#The Black Tides of Heaven

[haveyoureadthisqueerbook]

[haveyoureadthisfantasybook]

vote YES if you have finished the entire book.

vote NO if you have not finished the entire book.

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[ninsiana0]

I finally finished THE TENSORATE SERIES by Neon Yang! Each book is written in a completely different style than the others, and is told from a different character's perspective. They're magical, queer, and morally gray.

You should read all four novellas, but for the sake of consistency...

Read THE BLACK TIDES OF HEAVEN if you love twins, breaking free, dysfunctional families, tyrants, monasteries, uprisings, discovering your identity, prophesies, genderfuckery & beginnings.

Read THE RED THREADS OF FORTUNE if you love grief narratives, deserts, running away, running forward, scars, discovering new powers, trauma narratives, breaking & entering, and cute enbies.

Read THE DESCENT OF MONSTERS if you love epistolary tales, mysteries, detectives, cover-ups, missing children, destiny, creepy settings, beasts, class dynamics, and heroes.

Read THE ASCENT TO GODHOOD if you love drunk protagonists, reminiscing about the past, dancing girls, espionage, ending at the beginning, f**ked up families, young queer love, unlikable people & beginning at the end.

[muchotravka]

The sun falls upon an empire stewing in its rot and corruption, upon a Protectorate where well-fed children play in manicured gardens while orphans starve in the gutter, upon mountains full of ugly secrets and cities determined to keep them buried.

- The Tensorate Series: The Descent of Monsters, Neon Yang

[qbdatabase]

Mokoya and Akeha, the twin children of the Protector, were sold to the Grand Monastery as children. While Mokoya developed her strange prophetic gift, Akeha was always the one who could see the strings that moved adults to action. While his sister received visions of what would be, Akeha realized what could be. What’s more, he saw the sickness at the heart of his mother’s Protectorate.

A rebellion is growing. The Machinists discover new levers to move the world every day, while the Tensors fight to put them down and preserve the power of the state. Unwilling to continue to play a pawn in his mother’s twisted schemes, Akeha leaves the Tensorate behind and falls in with the rebels. But every step Akeha takes towards the Machinists is a step away from his sister Mokoya. Can Akeha find peace without shattering the bond he shares with his twin sister?

[seekerreads]

A considered silence simmered. Then Yongcheow spoke. “The saying goes, ‘The black tides of heaven direct the courses of human lives.’ To which a wise teacher said, ‘But as with all waters, one can swim against the tide.’” His gaze was unshakeable as it fixed on Akeha. “I chose to swim. So can you.”

Neon Yang, The Black Tides of Heaven

[spoondrifts]

i finished the black tides of heaven by jy yang and i wish i could say i enjoyed it but i was skimming desperately by the end to just have it over with

[curlyparmesan]

Library card adventures:

The Black Tides of Heaven

By Neon Yang

I liked it! The pacing was really helpful for me to get back into reading. Not a lot of fluff, just plot and character development and then go on to the next scene. It was neat reading a Singaporean author, I like their style and the editing was really good. The ending was rather abrupt and I felt it was not quite as satisfying as I hoped, but I'll probably read the other ones in the series. The world is really fun, and I like the magic system, called Slackcraft. I like the world building where people are expected to choose their genders. The main character Akeha reminds me a lot of Jobber from Oran Trilogy.

[box-keeper]

[room-temperature-meatbag]

If you told me a couple of months ago that getting forced off my ADD meds would lead to me suddenly reading a whole lot more I wouldn't have believed you....but I finished Dhalgren by Samuel Delaney 2 Saturdays ago, just finished The Black Tides of Heaven by Neon Yang yesterday, and should have Beloved by Toni Morrison finished soon.

[rastronomicals]

4:03 PM EDT September 8, 2024:

Black Tide - "Prowler" From the tribute album Maiden Heaven (July 16, 2008)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Free giveaway with the Kerrang! of July 19, 2008, issue # 1219

[monzamash]

easy to please lando norris x you rating – mature (sexual themes, coarse language) blurb for ✨monzamusings✨

thinking about u, the text read. above it, there was a photo – dark, a little bit blurry, possibly a figment of your weary imagination. a hand pressing down on black cotton, tanned and veiny – a hand you immediately recognised. fingers too, gripping the thin material and an outline that had you sitting up in bed, lazy smile slipping across your flushed cheeks as the picture came into focus. lip bitten. baby, was all you sent in reply. your eyelids fluttered shut momentarily, loosing the battle to sleep until you felt your phone buzzing, resting in your slack hand. they were coming thick and fast and bringing you back into the present. your fingers tingled from the sensation when you held it up and nearly dropped the bright screen on your squinting forehead. don’t baby me i miss u can i call please???? winky face emoji.

you sighed sharply into the plush pillow beside your head, wondering whether or not you had the energy for it. the appetite was always there. hell – all you could think about was him; even in the mundane moments, he was everywhere you looked – your work, your friends, the cheesy rom com that made you cry before wrapping yourself up in a blanket and falling asleep. you missed him. the back and forth, the will they won’t they bullshit nearly sending you into a spiral of complete and utter confusion. the future was uncertain; the distance between where you were and wherever he was in the world unbearable but what you did know was that you loved him, missed him. and he was yours.

heartbreakingly so. alright romeo but make it quick always am hehe. dickhead.

the phone call connected after one, maybe half a ring – there was no pretence anymore with you and lando. this was routine now, the late night calls across oceans, and it was always the same. whispered, i miss you's and i love you's, strangled moans, hands frantically chasing the high of what you knew felt like heaven together, by whatever means necessary, the best dirty talk you could ever imagine, barely tiding you over until you could be close enough to feel each other again.

“hi pretty girl.”

“hi boyfriend”

“ugh, i love it when you call me that. say it again…”

and you did, over and over until the late night giggles took hold and lando couldn’t breathe – the goofy smile scrunching the corners of his dry eyes, fatigue and exhaustion lingering in his hoarse voice.

“you should be sleeping.”

“i would be if you were here,” he stated matter of fact, not even a blinking, “i think i got used to having you with me over winter break… spoiled me too much and now i'm ruined for life.”

“so dramatic.”

“i’m being so real,” he yawned and by the soft grumble on the other end, he was definitely stretching out his sore, weary muscles like cat. there was a beat and a click of the tongue before lando spoke again, the ominous silence already making your eyes playfully roll.

“so… what are you wearing right now?”

“unbelievable…”

“you cant blame a man for asking, especially in my hour of need… show me pleeeeease” lando whined, toothy smile no doubt lining his chapped lips.

“what if I’m not wearing anything?” you taunted, snapping a quick photo and sending it through without a second thought.

lando quickly peaked, side-eyeing the screen sneakily and sighed when he realised you were pulling his chain, “i'm wearing some shirt you left behind because it’s hotter than satan's asshole here in london at the moment.”

he groaned more to himself than to you, eyes scanning your curves under the thin material, fixated on how unconstricted you were under the shirt he recognised, breasts pert. lando was restless and you really did deserve more than the desperado ‘what are you wearing’ pick up line but god, he wanted to know, no, he needed to know because if he didn't find out, he feared he may never recover.

after all, it was you that had him sick in love. and perpetually horny.

“think i might like you in my clothes more than naked…"

“you’re a sicko.”

“mmm you make me like this… and no bra, like are you trying to kill me?”

“always.”

you cupped your chest over his shirt and took another photo, teasing the gorgeous man waiting for your every move with bated breath. he’d sucked in his bottom lip, you could hear by how shallow his breathing had become, reminiscent of a panting dog – the sound alone quickened your heart rate. the image of him sitting in a hotel room alone, hand pressed to his aching cock thinking about you, parched to the point of a sleepless night was dizzying.

and it was easy with lando, the familiarity of his voice and the rhythm you effortlessly fell into. all remnants of consciousness melted away with him.

“wish i was there with you baby,” he whispered and you nodded, smiling, even though he couldn’t see how happy it made you to hear him say it.

“me too,” you sighed, relaxing into the stillness until your loud, obnoxious doorbell shook you from the peaceful silence.

“fuck!” you cursed, frozen in place.

“what?” 

“someones at the door…”

“what time is it there?”

“like 11pm… should i ignore it?” you were already grabbing the cardigan you'd thrown over the end of your bed and halfway to the door, curiosity winning out.

“nah, nah. you’re on the phone with me – answer it,” he encouraged, “i wanna make sure it isn’t your side piece coming ‘round when i’m not there.”

“ha-ha, actually my other boyfriend is already here, i've been trying to get you off the phone this whole time...”

"hmm, lucky cunt." he mumbled.

lando made you brave, stupidly brave so you swung the door open without hesitation, locked and loaded with a line of interrogating questions for the person interrupting the precious time you had with the man you love.

but you were hearing double as you held the phone to your ear and looked up – you knew that mess of frazzled curls and tired eyes anywhere, peering back with a smile the size of the moon curling at the corners of his lips. he was bundled up in a hoodie, one you knew would feel warm to the touch and smelled like him.

you had to be dreaming.

“better go tell your other boyfriend to pack his shit and get the fuck out of our house.”

“lando…” tears welled in your eyes as you lunged into his open arms.

“hi pretty girl…” he chuckled, picking you up without hesitation and hooked your legs around his waist, carrying you over the threshold.

“why didn’t you say you were coming home?”

“surprises are sexy, no?” he asked, voice deliciously low. he knew your answer.

“very sexy.” you moaned and pressed firm, fiery kisses into his strong neck, “you’re so sexy – all of this is sexy… god, i love you.”

“love you too sweetheart – let’s go to bed.”

“to sleep?” you asked, with doe-eyes and a devilish grin.

“yeah, i flew eleven fuckin' hours to just sleep… oh and by the way," lando narrowed his eyes and pointed to the crinkled shirt hanging from your shoulders, you looked a mess.

"i want my shirt back right now.”

you hummed and twirled down the hallway, “you’re gonna have to pry it off my cold, horny body, norris…”

“mission accepted,” lando confidently stated, chest puffed as he started stripping his hoodie from his body and inched closer and closer to where you were stood and all you could do was admire the gorgeous man stalking towards you.

oh, and blink a few times to make sure you definitely weren't dreaming, "i can't believe you were sexting me in the back of a cab."

“i know," he chuckled, "it was getting a bit much by the end there, so i walked the last couple of blocks to calm myself down."

you couldn't suppress the moan building in your throat at his touch and his confession – your mind was running wild, "that's so hot."

"you are." he quipped, hands slowly tracing your sides and cupping your chest in his warm palms.

"this is way better than phone sex.”

lando shrugged as you ran your hands down his toned stomach, thumbs circling the indents just above his hips, “i’ll take anything with you – it’s all good to me.”

“you’re easy to please.”

“well, you make it easy – god, look at you,” he exhaled, brushing the loose strands of hair from your face and all you could do was smile.

“i’m glad you’re home, ya goof. it doesn't feel right without you here."

“me too, baby. meee too.” lando smiled and planted a longing kiss to your pouty lips.

more writing...

bit of backstory with this blurb; it was originally going to be a follow up to another fic i wrote called lost in japan and then got buried in the wip graveyard. somehow it resurfaced in my doc folder right when i needed it and i feel like it still kinda fits in the lost in japan universe - selfishly i love those characters. anyways, i hope you enjoyed it 💋

[lizzyiii]

hey, so ur works are literally heaven in itself (im in love with u)

you guys reading my works are what validate me in life (i'm so in love with you too, babe)

Scales and Arpeggios

pairing | aemond x wife!reader word count | 4.3k words summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.

note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond was tired.

Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.

It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragons’ wake.

And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdoms—but at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the God’s Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.

She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegon’s command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.

Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.

Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And Aegon—Aegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.

All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.

Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.

It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemon’s daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.

And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.

He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his own—the children he adored and his beloved wife—he had allowed himself to be blind to his mother’s decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.

Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wife’s sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.

In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.

The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.

But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.

Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.

As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. “Me first!” she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.

Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. “And why should you be first?” he challenged.

Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “Because I am the future queen, that’s why!” she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.

With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. “You’re not a queen! You’re nothing but my cousin!” he yelled.

Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. “I’ll show you if I’m a queen or not,” she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.

In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. “Fight fair, Jae!”

Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadn’t meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.

She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. “Now that hurt!” she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.

“Aunty! Aunty!” she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.

Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. “Jaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,” you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. “You must stop that; it is really not ladylike.”

Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. “And you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.”

Aeron’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. “Well, she started it,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. “Queens do not start fights,” she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, “But they can finish them.”

Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his mother’s voice call out from across the room. “Now, Aeron, don’t be rude,” you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.

He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “We were just practicing fighting and pushing,” he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.

You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mind—battles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. “Targaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,” you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. “It is just horrible.”

With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. “Now,” you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.

You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. “Why don’t you two head over to the piano, and let’s begin our lesson?”

“Yes, Aunty!” Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.

Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. “Yes, Mama,” he replied.

“It’s time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,” you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.

Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.

However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.

Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, “I’m ready, Maestro,” her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.

Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaera’s, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.

“Aunty, he did it again!” she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.

Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. “Tattletale,” he whispered in response.

You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, “Now, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.” Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.

With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.

Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the children’s bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.

The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.

The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the prince’s impatience. “At Her Grace's music lessons, sire,” he replied, his tone respectful.

“Music lessons?” Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.

Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.

As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.

Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.

"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"

Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boy’s fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.

To Aemond’s surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. “If you’re faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,” he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.

Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeron’s exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, “Do mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.”

Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, “Do mi so do,” but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.

“Do mi sol do, do sol mi do,” you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.

Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, “Do mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesn’t show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.”

In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.

The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, “If you’re smart, you’ll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.”

Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.

Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. “How was that, Mama?” he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.

You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. “Absolutely wonderful, my love,” you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.

“Kēpa! Kēpa!” Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.

All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girl’s enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

“Do you wish to join us, my king?” you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.

Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.

Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. “I was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,” he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Merely for the children’s entertainment, I assure you,” you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.

Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.

“Father, did you see how I played?” Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, I did,” Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. “Much better than any bard I’ve heard.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.

“And did you see how I sang, uncle?” Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.

“Yes, of course,” Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. “One day, you might even come to rival the Queen’s voice.” The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“She’ll be even better than me,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.

As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.

You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. “Children, it’s time to go to bed,” you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.

Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Do we have to, Mama? Father just got here,” he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.

You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeron’s fluffy silver hair. “And I’ll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,” he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.

You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. “Emery is waiting for you,” you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.

Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaera’s and Aeron’s eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.

Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.

Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.

As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.

A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.

“Hello, husband,” you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.

“Hello, wife,” Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.

With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.

You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.

“I apologize for not informing you about the lessons,” you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.

“Tis alright,” he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. “When did it begin?”

“The day of your mother’s funeral,” you replied gently, choosing your words with care. “Your duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.”

At the mention of that day, Aemond’s expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded back—his mother’s service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.

He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aeron seems particularly skilled.”

“He is a very intelligent little boy,” you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. “He has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. “I fear he has far more talent than I ever did,” he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. “But I’m glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.”

“Music has a way of healing,” you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Especially in times like these.”

He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. “And what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. “I carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. “You are stronger than I,” he said earnestly. “I often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, “We bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.”

Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, “Aeron... he shall be a better king than I.” His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.

You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.

Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. “Only because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.”

Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over him—of the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.

He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. “You are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.”

“Destiny has its designs,” you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. “And I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.”

He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. “Even when I do not deserve it?”

“Especially then,” you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. “Every king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.”

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. “And what is that, my love?”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.”

Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.

“Aeron has taken to kissing my stomach,” you said, your tone playful. “He believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “Teach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeron’s talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenys’ skill.”

Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. “Very well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. “First, let us see what you can do.”

You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. “Feel the movement,” you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. “It’s not merely about the notes; it’s about the rhythm and the heart behind them.”

Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.

Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. “How romantic,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.

She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.

Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you think our marriage will be like that?” he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.

Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. “It has to, Aeron. It has to.”

“Do you think we’ll be that happy?” he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.

She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. “Of course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.”

Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. “And what if…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “What if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?”

Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. “Then we fight for each other, just like they do,” she declared with conviction.

Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I like that idea,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.

“We’ll make it the best story ever.”

[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]

headcannonsss:

— aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)

— aeron and jaehaera marry

— daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)

— mikael comes out as gay

— jaemes and elaena marry

— aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ All the graces from Heaven

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur and you enjoy a steamy morning at Strawberry's Hotel, much to the outlaw's delight. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Oral (both reader and Arthur receiving), 69, a bit of fluff if you squint, porn without a plot, Arthur is more of a high/mid honor but loses it and gets a little bit rough, established relationship. ✦ Words: 2,6k ✦ a/n: Yeeeaah so. This is basically a 69 fic, it's pretty filthy and a bit less figurative than my usual works. Just pure smutty smut. I hope you'll enjoy it still! Pic is mine, not proofread! And as English isn't my first language, prepare for some misspellings.

The bedroom of Strawberry’s Hotel is filled with chuckles, and full of scattered clothes on the floor. Leathered boots, two shirts tangled together, jackets and holster belts thrown away messily on furniture. As a lighthouse in the middle of the sea, a black gambler hat stands tall hung on one of the bed's huge footboard legs over this tide of abandoned clothing.

Above it, the old wood creaks as two people mess with each other under the blankets, threatening to make the worn hat fall from its perch. Both are nude as the day they were born, and glued to each other as if they were wearing the other one’s skin.

You and Arthur had quite a time, last night. And since you had woken up, it was nothing but sweet words, cuddling and tickling. Teasing each other had become a private religion between you both, his sarcastic comments always met with a witty answer from you. It made him love you even more.

“Come on darlin’, stay.” Arthur’s deep voice asks you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his nose impregnating with your smell, eyes closing on their own.

He feels good, there. It's in these simple shared moments, those laughs you sew together, those fingers and body you intertwine, those deep and dreamy conversations about your brighter future you share that Arthur finds his remedy. As if after all this life of surviving and fighting for a greater cause, a bigger picture, it was the simplest of things that appeared like an epiphany to him when it came to happiness.

You being the main source and Messiah of most of these humble pleasures, of course. His personal angel.

“You know I can’t. You may have the morning off for once, but I have somewhere else to be. Hosea needs me at the Tracker’s Hotel for a job.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his annoyance and grumbles against your skin, something about “Damn jobs always in the way” and “ The old man can wait a lil’ bit more.”

It makes you smile. As tempting as staying in bed all morning with a naked Arthur seems, especially considering how you can feel his fat cock feeling so soft against your hip, you feel self-conscious about leaving Hosea alone on your mission. You turn your head to the side to kiss your lover’s head, his sandy locks tickling your nose.

“Alright tough guy, time to go.” You decide before getting up in a sitting position, then crawling to the end of the bed to grab your ungarments.

“Not so fast, lil’ missy.” He objects with a low chuckle, obviously enjoying this little chase after you.

Before you can reach your aim, Arthur snakes his hands around your thighs and pulls you back to him in a quick and powerful motion, handling you as if you were the lightest feather, which makes you let out a squeal of protest mixed with surprise.

His laugh resonates for a second and then, he freezes. You had ended up on all four on top of him, but usually, your face was turned to his. This time, Arthur's nose is met with your plump rear, your chest to the other side, just above his crotch. You can feel his body, underneath you, getting tensed. This gigantic, massive, muscled body, so big and tall that his chest feels larger than a tree trunk between your spread legs. What was innocent playing for him just seconds ago had turned into a needy tension between the both of you. The air suddenly feels thick and a silence settles, a tense calm on the shore before a Maelstrom.

Your blouse and Hosea are a long time gone when you realize you can feel his breath on your pussy, the sensation making you shiver. You try to get up from the position, thinking he wouldn’t like to have his face shoved in your intimate parts, but his hands grip tighter and stop you, grounding you in place. You turn your head to him as much as you can considering your situation, taking an interrogative look at his face above your body.

His cheeks are red. Dark red. His eyes are fixated on your entrance, throat swallowing with difficulty. His bust rises and falls heavily, pectorals muscles swelling up before relaxing and rising again. He sighs, and you feel it again, hot air all against you, all against your now aroused and needy slit.

“We hum… We never tried like this…” He starts, voice low and suggestive about what he's implying, his hands traveling from your thighs to grab your ass, one hand for each cheek. They’re so big and firm, and feel so good there, as he squeezes, again and again, driving himself crazy as he admires how the perfect heart shape of your rear looks all squished under his fingers.

“You sure you want-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Arthur answers it by pressing his lips to your pussy, exhaling through his nose and tightening his fingers on your flesh. This man always had such huge self-control for every dangerous situation known to mankind, but right now, it seems like he couldn’t resist taking a bite when having your perfect cunt under his nose…

A sharp and depraved noise leaves you, making his body burn like redden coal, his mind consumed more and more by your whole being and the simple feeling of your wetness all against his face. His whole universe reduced into this touch, lips against flesh, saliva mixing with arousal. Your sinful nectar and his.

“God, honey!” You whine, back arching without your permission, body moving backward to him, searching for more, needing more.

“Taste so goddamn good… Never gonna have enough of ‘this…” He rasps between a few more kisses to your folds, as a praise or a statement, you’re not sure, and he’s not either as words just flow through him and he lets them out without a drop of restraint or reflection. A rough, unstoppable river. That's how he feels every time he eats you out.

His tongue slowly slips out of his filthy mouth and licks your folds, slowly, tortuously, from bellow aaaall the way up to the inside of your ass. You could have been scared of not being clean enough for him or feeling nervous about his face almost buried in there, but the sound, the moan he had made suppresses all these anxious thoughts all at once.

You have to face the obvious: he’s loving it.

“Aah- Arthur…” Your hips roll against his face, desperate for some more friction, unsatisfied and so aroused by his teasing.

“You go on moanin’ ma name like that and am gonna come without ya even touchin’ me, darlin’.” He warns you, voice hoarse, lips mumbling against your folds, his beard and mustache tickling you just the right way.

You answer his words with a deep sigh, the filth of them burning you to the core. He laps at you the same way again, in one then two long and slow licks, as if savoring you like the finest whiskey he would have tasted. A mewl leaves your lips after each one of them. You’re starting to get impatient, and he knows it, he knows you after all those intimate moments. He stops his lips right at the entrance of your core and gently slides his right hand between your thighs.

The way he has to fold his arm to touch you there isn’t comfortable for him, his bicep being way too big to be crushed like that; but hearing you, feeling your thighs clenching and the appreciative words you let out when his fingers land on your sensitive bud is worth this slight pain. Always putting other’s needs before his own, always being devoted and loyal, always finding happiness in being useful, that was Arthur’s nature. And the bed was no exception to it.

“Was you not supposed to go somewhere?” He asks cockily in a falsely innocent tone, brimming with sarcasm and smugness.

“P-please, Arthur… Quit the teasing, for God's sake…” You ask, trying not to sound too pitiful, probably failing at it.

“A lil’ needy after all, ain’t ya? Ma sweet girl…” He coos, and you can feel his lips stretch into his usual grin, his heart gorging with pride and excitement to have this sort of impact on you.

Bending to your wishes, his fingers start to rub and trace tight circles on your clit as his mouth makes love to your pussy, his tongue delving in as deeply as he can, and the pleasure finally hits you like an earthquake. It feels so good, so damn good, your breathing quickly turning into loud moans.

Your head snaps back forward, and your body pushes your rear up all against him as a cat who would stretch after a nap. Arthur hums in delight and appreciation, unable to speak but encouraging you still. He increases his pace, his digits quick and sharp and so precise against your sensitive spot.

Your face falls down as every fiber of your body hardens, and that’s when your gaze is caught on his cock. Your pussy clenches hard around his tongue just by the sight of it.

It looks so hard and swollen that it must be painful for him. His hips buck forward into nothing, his member almost hitting your chin, with every lick of his tongue inside you. His round and reddish tip is leaking, pre-cum spurting out even more than usual, flowing all the way down into his dark curly pubic hair. His pants would have been completely soaked if he was wearing them.

You're salivating.

It would have been cruel to let him like this, right?

Focusing on him to try and not collapse from your own pleasure, you suddenly press your chest against his belly and take his cock inside your mouth without any warning. The taste of him, this strong saline flavor, fills your mouth.

“Damn!” Arthur shouts in surprise, momentarily parting his lips from yours, fingers slowing their pace. “Jesus, girl!”

This time, it’s your turn to grin, as much as you can, considering how big Arthur is between your lips. You don’t let him any time to think or protest, knowing he would insist that you’d come first.

The way you're crawling on top of him makes it even simpler for you to suck him off, your head naturally placed at the right angle on top of his crotch, and you take advantage of that. Finding support on the mattress with your arms, hands gripping his legs, you bring your mouth up and down hard and fast, sucking his shaft with such vigor you can feel his body squirming underneath you.

“Ngh-! Darlin’! S-stop, slow down! I ain’t gonna last like this!” He tries to plead but his words are drowned in a flood of groans and harsh sighs.

Despite what he’s saying, his body acts in the exact opposite way, hips jerking, cock shoving into your throat at the same time you’re working him. He tries, he really tries to keep on pleasuring you back while you work him, but he feels like he’s completely losing himself, unable to do anything else, to focus on anything else at all.

Your breasts pressed against his belly, his face buried in your pussy and ass, each of your thighs surrounding his head, and your goddamn mouth around his cock, this devilish tongue sliding all around it… He's completely losing his head. It's like being drowned in an Ocean of You. It’s too much. It’s way too much at once for a simple man. A simple, weak, mortal man feeling like he’s receiving every grace of Heaven all at the same time.

His basic instincts win the best of him. His arms are now wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his body, a hand back on your ass cheek, the other on your neck, spurring you into moving your mouth just like he needs to.

“Oh, shit! Yes, go on, go on, take it!”

You've rarely seen him losing his temper like this. He's usually gentle and soft, patient with you during sex, savoring the moment, making it last as much as possible, playing you like an Andante movement from the most sophisticated piece of a symphony.

Right now, he's unchained and rough, rushing to the Grand Finale without minding about false notes, drunk from you and the sensation of warmth he is feeling on every edge of his body; face, chest, cock, every inch of him merging with every inch of you.

He groans all against your pussy, as your saliva drools from this erratic pace. His fingers grip your head and ass tighter as he chases his high carelessly, already coming, way too soon and fast for him. His cock stiffens even more as he fucks your silky mouth, veins gorging with blood, tip throbbing in the back of your head.

“Aaah- Damn… Good… Girl!” He growls loudly with a thrust of his hips after each word.

The last one is followed by a loud and throaty whine, higher-pitched and vulgar, the kind of sounds he would usually let out when being hurt.

He shuts his eyes in a pleasured-filled frown as he pushes his face even deeper between your legs and, more from instinct than anything else, sucks hard on your cunt while he comes, lost, so lost in a sea of primal bliss and pure organic pleasure. His large body burns and tenses one hard final time, and you can feel the path of his cum traveling along his length against your lips as he releases inside you.

It fills you, his saline and strong taste blinding your other senses, cum as hot and sinful as his state, and you exhale with satisfaction as you swallow both this remnant of his ecstasy and the last drops of his sanity.

Arthur falls back heavily on the mattress, completely spent, his sweat staining the white sheets, his hands loosening their grip. Before removing them from your body, he allows himself a playful little spank on your butt as he speaks again, a revenge not strong enough to his liking for your sneaky move.

“Jesus, you’re… completely wild...” He sighs, his heart slowing after having beaten like war drums.

He’s still panting, mouth open and covered with a mix of this sweet cocktail of saliva and arousal. He licks his lips, feeling so satisfied, the sensation of your body everywhere on his skin still vivid and present. Like a stamp of black, indelible ink that has left its mark on a blank sheet of paper.

“You really enjoyed all this, didn’t you?” You ask back while getting off him, legs a bit shaky, your throat starting to feel a bit sore from the intensity you had chosen to go with. “I haven’t heard you whine like this for a long time…”

“I don’t “whine”.” He scoffs, knowing damn well he did, and suddenly feeling ashamed of the sounds he had made and guilty for the rough behavior he had displayed. His negative feelings are soon brushed off though, thanks to your beautiful and mischievous smile enlightening him.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ve still got ears to hear, Mister.”

“Hush. Now come here, 'gonna make ya feel as good and miserable as me from finishin’ that fast.”

His eyes burn with that fire he has. The one reserved for you and the excitement and adrenaline of action. You already know there's no way you'll walk out of this bedroom without being completely satisfied.

“Tonight. I’m already way too late to-”

“Now.”

The piece of clothes remains abandoned on the floor as the bed creaks again, that old gambler's hat only witness of Arthur's payback to you.

After all, he never liked leaving a job unfinished.

--

tagging some people who were interested in the scenario! : @amyispxnk @a-court-of-valkyries @fleouris

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 20 - Yandere!Siren!Hongjoong + Biting & Oral Fixation

@stopaskinf Said: Yandere!siren! Kim Hongjoong with biting/marking and oral fixation. A/n: Okay, but a yandere siren just fits him so well... Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Possession, Yandere, Monster Features, Blood Word Count: 1,170 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Slow hands trace lovingly over your curves, fingers dancing across your bare skin. Each movement is soft, precise in the way he grounds you to him after another earth shattering orgasm.

Around you, waves gently lap at the shore. On the horizon, you can see the peek of the first rays of golden sunlight beginning to streak across the sky. One by one, the stars littering the heavens disappear, leaving nothing but a vast open space left only with a few wisps of white clouds.

“You’re doing so well for me, Gorgeous.” A tender voice hums from between your legs.

Hongjoong’s eyes are sharp, hooded over in pleasure as he watches you carefully. His pitch black tail is bent in the air, the extravagant fin both delicate and flared as it flicks languidly. Each brush of the surf over the two of you offers a refreshing reprise from the heat coursing through your body, the tide ebbing and flowing along with the pools of pleasure he makes flood outwards from deep within your core.

Light kisses are placed along the skin of your inner thighs, Hongjoong taking his time to give his full attention to either side. His lips trace delicately over you, tongue flicking out to tease at such a sensitive area as you catch your breath.

Tenderly, he nuzzles his nose against you, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “There is no taste in this world sweeter than you, Treasure.”

A soft sigh of his name escapes you, reaching out to gently brush some wet strands of hair out of his eyes.

“How I’ve longed for this… Are you enjoying how I claim you?”

Black eyes flick open to meet your own, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You clench around nothing in response, reminded of how his mouth felt on you only moments ago. The sand is soft beneath your head as you look to the sky, another blissful sigh falling from you.

“I could stay in this moment forever.”

The admission draws a pleased growl from the siren between your legs.

“Then, I shall never let you leave.” His grip tightens over your thighs, settling them once more over his shoulders. “As if I could ever let such a treasure escape me now. You’re mine, Gorgeous. As I am yours. Forever.”

The moment those words fall from his lips, he leans into you. You manage to catch a glimpse of his fangs in the morning sunlight before he’s sinking them into the tender flesh of your inner thigh.

A gasp escapes you as you feel him bite into you, a low, pleased growl reverberating against your skin.

Not even a moment later, Hongjoong pulls away from you, licking your blood eagerly from his lips. A self-satisfied smile pulls at his features, eyes shining as they admire the new mark he’s just given you. At the small trail of blood he sees leaking from the wound, he hums, leaning back into you in order to trace the droplet back up to the bite. Gently, he laves his tongue over your flesh, a melodic coo echoing throughout the area as he cleans your fresh mark.

Again, your breathing deepens, and instead of feeling a sharp sting of pain, you feel complete. A pleasant warmth blooms in your chest, spreading outwards as you feel him kiss up your thigh from the mark and towards your dripping cunt. Soft whines escape you, eyes hooding over as you watch him between your legs, beginning to squirm beneath him in anticipation.

The corner of his lips quirks upwards, pride swelling in his chest as he watches you silently beg for his touch. His mouth hovers over your pussy, bringing a hand up to part your folds with his fingers. Not once does he break eye contact with you as you watch a mixture of his saliva and your blood drip slowly from his mouth and onto your clit.

Your heart flutters, clenching hard around nothing as you watch him lick his lips. Not even a moment later, his mouth is on you, sucking on that pert little bud eagerly once more.

Shameless moans and growls escape him, his tongue working over your clit as he gathers every last drop of both his and your combined fluids. Black eyes never lose focus, fixated on every reaction you give him as he flattens his tongue against your clit, circling over that sensitive little bud in the next moment.

Your thighs tense, threatening to close around his head at any moment as he keeps your pussy spread for him to devour. Already, he’s made you so sensitive from your previous releases, that every flick of his tongue over your clit makes your body jolt. Whines and whimpers escape you, his name nothing but a plea from your lips.

That familiar pressure begins building inside of you once more, tossing your head back as you feel him shift to trace his tongue over your weeping entrance. The fact that he presses himself fully into you, thrusting his tongue as deep as he can within your cunt to taste all of you has your hips jerking against his face.

Happily, his tail flicks through the air.

His fingers dig harshly into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he wraps his lips around your clit once more. Eagerly, he suckles at you, shaking his head back and forth as a guttural moan escapes him.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him to you as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. His name is all you can manage to whimper out, head spinning as the pleasure threatens to drown you at any moment.

With one final flick over your clit, your scream his name.

Black eyes shine with nothing but lustful pride as your back arches from the sand. The way your thighs feel closing around his head, your heartbeat ringing in his ears as the mark he gave you presses right against him fills him with a love unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

His fingers tighten on your thighs, helping you to ride through your high and give you the most pleasure that he possibly can. Nothing but pleased growls shake his chest, tail casting an almost protective shadow over your body as the sun rises slowly behind him.

Finally, he pulls away from you, licking his lips languidly.

“Fucking gorgeous, Treasure.” He coos, hands caressing over your body as you come down from your high. “I could never tire of your taste.”

All you can manage is a whimper in response, chest heaving. The fact that you can see your juices shining in the morning light as they drip down his chin makes your head spin. Still, your thighs shake.

A pleased hum escapes him as his fingers dance across your skin, a ravenous look glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Gorgeous.” A dark chuckle escapes him as he begins pulling you deeper into the tide. “We’ve only just begun.”

[boykisser4]

Humbled by Gojo's Heart

Warning: male reader, smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative, blaming of cheating....

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Gojo manipulates the reader to marry him Gojo treats the reader like a prince, making him fall in love with him, but then one day as Gojo and reader were on a date...reader talks to another guy making Gojo jealous. So he brings him home punishing him for "cheating"

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, where steel and glass skyscrapers kissed the heavens, a young man named Gojo Satoru went about his day with an air of unshakable confidence. His eyes, the color of freshly poured whiskey, scanned the crowded street, his mind racing with thoughts and plans. A gentle smile played upon his lips, hinting at secrets he held close to his chest. Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that whispered of wealth and power, he cut through the throng of people like a knife through warm butter. Gojo's presence was undeniable, a silent force that drew the gazes of passersby, though they couldn't quite place why.

Y/n, a male with a gentle disposition and a heart as vast as the ocean, had been swept off his feet by Gojo's charm. Their courtship had been a whirlwind of extravagant dates and passionate whispers under the moonlit sky. Every gesture, every touch, was a symphony of affection that resonated deep within the Y/n's soul. He felt like a prince in Gojo's arms, treated with a tenderness that bordered on worship. The days melded into a warm embrace, each moment a testament to the love that was growing between them.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Gojo took Y/n to an exclusive rooftop restaurant. The ambiance was perfect: soft jazz played in the background, the scent of exotic flowers filled the air, and the city lights twinkled like a million stars at their feet. They talked, laughed, and shared stories as they sipped on their wine, the conversation flowing as freely as the river that carved through the heart of the city.

But as the night grew darker, an unexpected encounter unfolded. Y/n was approached by an acquaintance—a friendly exchange that seemed innocuous at first. Yet, as the conversation grew longer, Gojo's smile began to waver. His eyes narrowed, the warmth in them retreating like a tide receding from the shore. A storm was brewing beneath his calm exterior, a storm that would soon unleash its fury.

As Y/n turned back to Gojo, a sense of unease settled in his stomach. The handsome man's grip on his glass tightened, the veins in his hand standing out like rivers on a map. "You're flirting with him," Gojo said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You're mine." The accusation was a knife in the reader's heart, a stark contrast to the sweet nothings they had shared just moments ago.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "I wasn't—" he began, but Gojo's hand was already on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go," he said, his grip painfully firm. Y/n looked back at his friend, who had the decency to look apologetic, before allowing himself to be led away.

In the back of the sleek, black limousine, the tension was palpable. Gojo's jealousy had transformed into a raging inferno, consuming the love-soaked air around them. His fingers dug into the reader's flesh, a silent warning of the punishment to come. Y/n felt a cold shiver run down his spine, a prelude to the tempest that awaited him in their penthouse suite.

Upon arriving home, Gojo didn't bother with pleasantries. He pushed the Y/n against the wall, his body a wall of rage and possession. "You're mine," he repeated, his breath hot and heavy. "You don't talk to other men like that." His words were laced with a dangerous edge, a promise of consequences that left the reader trembling.

With a swiftness that belied his size, Gojo grabbed Y/n's wrists, pinning them above his head. His eyes searched the reader's, looking for any signs of resistance or defiance. Finding none, he leaned in, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Y/n's neck. A bite, not quite hard enough to break the surface, served as a stark reminder of who was in control.

Y/n's heart raced as Gojo's free hand roamed over his body, pulling at his clothes as if they were mere obstacles in his quest for dominance. He didn't ask for permission, didn't bother with sweet nothings or gentle caresses. This was a claiming, a brutal display of ownership that left Y/n gasping for air.

In the harsh light of their apartment, Y/n could see the raw desire in Gojo's eyes, a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He knew that tonight, Gojo would take him without mercy, a punishment for his perceived infidelity. Y/n's mind swam with a mix of fear and arousal, the line between love and obsession blurring before his very eyes.

As Gojo's fingers unbuckled his belt, Y/n felt a jolt of panic. "Wait," he whispered, but Gojo ignored him, his movements driven by a primal need to assert his dominance. He yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing his trembling form to the cool air. Y/n's eyes searched Gojo's, desperately seeking understanding, but found only a fiery determination that sent shivers down his spine.

With a rough hand, Gojo turned the reader around, pushing him face-first into the plush leather couch. The scent of their combined arousal filled the room, a potent cocktail of desire and fear. He stepped closer, his breath hot against the reader's ear. "You're mine," he growled, "and I won't let anyone else have you." Y/n could feel Gojo's hardness pressing against him, a silent declaration of war on his innocence.

Without warning, Gojo's hand connected with the reader's bare skin, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

Y/n yelped, the sting of the slap burning like fire. He could feel the warmth spreading, his cheeks reddening with the force of Gojo's hand. His eyes watered, and his body trembled, but he didn't dare move. Gojo's breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort to contain his fury. "You will not disrespect me," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You will not look at other men."

Y/n's body was a canvas of emotions—fear, anger, and a perverse thrill that made his stomach clench. He knew this was wrong, knew that Gojo had crossed a line, but he couldn't find the strength to fight back. Instead, he whispered, "I'm sorry," his voice shaking.

The apology seemed to satisfy Gojo, if only for a moment. He leaned in closer, his whispers a mix of dominance and possession. "You will learn your place," he said, his hand moving to Y/n's waist. He yanked the reader's underwear down, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. "You will learn to obey me."

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as Gojo ripped his own pants open. Y/n felt the tip of Gojo's erection pressing against his entrance, the heat of it a stark contrast to the cold fear that had taken root inside him. He gritted his teeth, bracing for the pain he knew was coming.

With one swift movement, Gojo pushed into him, the force making Y/n's knees buckle. He bit back a scream, his nails digging into the leather couch. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot brand searing through his body. He could feel Gojo's size, the way he filled him completely, leaving no room for anything else.

Gojo didn't give him time to adjust, didn't bother with pretense. He fucked Y/n hard and fast, his hips slamming into the reader's ass with a brutal rhythm that mirrored the pounding of his heart. The couch squeaked in protest, a cacophony of sounds that seemed to echo the tumult in Y/n's soul.

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out from the corners. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and pain, but his body responded despite his fear. He could feel his own arousal growing, his body betraying him in the most primal way. The pleasure mixed with the pain, creating a toxic cocktail that had him moaning into the cushions.

Gojo's grip on his hips tightened, his breath hot against Y/n's neck. "You're mine," he repeated, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. "You will always be mine."

Y/n could only nod, his voice lost to the sobs that tore from his throat. He didn't know if he could ever love Gojo again after this, didn't know if he could ever trust him. But as Gojo reached around to stroke his cock, he found himself responding, his body arching back to meet each thrust.

The climax was explosive, tearing through him like a tornado. Gojo's roar of release filled his ears, the warmth of his semen a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in his heart.

As Gojo pulled out, Y/n slumped against the couch, his body aching. He could feel the stickiness between his legs, a stark reminder of what had just transpired.

The silence that followed was deafening, a testament to the shattered trust that lay scattered around them like broken glass. Gojo didn't bother to clean him up, didn't offer a gentle touch or a soft word. He simply zipped up his pants and walked away, leaving Y/n to deal with the aftermath alone.

Y/n pulled up his underwear and pants, his body feeling foreign and violated. He knew he had to get out, had to find a way to escape the clutches of Gojo's obsessive love before it consumed him completely. But for now, he was trapped—trapped in a prison of his own making, with no clear path to freedom in sight.