this, no one else has touched you, no one else could compare.

power & control

he’s manipulative, he thrives on control. and this? this gives him so much control over you. he gets to teach you, to shape your experiences, to decide what you like and don’t like. he loves knowing that he is the one setting the standard, that whatever you experience first will be because of him. in the back of his mind, he knows that means you’ll always compare everyone else to him. and he’ll make damn sure no one will measure up.

corruption kink & ownership

has that specific kind of possessiveness where he wants to ruin you, but only for him. loves the idea that you’ve never done this before, that he’s the first to see you like this, to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. he gets off on the idea that he’s the one opening you up to these things, that he’s the reason you’re blushing, squirming, looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

insecurities & fear of loss

i feel like nam-gyu has this fear of not being enough. he’s afraid of being abandoned, of being replaced, of being forgotten. so the idea of being your first is comforting to him in a fucked up way. it gives him a kind of leverage—you’ll always have that connection to him.

ego & validation

he needs validation. he craves it, thrives on it. being your first means you’re naturally going to rely on him, trust him, look to him for guidance. it feeds his ego in the best possible way. he wants you to be a little shy & hesitant—because that means he gets to be the one to coax you through it, to hear you say his name like it’s the only word you knows. and if you’re nervous? he loves that, too. because he gets to reassure you, to play the role of someone dependable.

long-term obsession

this isn’t just a short-term power trip for him. in his mind, being your first means he’s ingrained in you. it’s psychological, a permanent stamp that ties you to him whether you like it or not.

#squid game #namgyu #namgyu x reader #namgyu smut #namgyu x y/n #namgyu x you #player 124 #player 124 x reader #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game smut #namgyu headcanons

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taintedtort · 10 months ago

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Hihii...!!! i really love ur HCs and i wanted to ask if you're comfortable with these types of character writing, what r ur headcanons on kenma, kuro, tsuki n maybe suna would act when they're drunk ? like would they be a bit different than their usual self ? sorry to ask a lot but im more curious on ur thoughts on kenma ;; .. write whatever u can, idm ! thank u ehehe have a good one ! >_< <3

" LET'S GET DRUNK! "

summary. they’re drunk lolz

characters. kenma, kuroo, tsukishima

warnings. afab!reader, drinking/alcohol, post timeskip!!!^^

a/n. yesss i love kenma, many thoughts on him!! he’s my favorite!!! didn’t add suna because i don’t really know his character that well :( added a kenma bonus to make up for it tho!

KENMA

☆ i think he’d be a sleepy drunk. he's out as soon as his head hits any soft surface— maybe even before! i feel like he also acts grumpier, mumbling complaints when you wake him up and try to move him (he was passed out on your shoulder in the car, you have to get him to bed!)

☆ his face gets kinda pink, like he’s blushing. he’s pale, so it’s more noticeable than it would be on someone else. his eyes get droopy and his face sort of relaxes, so he looks mean and tired.

☆ he stubbles slightly, but he surprisingly manages to maneuver himself pretty well for a drunk person. just don’t ask him to do a cartwheel or anything… he couldn’t even do one of those while sober.

☆ he doesn’t drink often, so he’s a light weight… plus he’s skinny and on the smaller side, so he doesn’t have to drink much to get a buzz. he’s usually responsible though, but sometimes he celebrates too hard (with a bit of a push from kuroo)

☆ he doesn’t get any more talkative, but he’s less filtered that normal. i don’t think he’d be too flirty or mean, but if he got drunk enough he may compliment you a couple times.

BONUS:

☆ the type to get so drunk he forgets who you are. you come find him to pick him up after someone called you, and he’s face down on the table. you nudge him, trying to gently guide him to stand, but he’s immediately swatting you away, grumbling about how he has a girlfriend.

"leave m' alone— got a girlfriend already," he slurs, raising his head to drunkenly glare at you. his eyes narrow further when you laugh.

"kenma… i’m you’re girlfriend," you tell him, always finding it a bit amusing when he gets this drunk. he’s not too much of a hassle though, since he usually knocks right out when you get home and tuck him in.

he's silent for a moment, just staring at you up and down. he wears the same expression he has whenever he buys a new video game, excited and in awe.

"really…?" he asks, a hopeful tone in his voice. now that he’s looking at you… you are really pretty. he really hopes you're his girlfriend.

"yes, really. i’m gonna take you home, okay? cmon," you urge, gently grabbing his arm and helping him stand. he complies this time, his eyebrows raising.

"we live together?" he questions, the situation just getting better and better to him.

"we do," you confirm, another giggle leaving you. it doesn’t really hurt your feelings that he doesn’t remember, you find it more amusing and entertaining than anything.

"… im so lucky," you hear him whisper under his breath, looking at you as you guide him to the car.

KUROO

☆ he'd be a funny drunk i think… a bit of a handful, and is entertaining at first, but eventually gets annoying. his emotions kind of double when he’s intoxicated, and he’s also kind of erratic. really energetic after his first few drinks, but if he’s extra drunk, he’s more emotional.

☆ his eyes get a little watery, but that’s about it. he actually looks more lively while he’s drunk, because he makes more facial expressions.

☆ he can’t stand straight at all, especially if he’s had more than a couple drinks. needs support to walk, otherwise he'll fall. he’s heavy though, and puts majority of his weight on you, so sometimes you end up falling anyway.

☆ he can handle his alcohol pretty well. takes him a few drinks to get a buzz, but he doesn’t usually stop there. mostly drinks to celebrate things, or at parties. never drinks alone, that’s just boring and sad to him.

☆ probably asks you random stupid questions like "what number am i?" or "what animal would i be?" (follows up that second question with "would you still love me if i was that animal?")

☆ i think he’s more talkative, but he speaks faster and his words are kinda jumbled, so it’s hard to understand him sometimes. he gets a lot more sappy, constantly complimenting you and telling you that he loves you (he does that all the time already)

"y're sooo pretty, love you s' much."

TSUKISHIMA

☆ not that much different than when he’s sober, honestly. he gets more mellow, surprisingly, though it might be because alcohol makes him a little sleepy, similar to kenma. he isn’t quick to fall asleep, but he’s not energetic and jumping around.

☆ his face is more relaxed, which makes him look even more intimidating and mean. his eyes get a little red around the edges, but that’s mostly it.

☆ stubbles quite a bit and holds things for support. if you try to help him, he’ll snip and you and complain that he doesn’t need your help to walk. (he does, and eventually gives in and leans on you a bit when he almost falls on his face)

☆ also a lightweight. doesn’t go drinking unless he’s invited, and even then he’s usually the designated driver. on top of that, he hates being hung over, and he hates throwing up, so he rarely gets super drunk. kuroo tries to persuade him sometimes, but the most he gets his a little tipsy.

☆ probably gets into debates with people about certain topics that he likes, arguing with them about facts and opinions. he usually wins. even when he’s drunk, he’s still quick witted.

☆ he fights you on everything, insisting he’s fine and "not drunk" whenever you try to help him. you end up ignoring his complaints and just assist him with changing and getting into bed anyway. he’s asleep pretty quickly, especially if you run his back/scalp.

"i don’t need help— i'm not even that drunk!"

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hana-no-seiiki · 25 days ago

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Sorry for the long hiatus. My meds for my bipolar disorder have made it very difficult to have inspiration/motivation for anything aside from normie activities.

Anyways I have a lot planned for this year! Hopefully you guys enjoy these works that have been in the backburner for a while while now. Love yall.

Without further ado, here’s a little drabble/some hcs as appetizers.

YANDERE BATFAM x HAREM! READER

tw/cw: DID coded shenanigans. Multiple Readers converge from my other works. Confusing fuckery. Yun writing without his meds. Featuring @sophiethewitch1 ‘s loser reader from What We Want. Mad Genius! Reader.

inspired by: The Herta (Honkai Star Rail) and a lil Iron Man.

Okay it but wouldn’t it be fucking hilarious if Reader gave the boys a harem of their own.

Like perhaps they’re just this immortal genius that creates puppets. Each with its unique personality and looks. But all of them share one thing, a love for their creator and the batfam. (And are all under your control…mostly)

Let’s start with your failures shall we? After all, the most precious thing to a genius like you, is your mistakes. However few or many there are.

You created Cat Villain! Reader as a test. No flashy powers beyond invisibility and teleportation. What you did give them however, was a whole load of sass and mystique. Something that drew in the Robins pretty well at first, but they soon lose interest in favor of … well

another work of yours was Alien! Reader. The goody two shoes with a dark side. (You couldn’t make them perfectly straight and narrow, that would have been far too boring). But Alien! Reader started dating Damian way too quickly. And everyone seemed so happy with the arrangement that you quickly ended it all. Swiftly killing your puppet in a fit of boredom. (Don’t worry, you kept some spare parts in order to rebuild them later on if such a whim caught your fancy)

Now, What We Want! Reader was special. It took a lot of time, effort, and whole butt load of money. Crossing dimensions was a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. But of course, in the end, your perfect self managed to pull through.

Replacing the original What We Want! Reader with a puppet that housed a soul from another world? Genius. Absolutely brilliant. You should reward yourself with how smart you are.

Unfortunately the boys got too excited and locked her up. Almost removing your access to one of your favorite experiments! How could they?

And so you send her back home. Safe and sound (and ready for part two!)

While looking through other dimensions, a certain manga/anime caught your eye. Makima! Reader was inspired from the character herself. And Bruce’s lack of participation and eagerness in some of your previous tests. And so you made his utter nightmare. One who killed when it was necessary and kill you did.

Unfortunately Makima! Reader almost made [Favorite DC Villain] pass away and you wouldn’t want that happening, don’t you?

In getting What We Want! Reader to your dimension you failed to account one of your stupid puppets getting into the collider by accident. And thus was What’s Up Danger? Reader was born.

You let it roam free for the most part, but for some reason time seemed to loop around them meeting the batboys for the first time and would never go beyond it. (Probably cause the author hasn’t updated in a dozen amber eras at this point)

Exasperated and in dire need of some fun in your life. You bring back all the readers one last time.

And oh, the chaos that ensued was one for the ages.

Finally, a success.

©️ h.n.s. - yun | 2025

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arkadijxpancakes · 5 months ago

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Yes. The Weasleys had too many kids. An analysis. (Part 1 of 2)

Everyone who read Harry Potter read about the prejudices regarding the Weasleys: They all have red hair, are poor and have more kids than they can afford. Insert a sneering Malfoy here.

The books were adamant that that was not the case. The Weasleys are depicted as the best family in the books. (Just look at the others. The Dursleys were narrow-minded, bigoted and abusive. The Malfoys were bigoted terrorists. The Lovegoods were weird. Let’s not even start about Merope and Riddle.)

However, if you look closer, the prejudices have some truth to them: They had more kids than they could afford. However, money isn’t the issue here, not really.

Yes, the Weasleys are clearly depicted as members of the working class. They don’t have much money and fall back on second-hand stuff a lot of the time. Ron in particular is shown to be using hand-me-downs in book one.

However, they don’t live in abject poverty. The family owns their own home on their own land. They have a garden to grow their own vegetables and they have chickens. This means that food scarcity shouldn’t be a big issue for them, because they can produce a lot of it on their own. (Magic should make this even easier, because they can use it for the gardening stuff. And if we assume that you can duplicate food, this should keep everyone well-fed.)

The main issue when it comes to money isn’t that they don’t have anything. They have clearly enough money to stay comfortably over water. They just don’t have enough money to buy all the fancy shit the wizarding world uses as status symbols. (Like racing brooms and dress robes.)

Could things be better, money-wise? Sure. But one can have a loving, comfortable childhood, even with second-hand clothes and working class food. So no. It’s not about the money.

It’s about time.

And it's also about how the parents divide that time (and the work that comes along with it.)

The Weasleys follow a family structure one would expect from a muggle family of their time (the second half of the 20th century): Arthur is the one who goes out to work and earns money, while his wife Molly is a stay-at-home-mother who takes care of their home and kids. It’s also just their nuclear family that lives in the burrow. There are no other relatives (no grandparents and no aunts or uncles, either) living there.

I find this a little bit weird, tbh. The nuclear family (parents and kids) living alone, without any other relatives and with the father as the sole breadwinner, is a pretty new development. The practice only really established itself after the Statute of Secrecy went into effect. It developed first in the upper classes (who used this to flaunt their wealth) and in urban centers (where there was no space to live together with your extended family.) Before this, living with one's extended family was very common, especially in rural areas, where it was beneficial to stick together. The Weasley’s don’t really have a reason to live as a nuclear family. There is no need for wizards to follow the Muggle trend, and things were different before the statute. Living with other, adult family members would also be beneficial, especially for Molly. And the books do suggest that the extended family is quite large, so “They don’t live with other relatives, because they don’t have any” doesn’t fit their situation either.

This is a common theme for Rowling, by the way. She tends to ignore the extended families of her characters, whenever it is possible. The numbers of grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that get mentioned in the book is incredibly low. (The only character who seems to have close connections to his extended family is Neville – and that’s because the other members of his nuclear family are completely absent because of health reasons.)

Anyway. When we look back at the Weasleys, this leaves Molly basically as a tradwife. (Minus the religious baggage.) But let's start at the beginning.

(Note: I will focus on the books in this. I don’t consider the games canon and will not use them as a source.) Arthur and Molly were born around 1950. We know that he went to Hogwarts from 1961 to 1968. They were close enough in age to start a relationship while still at Hogwarts, and they married shortly after graduating. For this to work, she must have been in his year or maybe the year below or above.

Bill was born in 1970 and was followed by six siblings, the last who was born in 1981. So from the age of ca. 20 to the age of ca. 33 Molly was either pregnant or nursing at least one baby at any given time. (There might have been a short break in that pattern between Charlie and Percy, but it only got worse after that.)

As I said before, Molly and Arthur seem to have a very traditional division of labor between them: He works at the ministry and earns money, she takes care of their home and kids. This means that Molly has drawn the short end of the stick.

While Arthur is working one job 9-5, Molly has to work three jobs and at least one of them is 24/7. Let’s pick them apart:

Her first job is to take care of the home. Molly cleans the house and does the laundry. It is also very likely that she is not only responsible for cooking, but for food production in general. This means that she takes care of the garden and chickens. This would be pretty exhausting, if not for her magic. She can likely cut down on time and effort by using magic for most of those tasks.

On top of this, she is also producing at least some of the clothing her family wears. We don't see her sewing, but she knits a lot. She is using magic for that, too.

Her second job is to raise their kids. Molly is their primary caregiver and does most of the parenting. This is a difficult job to begin with, but there are seven of them. This is where her workload starts to stretch her thin. It can’t be easy to do the laundry, while Ginny needs to be fed, Bill and Charlie are arguing in the backyard, and the twins have just vanished. Magic is less helpful here, because a lot of the work requires her to interact with her kids. She can’t really flick her wand to speed that up.

On top of that - and this is where things get even worse - there doesn't seem to be any kind of elementary school in Wizarding Great Britain. At the very least, the books do not mention any form of primary education and Hogwarts seems to be Ron’s first school. But Hogwarts still requires its students to be able to read, write and do math. Having some education about the Wizarding World couldn’t hurt, either.

However, someone has to teach the kids. And this someone is probably Molly, because Arthur is at work, and they don’t have the money for a private tutor. They cant sent their kids to an elementary school, because there is none. (And they obviously did not send them to a muggle school.)

So this is her third job. This is another job she can’t really speed up with magic, because she can’t hex the knowledge into her kids’ brains. (Or at least I hope she can’t, because everything else would be disturbing.)

This means Molly has to take care of their home, produce their food, take care of their kids and teach them elementary school-stuff. All while being pregnant and/or nursing for circa 13 years straight.

Her workload just isn’t doable for a single person. It might have started off okay, when she only had Bill and Charlie, and it probably got better once most kids had left the house to study at Hogwarts. But the years in between must have been hell. And she did not really have any help to do it.

Arthur was off to work most days and seems to spend quite a lot of time on his hobby. Additionally, he just doesn’t seem to be all that involved as a father and seems to take care mostly of the fun stuff.

His parenting style is much more relaxed than Molly’s, too. He’s probably the parent the kids go to when they want to do something their mother would say no to. This, of course, makes parenting even harder for her, because she doesn’t just have to deal with the kids, but also with Arthur’s parenting decisions. There are no other adult family members around to help her, either. They also don’t have the money to hire help. (No wonder Molly dreamed of having her own slave house elf. It would have allowed her to drastically reduce her workload. It’s a really disgusting wish, but I understand where it comes from.)

This is where the family dynamics probably took their first severe hit: It’s very likely that Molly’s workload left her with more work than she was able to do consistently. Whether Arthur pulled his weight in that regard is questionable (and he was at work for most of the day anyway.) She also had no other adults to help her, so she probably offloaded her workload elsewhere: her kids.

Yes. I think it is very likely that the Weasleys parentified their kids, especially Bill, Charlie and Percy. We don’t see it with Bill and Charlie, probably because they had already left the house when Harry meets the family. Still, it’s a little weird that both of them went to live so far away from home. Yes, sure, exploring tombs in Egypt and taming dragons in Romania is fun and exciting in and off itself – but being so far away from home that mom can’t rope you into household chores and babysitting duty is probably a really nice bonus. It would also relax their familial relationships quite a bit, because moving away gives them control over when and how they want to engage. (And it’s probably easier to be the fun big brother to your younger siblings when you aren’t required to watch and control them every day.)

We do see it with Percy, however. He looks after and take responsibility for his younger siblings a lot, especially at Hogwarts. You can see it in the way he looks after Ginny and how he’s constantly at odds with Fred and George because they refuse to follow any rules.

Fuck, he still does this after the big row with his father. Yes, the letter he sends to Ron is pretty obnoxious, but he still wrote it. He did not need to. At that point he had cut all contact, after all. He clearly cared for his younger brother and wanted to look out for him, even if he did it in the most annoying way possible. It would be interesting to know whether he also wrote to Ginny or the twins or not.

Also, did I mention that the Weasleys have too many kids?

They have too many kids.

It’s a numbers game, really. The more kids you have, the more time you have to use for household chores (you need to clean more, wash more, cook more, etc.) You also have less time to spend time with each kid individually. This is especially true for quality time – so time that isn’t spent on chores or education. Time that is spent playing and talking with each other, just to enjoy each other's company.

Molly is already working three jobs. She doesn’t really have any opportunity to spend time with her kids equally. She’s too busy looking after the home and teaching the older ones, while watching the younger ones and making sure the twins don’t burn the house down.

I just don’t see her spending quality time with her kids regularly, because of this. It’s just difficult to talk with Charlie about his favorite dragons or read something to Percy or to play with Ron, when there is always someone else who needs her more. Full diapers. Empty stomachs. Unyielding stains of unknown origin on Arthur's work robes. A sudden explosion on the second floor. And probably everything at the same time and all the time.

So yeah. Chances are that her attention and her affection can be pretty hard to come by at times. (To a certain degree, this also applies to Arthur, because he is away from home so much.)

Let’s look at the timeline.

It probably starts pretty harmless:

1970 - Bill is born, and he’s the only kid for two years. Yeah, it’s Molly’s first child, and she is a really young mother, but she is a stay-at-home-mum, and it’s just one kid. It’s mostly her and Bill who are at home, and her workload isn’t all that big, because she can use magic for most stuff. The war has started, but it probably hasn’t kicked into overdrive just yet, so this shouldn’t affect her too much either.

1972 – Charlie is born. Molly’s workload is expanding, but things should still be pretty manageable. Also, they don’t have another kid for almost four years. This allows Molly to adjust to caring for two kids. She can also relax from both pregnancies and births. If it wasn’t for the war, this might be her favorite years as a mother.

When Arthur is involved in parenting Bill and Charlie, it’s probably on the weekends. I can imagine him taking them out to do fun stuff, so their mother can get some rest. It’s probably a great time for him, because he can bond with his boys. I can’t see him do much more than that, though. Molly has a handle on things, and interfering could be seen as overstepping.

1976 – Percy is born. This is probably the moment, where the attention-distribution in the family gets a little bit wonky. Molly has three kids now, and it’s the middle of the war. Bill is almost six, which means that she has to start teaching him, while simultaneously nursing Percy and keeping Charlie entertained/away from trouble. This is probably still manageable. She can wait a little longer with teaching Bill, so she can teach him and Charlie together. She can also hand him (and maybe Charlie) over to Arthur, so he can teach him/them on weekends.

Additionally, Arthur is probably still taking Bill and Charlie out for some bonding-fun-time. However, the war is in full swing now, so leaving the house gets increasingly dangerous. Their trips will get shorter and stay closer to home. They will happen less frequently, too. He will also end up working more because of the war, doing overtime much more frequently. When he is home, he is going to be exhausted, as a result.

1978 – Fred and George are born. The attention-distribution in the family falls off a cliff.

This is when Molly's workload starts to become overwhelming. Charlie will be 6 at the end of the year, Bill will be 8. She has to start teaching them, if she hasn’t already. Otherwise, Bill will not be ready when he starts Hogwarts.

And on top of everything, Molly has to take care of the twins. She has to do everything that needs to be done for a newborn – times two.

So her workload explodes. Molly is raising five kids, now. She needs to educate Bill and Charlie, nurse Fred and George, and has to make sure Percy doesn’t fall to the wayside completely. She also has her household chores that aren’t related to her kids. The war is still raging on. Arthur is probably tied up at work most of the time, and when he is home, he’s exhausted. And Molly will be pregnant again in a year. (Really, why do they have so many kids during a war? One or two, I would understand, but this is getting irresponsible.)

This is probably the time when Bill has to take over at least some chores, not just to learn how to do them, but to take some pressure off of his mother. This might not be parentification yet, but it will get worse over time. I assume he has to look after his younger brothers a lot.

On top of all that, it is increasingly hard to shield the kids from the war. At least Bill and Charlie are old enough to understand that things are really, really wrong and scary. And there is not much Molly can do about it.

1980 - Ron is born. The twins are already old enough to open cupboards. Molly is not having a great time. She probably hands over Percy to Bill and Charlie (“Go, play with your little brother!”), so she can take care of baby Ron while keeping an eye on the twin shaped chaos that is growing by the day. She will be pregnant again in a couple of months.

Bill (who will be 10 at the end of the year) and Charlie (8) still require teaching. Percy (4) isn’t old enough just yet, but he will be, soon. (And, let’s face it: It’s Percy. Chances are that he wants to learn, even now.)

The war is still in full swing. Arthur is still overworked and underpaid. Everyone is tired and scared. This also affects the kids. There is probably a lot of pressure on Bill as the oldest brother to watch over his younger siblings, to make sure all of them stay safe. They don’t spend much time outside their home, because it’s just too dangerous to do so.

Around 1980/81 is also the time when Molly’s brothers Fabian and Gideon die. (Gideon can be seen in the photograph that was taken of the Order before James and Lily went into hiding, so he was still alive back then. But we know that he dies soon after the photograph was taken.) Molly never talks about her brothers in canon, but this must have been horrible for her.

1981 – Ginny is born. They are seven kids now. Fabian and Gideon will be dead by the end of the year (if they aren’t already.) Molly’s workload is at its peak, while her ability to pay equal amounts of attention to her kids is at an all-time low. She’s grieving, the rest of her family is in danger, and Arthur is stuck at the ministry. This means that she will likely lean on Bill’s support even more. As Charlie is 8 now (and will be 9 at the end of the year), Molly might consider him old enough to help, so he might see an increase in responsibility, too. At this point, we are in parentification-territory.

With each day, the twins grow more into the troublemakers we see in canon. This sucks away attention and affection from their siblings (simply because they need to be watched and disciplined).

I think the following years are very formative for the family dynamics between the kids. It’s probably less pronounced for Bill and Charlie (who are stuck with chores and babysitting-duty and will leave for Hogwarts soon-ish) and Ginny (who gets more attention because she is the youngest child and only girl). It’s worse for the others. Percy, Fred, George and Ron are basically in direct competition for their mother's attention. I think the dynamic develops as follows:

Fred and George are active and pretty extroverted. They explore a lot and start to play pranks on their family members. This is overall harmless, but Molly has to pay attention to them, to make sure that no one accidentally gets hurt. From this, the twins learn that they can get Molly’s attention by causing trouble, so they will lean into it even more.

This sucks away attention from Percy and Ron. It causes Percy to veer hard into the opposite direction: He tries to gain Molly’s attention by following all her rules and fulfilling her wishes. This earns him her affection and will turn him into her golden child in the long run. It will also put a strain on his relationship with the twins, because Molly compares them a lot, especially when angry. This will cause Percy to perform the “Good boy”-role even harder (because he doesn’t want to be treated like the twins), while they start to resent him on some level.

Ron on the other hand is still too young to affect the family dynamic on his own. He internalizes that his mother cares more about his siblings and that there is nothing he can do about it.

The only good news: At the end of the year, the war ends. This will bring a lot of relief. (It’s short term relief for now, things will need some time to go back to normal.)

However, the end of the war also means, that Percy gets a pet. Either late in 1981 or early in 1982 he (or another member of the family) finds a rat that is missing a finger on its front paw. Percy keeps him and calls him Scabbers.

We all know who Scabbers is, of course. I just want to highlight how fucked up this situation is. Percy is 5, when he adopts him. Because he was a little kid, he probably took him everywhere without a second thought – into the bathroom, into his bed, you know, everywhere. There is probably no part of Percy’s body Scabbers hasn’t seen. Percy probably told him everything, too, all his worries, all of his fears. It’s just creepy.

And keep in mind, Scabbers – Peter – is not just a random wizard. He is a Death Eater and mass murderer. We don’t know if he ever hurt Percy (there are fanfics that do explore that possibility). He probably didn’t, but the idea alone is nightmare fuel.

To get this back on track: This could have impacted the sibling-relationship, too. It depends on whether the other kids were allowed to keep pets.

With that, we are done with the war and with Molly’s time being pregnant. The family dynamic is already fucked up – and it will get worse, as the kids get older. However, this post is long enough, already. So we’ll take a break here. Next time, we will look at how the dynamics shift, once the kids start to go to Hogwarts. See ya!

#harry potter #hp #hp-meta #weasley-meta #anti jkr #weasley family #the weasleys #molly weasley #arthur weasley #bill weasley #charlie weasley #percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #weasley family critical #family dynamics #fandom meta

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luna-azzurra · 5 months ago

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Dunno if you already did this, but can you do one about showing characters processing something or in deep thought. I always fall into the trap of "their eyebrows furrowed".

Oh, I totally get that! It’s so easy to fall into the whole "their eyebrows furrowed" thing, but there are way more ways to show a character deep in thought.

First, try switching up their body language. Instead of focusing on their face, have them fidget, maybe they’re tapping their fingers, messing with the hem of their shirt, or pacing a little. These small movements show they’re distracted or thinking hard about something without always going for the obvious expression.

Example "She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, eyes locked on the floor as if the answer might appear there."

Next, think about their eyes. Are they staring off into space, completely zoned out? Maybe their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re mentally working through something. You can use their gaze to show that their thoughts are elsewhere, without even needing to mention their face.

Example "His eyes drifted past the window, staring at nothing, the world outside a blur as his mind raced." Or "She narrowed her eyes, her gaze shifting from one corner of the room to another, piecing together the clues in her head."

Another good trick is to dive into internal sensations. You can describe how their thoughts are racing, their chest feels tight, or their stomach twists with uncertainty. Maybe their mind is replaying a conversation or trying to make sense of something confusing. Little details like that can really pull the reader into their head.

Example "His thoughts were a tangled mess, one question bleeding into the next until he couldn’t keep track anymore." Or "She kept replaying his words in her mind, over and over, trying to figure out what he really meant."

Also, silence can be super effective. Maybe they stop talking mid-sentence or give short, distracted responses to people around them. It’s like their brain is too busy to focus on the conversation, and that can show how deep in thought they are.

Example "When Jake asked her a question, she didn’t even hear it. Her mind was too far gone, trapped in a spiral of what-ifs." Or "He nodded absentmindedly, not really listening, his focus somewhere far from the conversation."

And don’t forget about small physical reactions! Maybe they’re feeling a weird heaviness in their chest, or a knot in their stomach forms as they overthink. Physical sensations tied to emotions can really ground the moment and make it feel more real.

Example "Her chest tightened as the weight of the decision settled over her, heavy and unavoidable." Or "A dull ache formed behind his eyes, the pressure of too many unanswered questions closing in."

So yeah, there’s lots of cool ways to show deep thought without just saying "eyebrows furrowed", Mix it up and it’ll feel way more natural. :)

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #character development #writing advice #oc character #writing help #writer tumblr #writblr #creative writing #creating ocs

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yoursweetheartsrevenge · 1 month ago

Text

When You Were Mine

Summary: You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter, the proprietor of one of the most frequented pleasure houses on the street of silk. On Prince Aemond’s thirteenth name day, you strike up a friendship that is everlasting, developing into something far more sweeter as you grow into adults.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v sex, oral- f receiving, female masturbation), mentions of sex work, loss of virginity, angst, talk of character death, MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 8K+

Author’s Note: First time writing in second person. I always felt a little unsettled on how Aemond lost his virginity. This is a more tender take on it. This also got a little away from me, so the length is just a bonus. I may write again in this world if anyone is interested!

Dividers done by: @firefly-graphics

You are the daughter of the madam.

Everyone in the pleasure house has respected the presence of your tender life running about the house asking for sweets and spinning about in your silk dresses. You have many mothers here who dote on you. You are a prize, a little sweet prize pulled from your mother’s womb when she was just aging out of tending to the needs of the gentlemen in this place of pleasure..

Your mother makes sure you are in bed before anything truly lewd begins during the evening, but as the years weigh on she can not keep you still. You are too curious about the work she does. Of course she keeps you safe in her chambers. Her services have not been called on for many many years, whatever that is to mean.

You play alone at times, though the younger girls seem to be keen to keep you company between their little dances and performances. Your mother checks in on you making sure you are fed and well taken care of. That you have enough toys to play with or sheets to color on.

You are brushing your doll’s hair under your mother’s bed. Sometimes the candlelight is too bright and warm. Underneath the bed feels like a little cave for you to hide yourself.

The curtains flutter, you can see it from your cozy position. You can hear the soft music drift through. The curtains expose the darkness outside your mother’s room. Part of you wishes you could watch what happens outside these walls, but you know it isn’t safe.

She has said it is not safe.

The boots are heavy on the ground, dragging like the steps of boys. Your mother’s delicate laced up flat sandals also peak through, stopping steadily in the room.

“I shall return soon, my prince.” You can see her lean close to the black clad leather studded feet. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

The curtains flutter again as your mother’s quickened steps leave. You are left alone with the shifting boots and the prince attached to them. You lay on your stomach tucking the doll with pretty knotted hair close to your heart as if shielding her from the dirty feet. You try to control your breathing so as not to alert the boy who now is pacing back and forth at the side of the bed. He settles on the bed, close to you swinging his legs nearly hitting your forehead.

You give out a small whimper when he does make contact with your curious skin.

He stops.

He settles to the floor.

He looks under the bed lifting up every silken sheet.

He is a Targaryen prince.

He is the very definition in the stories the young women have told you when your mother is busy entertaining and you require a bedtime tale.

He has pale freckle peppered skin. His hair is a blinding white blonde that is nearly silver. You can see one eye, a lucid liquidly blue, but the other eye is covered with a brown leather eye patch.

This is Prince Aemond Targayen.

“What are you doing under here?” He demands in a voice most princely.

You are annoyed by how he is treating you in your home.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss with narrow eyes. You hold your doll closer.

Immediately you see him flush. His face reddens bright as the summer sun. He stammers, but can not seem to muster words that make sense. His grip on the sheets speaks for him.

He is nervous.

“Come under here. You can hide from her.” You say pulling at his shirt feeling only a little sorry for him.

He folds into the suggestion quite quickly.

You suspect he does not want to be here.

He perhaps would like to be anywhere else in the world.

The young Targayen prince shifts closer to you under the bed. His breath is hot and bothersome. It smells like cake, sweet strawberries and strong vanilla. It makes you wish you were a princess. They must get all sorts of sweet treats every day.

“I didn’t want to come. He made me. My brother.” He nearly pouts, tucking his hands under his head as he lays on his side looking at you. “Is the madam your mother?” You merely nod. “Did she forget you were here?”

You look over the prince.

The young prince is your age.

Perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age.

You smile as you shake your head.

“She knows I’m here. She never brings anyone here.”

It takes a moment for him to realize what it all means because he does not know your mother as you do.

He is meant to be your friend.

“Hold, Nymeria.” You thrust your dark haired doll at the prince as you crawl further under the bed.

There is a small stack of tomes you have kept here. You pull one forward tickling the well worn pages full of colorful illustrations about war, love, and dragons. You pull it to the princeling who is running his fingers through the doll’s knotted hair.

“Will you read to me? Or better yet teach me to read for myself? I want to know what’s in these books.”

His eye brightens, exchanging the doll for the tome. He struggles to open it under the bed, but manages. He thumbs through it as you watch with rapt curiosity. Many of the women that work here do not know how to read and make up tales from the pictures inside. You know this because the stories are different then when your mother opens the tomes.

She can read quite well.

“Yes, of course.” He looks over the words and begins to open his mouth. He squints at the page. “It is dark down here. Perhaps,” He looks upward then to you with a small glimmer of happiness in his bright eye. “We can read by candle light. Above?”

The question is one of asking. He wants to know if it is safe to return to the world outside your secret cave. You are so desperate to hear the stories your mother has not told you yet that you scurry to leave the darkness and head into the light.

You both settle on top of the bed.

Sometimes you forget how hard the floor is when you are on the dipping mattress. The princling takes off his boots slowly, careful to put them side by side. Before he settles on top of the bouncing bed as you eagerly await him and the tome, he pauses.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen.” He holds his hand out to you very formally.

You shake it stating your name. When he hears it he smiles.

Perhaps he would like a friend as well.

He crawls to the bed, settling the book heavy between you, spread out wide in yellowed dog eared pages. He runs his fingers over the words indicating to you that it is a table of contents meaning it is a list of all the stories within the book. He reads out all the story titles to you, making sure you see each word and letter. He speaks slowly as well, not in a way that is to make you feel inferior, but a way to ensure that you may soon be able to read along.

He is teaching you.

He is allowing you to select a story to read, together.

“That one!” You declare when he reads out a title about an ancient warrior queen. Your mother always told you that tale was too violent, but you always secretly looked at the pictures. They were red soaked images featuring bodies being ripped apart or drowning in sea battles.

“I thought you may like that one.” He smiles as you hold your doll close to your chest, the namesake of the tale Prince Aemond is about to tell.

He turns to the middle of the book. The pages are heavy, but he seems not to struggle. Perhaps he reads all the time. He seems very good at turning pages and reading the words on each page. Even the most difficult ones you do not know the meaning of and ask about each time. He seems to have an explanation ready at hand. He seems very happy to explain the words to you.

You decide you like Prince Aemond very much when he does not mind explaining to you the meaning of ancient words for different weapons. You even grab some paper to allow him to draw what they look like. He seems very engaged and elated to draw you a morningstar. You decide that if you were going to go into battle that would be your weapon. It is very pointed.

Page after page you are taken over by the story and transported to ancient times with long fought battles. The prince interjects his own insight as he has begun to train himself. You are convinced he will make a fine warrior someday. He down plays himself saying he is still learning.

“I will not be as grand as Nymeria.” He flushes a bit running his fingers over the beautiful illustration of the fair and fierce queen.

“But you have Vhagar.” You point out. “The largest, oldest dragon, nothing would stop you in battle. You have fire at your command.”

He blinks at you swallowing.

You wonder if you have said something wrong.

Perhaps he does not want to be reminded of the dragon. Maybe he is afraid of the beast. She is quite large and fierce. She can not even be contained in the confines of the dragon pit; she is so cumbersome.

You think that could easily be a lonely life for her.

“Does Vhagar get lonely?” You ask tilting your head so your hair falls sideways. “Like us?”

“I am not lonely!” He starts to close the tome, but you stop him.

“Wait, apologies, my prince.” You pull the cover open. He does not stop you. “I didn’t mean to think you were lonely, I was merely wondering if . . . well . . . Vhagar is different. She is large, too large for the dragon pit so perhaps she is sad without other dragons.”

“She has me.” The princling confirms pressing the pages flat. “And I have her. We are not lonely because we have each other.”

You think that is sweet. That a dragon and a boy can find comfort in each other. You look to his eye, the one covered in leather. There is a rumor that the Gods took Prince Aemond’s eye and replaced it with a dragon.

“Do you miss it? Your eye?” You are thirteen and do not care if you are asking too many questions. You are truly curious.

“Sometimes, yes.” He shrugs. He runs his fingers over the bottom of the patch, over the reddened scar. “Hmmm,” He looks at you. “You won’t be scared I think.”

You are not confused by what he means. You immediately know. He holds the patch itself. The prince hesitates as if thinking better of himself, but then continues. He pulls it off revealing the scar fully. It travels through the eye socket in a red meaty scar. In the eye’s place is a perfectly reflective blue sapphire. You blink, a smile spreading across your face as you shift closer.

You do not think it grotesque as many maidens would.

Instead you think it -

“It’s beautiful!” You say it louder than you meant to. Your heart warms at his tender and relieved smile.

“You really think so?” Prince Aemond asks so tenderly you are sure they are the sweetest words any boy has ever formed together.

“Of course. It suits you.” Your fingers twitch to feel.

“Yes, please, go ahead.” His words stumble out.

You are unsure. You suddenly remember yourself in this moment.

You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter.

You are not meant to intermingle with princes. To ask to be taught to read. To listen to his perfectly crafted voice. You are not meant to demand things like seeing his worst moment etched in a devilish scar. You are not meant to be so taken by the placement of the sapphire in his missing eye you feel giddy.

You certainly should not be touching his face.

But he asked.

He begged you to touch his scar.

So you do.

Your fingers run softly like a ghost, a whispering wind over his brow. The wound is deep. It is healed in ridgid places feeling like little bumps and tears. The skin feels cool under your fingers. Your pads are about to fully trace the dip to his socket when the curtain flutters.

Your mother says your name with a shout.

“You should not be touching the prince!” Your mother pulls her robe tighter around herself marching to the bed.

“I asked her too. She was only obeying me!” The prince is quick to defend you.

His new friend.

Your mother looks between you then at the book on the bed. There is a ghost of a smile that comes to life fully at seeing you and the prince behaving as children should.

“Have you found friendship in each other?” Your mother sits in front of you on the bed looking at the pages of the story you should not be reading. You flush in apology, eyes downcast. “I am not mad. You are thirteen. You will know of violence in this world. That I can not shield you from my precious dove.” She plays with your hair, sharing a soft private moment with you.

“Prince Aemond was teaching me to read.” You say fluttering your lashes innocently. Your mother continues to stroke your face, contentment on hers.

“Is that so?” She asks and gives you, her precious daughter, a sweet kiss on the forehead. “It is the young prince’s birthday. He is now thirteen. His brother believes him to be a man today.”

You see your mother purposely not looking at the prince, but you do. You see him look down shifting uncomfortably. He plays with his fingers, lacing them then unlacing them, together then apart.

“Is that why you smell like cake?” You ask with a tilt.

It seems to melt his nervousness.

“The maids made me strawberry and vanilla. A small one just for me. Mother forgot I do not like chocolate. Aegon likes chocolate.” He is ready for an explanation.

“I like strawberries and vanilla too.” You declare exchanging a smile with the prince.

“Madam Sylvi?” The princling asks lacing his fingers together.

“I will tell your brother lies. You only need to confirm it.” Your mother says.

He nods.

You are unsure what it all means, but you know you will understand this someday.

“I shall stay with you two a while longer to keep up appearances, but please, my prince, continue to read to my darling daughter.” Your mother brushes her fingers through a chunk of your tangled hair. “She has a sharp mind that is not meant for this life.”

There is a sadness in your mother’s voice as she looks upon you.

She has always told you she wishes for a better life for you.

She wants you to read, to explore, to be doted on by someone special who loves you.

“What shall we read next, little dove?” Prince Aemond shifts closer to you.

You smile at your new friend as he smiles back proudly showing his unclothed eye.

“Read me a tale of dragons.”

Aemond is a frequent visitor of your mother’s house of pleasure as the pair of you grow into adults. His brother thinks he has clung to the taker of his virginity when in truth the middle prince has not lost it.

He did not lose it that night to your mother like so many whisper over. He does not lose it anytime he comes to the pleasure palace. The prince remains chaste and a gentleman. Instead he comes seeking a different kind of pleasure.

He comes seeking you.

His little dove.

At first he would bring books and ancient tomes from the library in the Red Keep. He would read you stories about ancient battles and prophecies. He would teach you how to read out the simplest words aloud and sound out the more difficult titles. When you have mastered the skills of reading he listens to you read aloud. He is prone to putting his head in your lap as you play with his growing long straight strands. Most nights he falls asleep listening to you name dragons and their riders aloud sometimes sleepily listing them along with you.

When you have mastered the common language, he begins to teach you High Valyrian, the ancient language of Old Valyria. It is a difficult language to learn especially since it takes you so long to learn how to roll your tongue with the exotic words. He has squeezed your face so many times to assist you in the language that your jaw has begun to hurt.

You began to learn a few words and even some phrases.

Every time he hears you speak in the ancient lanaguage he swells with pride.

It is much like every time you read a story to him.

He has taken to removing his eye patch every time he enters the room, your mother’s room which she keeps you hidden away in. It has become your hide away with Aemond. He has only recently insisted you drop the prince title when referring to him.

“The whole world sees me as a prince, little dove.” He touches your face as he says this. “With you I wish to be Aemond. Only Aemond if it pleases you.”

You are not sure he knows, but it does please you.

It pleases you greatly to be his friend.

It pleases you greatly that he wants to share his singular name with you.

While Aemond has grown into a talented, well educated and well trained noble prince, you have developed into a lively beauty prone to intelligent conversations and feeling music enrapture you. Your body is now well settled from growing your lush curves and bountiful bosom. You know yourself greatly and have confidence in your looks. It causes some patrons to ask your mother for you.

“My daughter is not a whore.” Your mother tells them.

They keep asking hoping for a different answer.

One day the prince hears someone ask for you.

They offer a hefty sum, a giant coin purse.

“She is mine.” Aemond tells the man asserting himself forward in a way you have never seen him.

He pulls you quickly into the privacy of your mother’s quarters. There is bubbling rage that makes his fists open and close. It is similar to when he was a boy, lacing and unlacing his fingers.

“Aemond.” You call out settled on the bed.

“No man will ever touch you.” He says through gritted teeth.

He is pacing. The anger makes your body hum with gratitude. He has protected you. With his declaration he has ensured that no one will ever ask to bed you again. You are still pure. Your mother has made sure of that and now so has Aemond. Your prince.

“Someone will touch me someday.” You inform him.

His head snaps to you. His eye is wide with sudden realization. You are not an innocent little dove anymore. You are a woman grown. A beauty that is sure to bring a kind and gentle man to your door. If not your beauty, your beautiful curious nature is too sweet not to have a man falling in love with you so surely he would do anything for you.

“Do you want to be touched?” He looks you over. There is a shiver that runs through your body to your core.

You want to say you want him to touch you.

“I want you to touch me, Aemond.” You were never good at keeping your thoughts to yourself.

It is like the first time you met.

You forget yourself.

You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter.

You can not demand to be touched by -

“Where?” You see him. You truly see him now. His living eye begins to tear. The joyous kind of an echo of a tear reflects in his eye. His sapphire eye nearly comes alive as well as he kneels before you. “Where do you want me to touch you?” It is a near panic as if you will change your mind.

Your heart is caught in your throat as you hear his needy question.

You do not know.

You do not know the answer, yet it floods out of you like a possession.

“Everywhere.”

The panic rolls off of him still. He does not know either where he wants to touch you. You part your legs for him wearing a lovely white silk gown that looks nearly grey in the fiery candlelight. He slots his head and torso between your thighs. Aemond’s hand moves the soft fabric on your right thigh up to reveal plush dips and curves of your skin.

He runs his hands over it squeezing you gently before he dips his lips to kiss you.

There.

On the softest part of your legs you feel a prince’s lips, your prince’s lips tickle you.

They are wet.

You are wet.

“Aemond.” You say his name as his kisses trail upwards. He is giving your thigh open mouthed kisses as he kneads your flesh, hungry and thankful.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon.” You are taken over by how good his kisses feel running up your thigh. It pierces straight to your core that your mind struggles to translate the phrase.

My love.

It is not right.

But it seems so very right.

Feels so very right.

His fingers tease the crease between your thigh and pelvis. He is so very hot and heavy in breath, licking at the peak of your mound. Your small clothes cover you there. You can not think if you prefer them clothed or if you would rather Aemond peel them away from your sweat drenched body.

“Ñuha dārilaros.” My Prince.

Your pronunciation is not quite right as you feel so many emotions and physical sensations right now your High Valyrian pronunciation is the furthest thing from your mind. You are trying to stop from falling back to the bed, legs spread like the whore your mother claimed you not to be.

Perhaps you are only a whore for Aemond Targaryen.

“Renigon nyke.” It is better. It is desperate.

Touch me.

“I would spend the rest of my days obeying that order.” He says smoothing his hand on your upper thigh. He peers up at you. He watches you try to catch your breath. He watches how much you want him. How much you have always wanted him.

You realize that now.

There has been a growing infactuation starting from that very day he peered under your mother’s bed. It started out as simple friendship. Two lonely little children misunderstood by the overarching world. With the years, with understanding each other, it has churned into more. It has become something grand and wide spreading, a warm feeling in your chest that is now spreading between your legs.

“Hmmm . . .you are wet.” He hums.

“I am sorry -” You flush embarrassed but his lips are on your soaked small clothes suckling before you can respond.

Instead you shutter and feel like someone has taken your breath from your body.

You have never had so many goose pimples in your life.

“Wet is good.” His fingers are now palming your core through the fabric of your small clothes.. “Wet means you enjoy what I am doing to you.” You nod.

You remember a book he brought to you about bodies, sex, and arousal. You had been too nervous to read it in front of him, but he had kept it close to his chest. You realize now he probably studied it for a moment such as this.

“Would you like to kiss me?” Your heart flutters at the question on your lips.

Surely a prince would not like -

He kisses you before you have a chance to change your mind.

You never would.

He holds the back of your neck threading his fingers through your beautiful locks. His lips are so soft and inviting. Your lips part in a little gasping breath. He moves his lips, opening and closing them to take you in. He’s so warm. His other hand remains on your trembling thigh as he kisses you with the need to never stop. You welcome him trying to meet his passion tenfold.

It is not a prince you are kissing in this moment.

It is your friend.

It is your Aemond.

Yours and yours alone.

In that moment you belong to each other and nothing else matters.

You welcome his small touches.

The pair of you are not as intense as the night he claimed you as his, when he kissed your thigh and kissed you with such need and fury it made your lips ache and burn red. Both of you had kissed so hungrily that night your lips were too sore to do anything else. You and he just laid side by side watching each other, giggling at the giddiness of the moment.

You hold hands as you read to one another. He takes care to stroke your cheek gently when he looks upon you. He whispers words you do not know but begin to learn in High Valyrian.

Gevie. Beautiful.

Ñuha prūmia. My Heart.

Ñuhon. Mine.

You wonder if he has always been this taken with you.

He tells you truthfully when you ask.

“I have always loved you a little. It has grown so deeply since that first day.”

Perhaps you understand this more than anyone.

He leaves you in small chunks of time when he is overtraining his body to show off to his nephews who are to return. The nephews who belittled him and gifted him a pig as a dragon. You have not ever been teased, but can imagine his pain. You see his pain in the form of a missing eye. An eye one of those nephews took from him.

You understand his desire to be as sharp as a knife.

He wants his body to be ready should they ever try to belittle him again.

You are happy to give him over to the training.

But so very sad when you do not see him for months.

You are more sad that you are missing his touch.

Instead you experiment for the first time. You attempt to touch yourself as he touched you. You start by journeying up your thigh. You trail soft kneading touches. You imagine they are his hands.

Where else would you want him?

Everywhere. You remember saying

You can not fathom him on any other part of your body that would feel better than his lips sucking on your small clothes. Perhaps maybe on your core directly. You blush thinking as you stroke over your small clothes. You bring your fingers to your lips sucking on them. It will make it easier to pretend it is his tongue on your core.

You dip your fingers under the fabric on your core laid back spread on the bed missing your friend, hoping the next time you see him you can ask for more. You stroke yourself, finding the wetness of your fingers causes you to sigh. You find a small bud between your core and tease it gently.

You arch your back at the feeling it gives you. You leak wet hot arousal between your fingers.

Your mother shouts your name entering through the curtains.

Your face flushes embarrassed as gravity settles you down from your high.

You wipe your wet fingers on your dress and squeeze your thighs together hoping it will ease the pulsing you still feel.

It helps very little.

“Do not be embarrassed of pleasuring yourself, daughter.” This perhaps makes you more embarrassed. “It is a natural thing to wish to feel pleasure.”

You look down at your fingers slightly pruned from your desire. The release you felt was incredible and exhilarating. Perhaps she is right. Feeling good, as good as this, is a marvel.

“I have come to share some news. Your prince is looking for Prince Aegon. He was just at the door now. He said he would visit soon.” She pauses looking at you, taking your hands softly. “There is a rumor the king is dead.” You feel saddened. Aemond did not speak much of his father, but the loss will surely devastate him in some way. “They speak of putting Aegon on the throne.”

You slip your hands from your mother’s. You know what this means. There is to be a war. The king’s firstborn would not stand to see her half-brother on the throne.

Battle lines will be drawn.

Houses will be fought for.

Marriage pacts . . .

He was not betrothed.

Young, dashing Prince Aemond Targaryen was a free suitor.

A pawn to be used should houses need a push from one side to the other.

It is not the thought of Aemond going to war that frightens you, but the idea that he may share a bed with another woman.

That he may take a wife.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Your mother wipes tears that you did not know were there from your face. “Come here, my little love.” She embraces you as silent tears fall from your sweet innocent face. “It is troublesome to fall in love with a prince.”

You think this is true.

Days after King Viserys’ death, Aemond arrives on a stormy night.

You are on the bed propped up with pillows. You read through a book on Aegon the Conqueror considering how he took two wives, both sisters. He arrives in your mother’s chambers, to you, soaked to the bone, water running off his leathers and through his long flat hair. His eye patch is already abandoned, the sapphire reflects the flickering candles.

“Aemond.” You whisper closing the book.

You have known him too long not to notice the sad confusion in his face.

“I did not mean it.” It is the boy you hear. The one who laid with you under your mother’s bed. The one who taught you how to read. That boy is scared.

“Come here, my love.” You shift to welcome him onto your lap. He crawls onto the bed in damp clothes.

“I did not mean it.” He grabs onto you as an anchor. The soft part of your thigh is so warm and welcoming that he nuzzled his face there.

“What didn’t you mean? Tell me, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You are done chasing away how you feel about him. You love him, it is too plain to see. You stroke his hair in the most loving way you know how.

“Lucerys.”

You already know what has happened.

You already know blood has been drawn in such a short time.

You do not pause as you pet his damp hair. He nuzzles you close.

“It is alright. It will be alright.” You assure him. You must assure him. Not because it is your duty as a smallfolk to bluster your prince, but it is your honor as his friend, his love. Whatever he is to you.

Your heart.

“It will not be.” He holds onto your thigh as though you might stop your sweet embrace as he speaks. “I am to be married.”

This causes pause.

Lucerys’ death was not devastating to you. He had hurt your prince so you felt nothing for the boy but disdain. It is no matter to you that he is dead.

But a marriage . . .

Your heart grieves for a future you were never meant to have.

“I do not wish it.” He says snuggling you close. He breathes in your scent. He clings to you for comfort in this miserable moment. You ease him. It is what you know how to do. It is what you want to do by petting his soft hair and pulling him closer to your body. “I want you. I only ever want you.”

Out loud he appears to be a grieving boy in need of physical affection.

In your heart, you hear it differently, you hear true undying desperation to have you.

“I want it to be with you.” He turns to lay on his back looking up at you. “My first time. I do not want it to be with the Baratheon girl. I want it to be with you, ñuha prūmia.” He reaches up to stroke your face. His thumb trails over your lower lip, plump and ready for him.

You could never deny him.

You will never deny him.

You are his heart.

He is your heart.

You reach down and kiss him. His lips are wet with need and hunger to finally take you as he wants. You want him too. You have envisioned this moment in your deep sleep. Dreams of Aemond nude and wanting before you make you wake with your hand between your aching thighs. He pushes upward, entangling his hand in your hair and one hand at your waist.

You whisper his name, eyes floating over him as he kisses you lightly then deeply as if his survival depends on making you feel so incredibly good. He strokes your hip, lifting up the side of your pale green layered silk gown. His hand strokes your backside feeling the wide curve of your ass. He presses flush to you against the soft mattress and propped pillows.

It is when you feel him.

Between his legs is a sword at the ready.

“You. Are. Hard.” You say each word with small gasps as he kisses your neck laying on top of you.

“I am.” You can feel his lips curve into a smile at your collarbone. “It means I desire you.”

You feel your body shiver at this thought.

He wants you.

You find his hand at your hip guiding it with yours to your aching core. It is as soaked as his heavy leather coat.

“I want you too.” You show him. He strokes you there and you feel too much pleasure soaking you more. “Let me undress you.”

His coat falls to the side. Your fingers slip against the buttons of his tunic. He helps you in frustration, nearly ripping them off in a harsh pull. You stifle a laugh at his eagerness. He lavishes you with kisses, open mouthed and needy. You feel his tongue slip inside your mouth. It is so hot and so is his skin. It is as if he is burning up from the inside with desire.

“I need you, my darling dove.”

Your hand palms his hardness through the leather pants. You admire his torso for a moment stroking the length of him. He is well toned, muscular. His wide pecs and deep abs make you gasp. He leans forward threatening to kiss you again, but you lean back marvelling at the site knelt before you on your mother’s bed.

“You like what you see then? I have been hoping that when we were ready to make love that my body was to your liking. It is another reason I have been training so hard.”

You feel a deep devotion to him in this moment.

That he would spend so much time on his body to please you.

Just you.

“You were sculpted by the Gods.” You trace your fingers over his abs stroking along the dips of his hips.

“I was sculpted for you and you alone, my little dove.” He cups your cheeks seeking your kiss again. He is sweet and well practiced now with how to kiss you.

He is so happy now after being so taken with guilt over the death of his nephew you wonder if he is truly okay.

You feel selfish kissing him back.

You feel wrong for wanting him to never stop wanting you even if he is to marry another.

“Say you want me ag-”

“I want you. Jaelan ao.” He says before you can finish.

You press down his trousers. He stands to reveal his naked body to you. You have never seen a nude man before, but you are sure no other man looks as Aemond Targaryen does. He stands proudly as if he knows his body is a work of art. You have already been admiring his torso.

Why not admire the rest of him?

You sit on the bed letting your eyes fall to the part of him you had been too bashful to lay eyes on. You are in the midst of exploring him fully. You must look at that part. His hardness stands straight, long and thick. You see he is smooth at his base where his balls hang low. He strokes himself proudly, smirking. The tip of his cock is leaking.

You think it is because his body needs you so badly it is weeping.

On instinct, you spread your legs.

He watches you nearly panting.

“Would you like to see me?”

It is a question you know the answer to.

You watch his cock twitch, up and down as if an invisible force is causing him to stir.

He steps forward eager, but cautious in case you are nervous about revealing yourself fully. You are nervous. You have never been naked in front of a man before. You ease yourself looking to his sapphire eye. He has exposed himself time and time again to you.

Surely you can show him your tits and not flush?

You stand and turn away from him. Your neck bends forward as you shift your hair exposing the clasp around your neck. You feel the pads of his fingers there. It is there you realize he is trembling. Uneasily with a few fumbled tries, he undoes the clasps letting the bodice of your gown fall forward exposing your tits to the cool air.

Your nipples peak to life in the coldness. You instinctively go to cover them, but he stays your hands. He is easy with them, a gentle kind of ease. He moves to knead your breasts. You say nothing because his hands, while cold from the rain, are so good squeezing at your fleshy fat before rolling your peaked pink buds between his fingers.

“Aemond,” You sigh, leaning back into him. You touch his face from behind bringing him closer as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Take the rest off.”

He kisses behind your ear, a lingering beautiful kiss.

His hands move from your well massaged breasts down further. He glides them down your torso to your hips. They still hug the silk dark green dress with little gold lace. He pulls it down over your wide hips. He pushes himself at the curve of your bottom and you feel that he is harder than you remembered.

The dress pools to the floor.

You are as exposed as he is.

You are the same in this moment.

You feel his face from behind you as he continues to kiss your neck and hold your body to his.

“I want you to be my first too.” You tell him. It is a secret you have kept close to your chest. “I dream about you, Aemond. I . . .” You can not bring yourself to say it, but you do. If you do not say it now it will fester inside you until you leave this world. “I love you, Aemond Targaryen.”

He does not stop kissing you.

He only whispers.

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

You turn in his arms. Tears edge his bottom eyelid. You kiss them away holding his face. You repeat the words in High Valyrian, the same tone and cadence as his confession. He leans forward kissing you. He can not stop telling you he loves you, in either language.

“Make love to me.” You instruct him feeling that his kisses are suddenly not enough. You hold his face seeing how his desire matches your own. “I want you inside me.”

He lays you down gently on the bed. His kisses press to your lips. His tongue continues to explore your mouth. Yours is eager to explore his. You are eager as you spread your legs for his member to slot between your thighs. You feel the leaking head caressing your core.

“Will it hurt?”

You do not like pain. You know that your core is tight and his thick throbbing length is supposed to fit inside you.

“It may be uncomfortable.” He strokes your hair softly. “If you need to stop, just say so. I would never do anything to hurt you, my little dove.”

You believe him.

You nod feeling ready for him.

“I . . .” He pauses looking down at your face, your body, your cunt. He teases you with long lithe fingers, stroking your slit making you whimper. “I should like you a bit wetter before I enter you.”

His face moves downward trailing feathery kisses between your breasts then further down making you shudder with anticipation. He looks up from kissing your belly as if asking for approval to journey further. You bite your lip and nod. It takes all your power not to push his face where you need him.

He is at your sex.

He is between your legs.

Aemond licks your slit long and slow. It has the desired effect. You grow wetter letting out tiny pleased gasps. Your sex pulses with need. He kisses you there where he is needed most. His tongue pushes past your folds letting his lips suckle and drink you in. The slurping noise is quite lewd, but it makes your body soak around his lip. Your hips dance upwards as his hands grip your thighs in place. He presses little circles on your soft inner thigh.

“Aemond . . .” You grip the sheets never wanting him to stop. You have never felt this good or loved in your life. You fear you will never feel this good again. “Don’t stop.” You want to beg him to keep his tongue inside you, but instead he finds that bud.

Your body quakes. The tip of his tongue swirls around the bud. You can nearly feel it throbbing. It needs friction. He wraps his lips around the little pearl suckling.

You can not see. Your eyes screw shut.

The pleasure.

The pleasure rides through your body, from core to toes to head. You cry out to the Gods. You cry out in undeniable euphoria.You feel yourself come undone and back together again. Your legs shake. Aemond holds you to the bed, grounding you as if you might float away to the heavens. He continues despite the unending pleasure you feel.

“You enjoyed that.” He is smiling proudly, his tongue still lapping against your core despite how you feel yourself coming down from the euphoric high. You simply nod. “I am glad. I believe you are ready for me.”

You shift to rest your head more firmly on the pillows. Aemond helps. He fluffs the pillows and makes sure you are comfortable. He strokes your core making sure you are slick and continues to kiss your lips alternating between sweet and searing passion.

You are ready.

You want him.

You need him.

His tip brushes the hairs at your core clustered wet in your arousal. You sigh feeling the girth of his tip. You know it may feel uncomfortable, but there is nothing more you have ever wanted in your life then Aemond Targaryen’s cock rutting itself to completion inside you.

“Hold me for comfort. I am here for you always. You are mine. Ñuha jorrāelagon.”

He is careful when he enters you. There is much discomfort, but no pain. The stretch is easy with how wet he has made you. His tip squeezes inside your core making you gasp with perfect desire. You hold under his pits to grasp his shoulders as he continues to push inside you.

He watches your face to make sure you are alright before pushing in further.

You feel him.

Gods, do you feel him.

He can not help, but ease himself further until he is flush with you. His magnificent well defined torso is crushed against your soft womanly figure. You hold him for dear life. He nuzzles his nose into your hair and neck. He bottoms out inside you.

You feel all of him now.

You nearly cry with how good it feels to smell him, to touch him, to taste him, to have him inside you.

“I love you.” You say again. “Always.”

“I love you.” He says looking upon your sweet face, innocent and in love. “I wish to move. To truly make love to you. Tell me if -”

“Yes, please, fuck me.” Your words are not sweet, but desperate.

You want him to know he can be a bit rough if he likes.

You think you may want him to be.

His thumb wipes across your bottom lip, a loving gesture.

He begins.

Aemond moves inside you thoughtfully. Out half way then easing back in. His eye is settled on your face, watching for any signs he should stop or signs of true pleasure. You know all he sees, all he hears is your pleasure settling inside you. His breath is soft and needy against your neck as he slowly fucks your cunt.

Your hips rise to meet him.

Want him.

More.

He takes the sign. Aemond begins to rock his hips deeper. His cock is moving at a much quicker pace. You stretch. You feel yourself expand around his cock. It feels like nothing else you have ever felt. You hold him close as his hips begin to snap, pounding into you. You can feel you may bruise, but you do not care. His breath is heavier now, panting as he fucks you. You cry out louder moans of pure bliss.

“Yes! Please!” Gods, he feels good. So very good.

His cock twitches inside you.

He is moaning now.

It is as if he has silenced himself this whole time, but now can not control it.

“I am there.” He calls out with a grunt.

You feel your core pulse pulling him in deeper.

“Fuck, you are milking my cock! I can not hold on. I can not hold on!” He grunts out snapping his hips like the beating wings of a dragon.

You cry out hearing him let out a loud noise, a mixture of your name and cries of passion.

He spills his seed inside you.

You feel warm as you rake your fingernails across his back feeling the wetness spill from you. You call out his name as you feel undone underneath him.

His name is like a prayer.

If you say it enough he will be yours.

He tenderly says your name against the shell of your ear as you feel him grow soft inside you.

You lay as one, he deep inside you.

You draw circles across his back in comfort.

He nuzzles against your hair. You can feel his wet lips against your neck in small kisses.

“You are mine.” He whispers to you. “Even if I am to marry another. You will always be mine.”

You think that is true. You think that has always been true.

You have experienced something special with him. You have taken the virginity of Prince Aemond Targaryen. He has taken your flower. You will never forget this moment.

As you lay there in each others’ arms you know soon you will part. Perhaps he will never return to your bed. Perhaps he will constantly return to you. He is to be married. He may be. He may break off the engagement.

It is a future not yet set in stone.

You know that you will savor this moment in time.

When you were his and he was yours.

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