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samaraxmorgan · 2 months ago

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Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Got High And Almost Kissed”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, fluff, frenemies dynamic, use of illegal substances (cannabis)

Word Count: 2.63k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always finds a way to surprise you, he’s definitely got that going for him. However, that’s not exactly a good thing the vast majority of the time, and today is no exception.

You turn the corner as you come up the stairs and find his bedroom door wide open. He’s hunched over on his bed using his pocket knife to slice open a cheap gas station cigar, spilling the tobacco onto a paper plate. He pulls a small plastic bag out of his back pocket and carefully pinches its contents out, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before sprinkling it inside of the shell of the cigar. His eyes glance over into the hallway and he immediately does a double take after spotting you watching him, for a brief moment he looked like a deer in headlights.

You squint your eyes, your brows furrowing questionably, “Is that weed?”

He lets out a dry scoff, looking back down towards the blunt in his fingers and continuing to fill it up, “Creep.”

“You’re the one with the door wide open!” You exclaim, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

You step into his bedroom, walls littered with posters leaving no clear space in sight; even the ceilings are covered in black tapestries. You crawl onto the foot of his bed, your knees sinking into the red comforter. Sukuna’s hair is disheveled, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in focus, tired eyes narrowed down as he stuffs the flower into the dark brown paper.

“Isn’t that illegal?” You question, a little more snarky than you intended.

“What’re you, a cop?” His crimson eyes shoot a glare up at you, fingers rolling the blunt closed and his pierced tongue licking a stripe up the incision he cut into the wrapper to seal it back shut.

Did he really have to do that without breaking eye contact? He’s gonna be the death of me.

A tiny smirk creeps onto the corner of his lips, “You should try it, could really use something t’ get that stick out your ass.”

You give him an exaggerated eye roll, “I hate you so much, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, not like y’tell me every day,” A spark flashes in his eyes, his sheepish grin turning more mischievous, “Hey tell you what, split this with me and I’ll show you my spot.”

Your head tilts in confusion, eyeing him up curiously, “Your spot?”

He leans back against the headrest of his bed, shrugging nonchalantly, “Didn’t think I smoked in the house, did you?”

It does never smell like cigarettes in the apartment, or weed, or whatever the hell else he’s smoking. You could smell it on his clothes all the time, but now that you think about it you’ve never actually seen him smoke before.

“You leave the house to smoke?”

“You could call it that, sure.” He hops off the bed, pulling on a pair of black combat boots from his closet and not bothering to tie them. He turns around to face you, looking down at you expectantly, “Gonna join me or not?”

He’s such a bad influence, you’re so aware of that. But you’re also so morbidly curious, and he’s a hard man to say no to, so you cautiously nod your head and stand up from his bed.

“Knew you had it in you.” He smirks, placing the blunt between his lips to hold it in place and snatching a disposable lighter off his nightstand, stuffing it into his pocket.

Sukuna walks across his room to the window, his back facing the glass as he slides it open behind him, and then leaning back to stick his torso outside. His strong tattooed arms reach up over his head as he grabs the edge of the roof and lifts his legs into a crouch, promptly pulling his whole body out the window, doing one hell of a pull up to lift himself up onto the roof in one fluid motion.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. There’s no fucking way he’s seriously expecting you to be able to do that.

You see strands of his pink hair first as he pops his head upside down to peer down into the window, reaching his arm inside and outstretching his open palm to you, “C’mon, you won’t fall.” He pauses for a moment, flashing you a mischievous grin, “… Probably.”

You give him a weary and unconfident smile, “How reassuring.”

Taking tentative steps towards the window, you see his grin grow wider. You gently place your hand in his palm and he doesn’t waste a second, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and squeezing tight, yanking his arm towards him to pull you closer. For just a mere second, the two of you were eye level as he hung his head upside down, your surprised eyes locking with his confident ones and his breathy laughter ghosting onto your forehead.

But just as quickly, his head dipped out of view. His low voice calls down to you from the roof as his impatient hand pulls you closer, “Put your foot up on the windowsill.”

You tentatively place your foot on the ledge, squeezing his hand tight to steady yourself as you shift your weight onto your other leg and pull yourself up to stand on the windowsill. His free hand quickly wraps under your arm, pulling you up and towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your chest and waist as he pulls you into his lap with your back flush against him.

He leans his chin down on your shoulder, his breath fanning the side of your neck as he sarcastically whispers, “Almost dropped you there.”

A deep blush paints your face red. His legs are spread with your own planted in between them, his arms wrapped protectively around you and squeezing your body against his chest as he keeps you locked in place directly on his lap. You squirm under his hold and it only makes his breathy chuckle tickle your skin, his lips just barely brushing against your neck.

He loosens his hold on you for only a moment to pick the blunt off of the shingles, placing it between your lips while mumbling “Hold this” before his arms are tight around you again. He plants his feet against the roof and slides backwards, shimmying you both up to a flat section to sit more comfortably.

As he releases you from his grasp, you’re reluctant to leave. Lifting your hips from their home on his lap, you plop down onto the flat section of the roof next to him. He wasn’t kidding about this being his spot, there’s already an ashtray up here with cigarette butts sprinkled in the bowl. And you can’t really blame him for coming up here, the sky is orange and pink with clouds stretching thinly across the horizon, the city’s silhouette faintly in the distance, tall trees forming a barrier around the back of the apartment that feels safe and protected, it’s honestly really nice, peaceful.

Sukuna pulls his lighter out of his pocket, sparks sprinkling with each flick of the wheel until it holds a steady flame. He leans in close, holding the light against the end of the blunt that you held between your teeth.

“Breathe in.” His gaze is dropped to your lips, free hand reaching up to gently hold the blunt steady against your mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

As you inhale you see orange embers form at the end of the blunt, smoke rapidly filling your lungs and stinging the back of your throat. You can’t keep the smoke down, immediately hacking up a painful burning cough that only makes him snicker.

“Hm, you’ll get it eventually.” He brings the blunt to his lips and inhales a long hit, holding his breath for a few seconds before teasingly blowing the smoke into your face.

“Ugh,” You fan your hand in front of your face to clear the smoke, “That’s terrible. It tastes so gross.”

He smirks and rolls his eyes, flicking the ash into the small tray, “So dramatic, ‘ts not that bad.”

Your eyes are glued to his fingers, holding the blunt with his pointer finger and thumb and tapping ash away with his middle, the veins on the back of his hand gently protruding out and then settling back into place with each tap of his finger. As your eyes drift to the ashtray and you realize that there are only orange cigarette butts in the bowl, no snuffed out roaches from him smoking anything else.

You pull your knees up to your chest, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your legs when you look up at him, “How come you’re getting high?”

“Needed it tonight.” His answer was quicker than you expected, his eyes locked on the city lights shining in the distance.

“How come?”

His head doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to you. Wordlessly he holds the blunt towards you, the expectant look in his eyes and quirk in his brow telling you that he’s not planning to give you an answer until you take another hit.

You let out a small huff, taking the blunt from his fingers and taking a short drag, trying to hold the smoke in your lungs and keeping your lips sealed shut to try not to cough. Your attempt was futile though, your cheeks puffing out and smoke blowing out of your nose as your throat burned again.

He let out a small snicker at your misery, letting one of his legs lay outstretched across the slant of the roof while he bent his knee on his other leg to rest his chin on, “Brat’s working his first day at his new job tonight.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your lips dragging down into a frown, “Brat being… who?”

He scoffs, like the answer to that should be so obvious, “My brother, the one you met.”

You hum in acknowledgment, but you’re still confused what that has to do with Sukuna wanting to get high, “What’s the new job?”

He blows a raspberry, tilting his head up towards the sky while he takes another drag, smoke echoing off his lips as he speaks, “Firefighter, been his dream job since we were kids.”

Realization clicks in your brain, making a smile creep onto your lips, “You big softie, you’re worried about him!”

“Tch.” He glares down at you, but his frustrated look only makes you giggle. The look in his eyes quickly softens, shifting to a look of amusement as he leans in closer to you and peers into your eyes. You let out a little laugh, opening your eyes wide to stare goofily at him and causing a smile to crack on his face, “Are you high already?”

“No!” You counter defensively, “You’re just… cute.”

Oh fuck, I’m totally high.

He gives you a lopsided grin, “You’re a terrible fuckin’ liar.”

You giggle and flop onto your back, lying flat on the roof, “Stop changing the topic! We’re talking about you!” You reach your arm out to point in his face, “You’re worried about him! You love him!”

“Ugh,” He gives you an exaggerated eye roll, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist and pulling it down out of his face, “I absolutely do not.”

You give him a toothy smile, poorly mimicking his deep voice, “Terrible fuckin’ liar.”

A deep laugh bubbles up from his chest, his gravelly voice sounding so breathy and happy, creases forming at the outer corners of his tired eyes. He releases your wrist from his grasp, planting his open palm next to your head and resting his weight on his arm to lean the slightest bit closer to you, his free hand bringing the blunt up to his lips as he tilts his head down to look at you with an uncharacteristically sweet smile, “So stupid.”

You can’t help but giggle under his gaze, the warm orange glow of the sunset reflecting in his heavy lidded eyes, a thin ring of crimson around his blown out pupils. His lips wrapping around the dwindling blunt and taking a long hit as the embers come alight. He leans down and gently blows the smoke into your face, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

He gently knocks his knuckle against your cheek to get you to open your eyes, gesturing the blunt to you, “Give me one more.”

You let out an over dramatic groan, covering your face with your hands, “No I’ll choke! I need you to baby bird it to me.”

He quirks his brow, a mischievous smirk curling on the corners of his lips, “Baby bird? Like spit it in your mouth?” He lets out a small chuckle. You part your hands away from your face to peer up at him as he takes another drag, holding the smoke in his mouth as he cups your chin to tilt your head towards him and leans down close to your face, smoke on his breath fanning your lips as he whispers, “Like this?”

Your mouth opens slightly in surprise as his lips are mere millimeters away from yours, gently exhaling smoke into your parted lips. Your cheeks burn red and your wide eyes stare up into his lazily lidded ones, already trained on you. You slowly breathe in the smoke, feeling him lean closer towards you, his gaze dropping down as his lips just barely brush against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, heart pounding in your chest as you feel his fingers trace their way from your chin along your jaw, tilting your head slightly to perfectly slot your lips with his-

But the moment abruptly comes to a halt as Sukuna’s phone loudly rings in his pocket, the ring tone blaring “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” as he freezes in place and both of your eyes shoot open.

“Pfft!” You throw your head back in laughter, your chin clocking Sukuna in the jaw as he shoots up straight and mutters curses under his breath, frantically fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

The obnoxious music quickly stops as he answers the phone, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw as he spoke with a hint of panic in his voice, “Yuuji?”

Even though he wasn’t on speaker phone, you could hear Yuuji loud and clear, emphasis on loud as Sukuna flinched the phone away from his ear as Yuuji yelled out the small speakers, “Guess who saved a cat at work today!”

You could see a look of relief wash over Sukuna’s face, but he didn’t let it translate into his voice, speaking in a low and annoyed tone, “I was hoping you’d die in a fire.”

Yuuji belted out a loud laugh on the other line, “Not yet! But don’t take it off your bingo card!”

A wide smile spreads across your face, yelling loud enough for Yuuji to hear, “You had him worried sic- mmph!”

Sukuna shoved his palm over your mouth, shooting a glare down at you as he spoke to Yuuji, “Ignore them.”

You tried to bite his hand over your mouth and he whispered “Fucking brat” down to you as Yuuji rambled about his first day at work, something about a cat being stuck in a tree and how he thought that was a myth but it’s totally a real thing. It quickly became clear that the moment between you and Sukuna had fizzled out, but he was probably just teasing you anyway right? It definitely meant nothing, surely. If Yuuji hadn’t called he would have just backed away and laughed at you or something.

He wasn’t actually gonna kiss you… right?

A/N: DONT KILL ME WE’LL GET THERE EVENTUALLY!! Anyway y’all like Yuuji’s ring tone I thought it suited him askakaka Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#little did yall know that last drabble was the prelude for this part #I’ve had that planned for like over a MONTH #I was giggling maniacally when I posted that drabble like ‘they don’t know what’s coming’#my writing #nav ryomen sukuna #roommate Sukuna au #brothers au #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #Sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk modern au

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amirmeavid · 2 months ago

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We've all talked about merlin's purple shirt before. Only royalty can afford it etc. Gift from arthur.

But can we talk about the camelot 'ceremonial robes'? Like firstly, obviously they're fake as shit. Arthur did it as a prank. But from people's reactions, nobodies even heard of this shit.

Which prompts me to think Arthur made up the entire thing for a prank. Which means he'd have to get the robes from somewhere right? He'd have to have them made somehow.

Which further prompts me to think, that Arthur, spent a fucking lot of money, and the guy he'd just met, just because he wanted to see him wear something showy.

Like look at that thing! Does it look cheap? Imagine having that made in literal medieval times. That costs as much as a fucking tapestry. And Arthur bought it just to have an excuse to look at merlin, under the cover of making fun of him.

Do I have any evidence for this? No. Fuck off. Its true because i said so.

#merthur #arthur being a little shit #arthur being the fucking simp he is #merlin x arthur #merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #merlin memes #merlin fandom #merlin rewatch #arthur pendragon

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 2 months ago

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I Put A Spell On You.

‘Smoke’wants you back, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

(Part one maybe?)

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

You better stop the things you do

I tell you, I ain't lying

I ain't lying…

Word got around that Smoke was back in town. You couldn’t miss him with his snazzy suit’s silhouette characterized by broad shoulders, a high waist, and wide-leg trousers. A quintessential element in a man’s wardrobe. The whispers traveled to many ears, but it was only one pair he was concerned with.

Rosetta Scott.

A dilly he’s obsessed with. His soft-spoken jazz singer. She ended their relationship when Smoke decided to up and leave New Orleans with his ill-tempered identical twin brother, but he promised he’d be back and to write him. After two years, he’s back and ready to stake his claim on his woman.

Smoke hopped out of his Cadillac 16 cylinder wearing round, small sunglasses with wired frames. He removed his 8-panel hat and shut the door behind him. Smoke took a long drag of his blunt while staring straight ahead with a lopsided grin.

The reflection within the circular lenses of his dark frames was one he’d missed for years. A living tapestry of culture, history, and an unmistakable passion for life. This place, with its rhythmic streetcars and the spicy aromas from its kitchens, isn't just alive; it breathes stories at every corner.

Stretching his long legs with a purposeful gait, his expensive gaiters picking up dirt, Smoke pushed open the withering, wooden, hinge doors leading into a lively establishment. The smell of fish fry, sweat, cheap cologne, weed, and sex titillating his nose caused a wide grin to spread across his thick lips. He slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing, brandy-eyes and a primal desire.

There she was. Doing what she loved. He was joyful. Proud.

laidback with rhythmic flexibility.

That husky breathy tone.

Her vocals always had a very raw unedited feel which made her songs feel more real and personal. She also tends to use harmonies and layering which sometimes gives the song a drowning all consuming affect.

The silk of her flowing silver slip seemed to mold into her hourglass frame. The premium fur shawl she wore hung loosely from her glistening shoulders. Her lips the color of ox blood stained the mic in front of her. The swing and blues notes with complex chords blending with her sultry voice had everyone on that floor dirty dancing.

Smoke broke his eyes away reluctantly, taking off his suit jacket, placing it on the back of a chair. He ashed out his blunt and placed it in the front pocket of his crisp, white button down. Smoke made his way towards the bar, unbuttoning his sleeves and his shirt along the way.

“Yes, daddy! Play that saxophone!”

“Sing it Rose!”

“Let’s Jive!”

“Ooooweee! If it ain’t Mr. Smoke Stack himself! Come over here!”

Smoke chuckled deeply before dabbing up his uncle and the owner of the establishment; Buck. His liquor breath and gold teeth were two things you remembered about Big Buck. Or, how he’d like to call it ‘I’m Big Buck and I like to fuck’. And boy did he get his share of pussy. He had eight kids to prove it.

“Look at my nephew! Now hold on…where is your twin?” Buck’s yellowing eyes wandered around in search of him.

“He’s handlin’ business. No time to settle. You know how he get. I had to break away tho’ I got business to ‘tend to.”

Smoke accepted a glass of whiskey and took a long sip. It burned so good down his throat.

“Yeah, uh-huh. We know why’s you here! That gal. You know she’s seeing someone else, right?”

The corner of his upper lip fluttered with disdain at the thought of another man touching his bitch. Smoke wasn’t having it. One look into his eyes, she’d fall into his lap again. Wet puss and all. She wrote him often. Sent him pictures. He’d gotten them all. So, was she doing all that while messing with some squat-ass fool?

“Gimme the low down, Buck.” Smoke insisted impatiently.

“Aight, nephew. Another?”

Smoke raised his glass, “hold the hail. I don’t need no watered down shit. I’m tryna get swacked.”

Buck’s gut laugh filled the cramped space between them.

“You remember Phonzo?”

“Shid, not pussy ass Phonzo? C’mon now gal…”

“Damn straight. He wines and dines her. Buys her shit…”

“She using.” Smoke replied.

He turned his eyes on her again. She looked so damn fine. Mmm. That body was nice. He could smell her perfume on his mustache. That amber scented flesh. Smoke knocked the rest of his drink back and stood from his seat at the bar. She ended another song and received a standing ovation. Smoke pushed his way towards the front but before he could get there, a man reached out to help her down. Her joyous laugh made Smoke’s stomach churn.

“Put me down, baby! I had too much to drink!”

“it’s Smoke Stack!”

All eyes fell towards the handsome gangster. Smoke ignored all except those pretty, doe eyes that locked on him with utter shock. Short and stacked. The finest woman in all of Louisiana. Ain’t no way she’s giving all that to Phonzo. Smoke pressed forward, his penetrating eyes racking over Rosetta’s frame. It was easy to tell the twins apart because one had a noticeable scar on his face and the other didn’t.

“Well I’ll be,” Phonzo secured his arm around Rosetta’s waist tighter, “Smoke. What’s shaking, man?”

Smoke’s lips remained tightly sealed and his eyes never left his Rosey. Tension was thick in the air like the sound of the powerful double bass.

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

You got have your beer in your bottle

Give me my cool kind hands…

“Rosey…”

Rosetta parted her deep-red lips to speak.

“Smoke…”

That voice. He’d missed it.

Smoke Stack was seeing red.

“Get yo’ hands off my woman, Phonzo.”

“You think you can just show up? This ain’t your woman anymore, Smoke. You proved that when you left her for the taking. Go on somewhere now…”

Phonzo attempted to walk away with Rosetta in his grasp, but Smoke swiftly grabbed her hand, swinging her over towards him with an expert twirl of her beautiful frame. She collided with his sturdy chest, her eyes staring up at him.

Rosetta was still trying to pick her jaw up from the floor. She couldn’t believe Smoke was back. The familiar warmth of his much larger and more powerful frame sent images swirling through her mind of the times they’ve shared. She hadn’t received a letter from him in almost a year. Every single day she worried herself about him. However, Rosetta had entertained the thought of being with Phonzo. Tonight would have been the night that she would have given Phonzo a taste of what Smoke Stack dicked down. It was an act of desperation.

“Rose! Whatchu doin’ gal? Don’t let this fool back into your life!” Phonzo reached his hand out for her to take, “I won’t leave you like he did. Remember? I promised that trip to Chicago. We can pack up and catch a train!”

“I’ll take her to Chicago, to Trinidad, Paris, wherever my money goes, she goes. You had your fun tryna get what’s mine. I suggest you fade, Phonzo…”

Um, make me another two bit pint

'Cause I've got my habits down

I'm gonna wreck this joint…

“Let’s go,” Smoke had a strong grip on Rosetta’s hand as he placed her in front of him to walk away.

Rosetta finally gathered her thoughts. She halted her footsteps inches away from the bar.

“Hold on, Smoke,” She pointed a red nail at him sternly, “How dare you show up here like this?! I haven’t heard from you in over a year! You can’t just walk up in here and whisk me away like some night in shining armor! Who do you think you are?!”

“Says which? I’ve written you!” Smoke shouted back.

“I ain’t get one letter in a year!”

Smoke kisses his teeth, “That’s some bullshit and you know it. Maybe the letters got mixed up…none of that matters now, baby. I’m back. For good now…”

Buck and another bartender watched the two of them go back and forth with amusement.

“We’ll see how long that lasts!” Rosetta sassed.

A gun clicking had Smoke on high alert. He pushed Rosetta behind him and turned, staring down into the barrel of a pistol. Phonzo was sweating bullets. He had two of his lackeys behind him, posted up like they were ready to do damage. Rosetta clung onto the sticky bar top, peeking around to see what the ruckus was about.

“Time to knock you off that high horse. You and that brother of yours don’t run shit ‘round here no more. Give me back my bitch, and we can get back to jivin’.”

“Excuse me?!” Rosetta argued, “I got your bitch—”

“Rosey, relax, baby. Daddy got this.” Smoke looked from the pistol pointed at his chest, to Phonzo with a sinister smile, “You off the cob or something, Phonzo?”

“You tryna make me look pussy in front of my boys?!”

Smoke tilted his head to size up his ‘boys’.

“They shakin’ in they boots just like you. C‘mon now, Phonzo. We can do this the easy way…you put that steel down, and walk away. I came for my woman and that’s it. Pick yo’ self up and use those bony-ass pegs and leave.”

Laugher erupted around them. Patrons watched on like it was a live performance. Phonzo always hated being the laughingstock. No one took him seriously. People tolerated him because Smoke and his twin skipped town to handle business.

“I ain’t going nowhere!” Phonzo yelled.

He pressed his gun into Smoke’s chest hard.

“Nigga, you ain’t got shit—”

Smoke picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and cracked it over Phonzo’s head. When Phonzo dropped to his knees with shards of glass embedded in his face, Smoke snatched his pistol up and pointed it at the two men that were once standing proud. They both shared a look with each other before bending over to pick Phonzo up.

Smoke placed the pistol in the waistband of his slacks and snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean up the blood that seeped from a gash in the palm of his hand. People were used to violence ‘round here. Too drunk, high, and horny to care about Phonzo bleeding out onto the floor. Buck didn’t blink an eye as he shined a new glass before pouring a gentleman a glass of top shelf whiskey.

“Get ‘em out. Don’t come back, nigga. I’ll use your pistol to put a bullet in yo’ head fuckin’ wit’ me!”

Phonzo—delirious and bloody—was dragged out of the juke joint by his two loyal men. Smoke knew that as soon as Phonzo regained consciousness, he’ll be on the hunt for him. Smoke was ready.

Smoke took a seat at the bar and pulled Rosetta into him. Blunt between his lips, glass of whiskey in front of him, Rosetta gave him a light, watching her daddy with lust.

You know I can't stand it

You're running around

You know better, baby

I can't stand it 'cause you put me down

Oh, no…

“Smoke, Daddy…”

Rosetta took the blunt from between his lips and hit it. He watched her with low, hazy eyes. All he did was walk through those doors. She was at his mercy like he’d never left.

“You’ll really take me to Paris?”

Smoke accepted his blunt, “I’ll take you all over the world, baby…listen, I know I got some makin’ up to do, but don’t you ever do no shit like that again, hear me? I’m a always come back to you…”

“You right about that makin’ up,” Rosetta giggled, “We got all night though. Phonzo was my ride home…”

“Here, go grab my jacket and we can go.”

Smoke tapped Rosetta on her rump and pointed to where he placed his suit jacket. He paid his tab and promised to be back to catch up with his uncle. Rosetta returned and Smoke grabbed her by the hand, ushering her out of the juke joint and into the murky night.

_______________

Smooth leather seats, a pistol on the dash, windows rolled down.

Rosetta and her fur shawl sat elegantly next to a hunk of a gangster. She admired the stain of her lipstick on his cheek when she stole a quick kiss while he opened her door for her.

She missed her Smoke Daddy so damn bad. It hurt to the bone. Smoke could feel her pretty eyes on him and he glanced over to her, giving her a dimpled smirk filled with mischief. They were halfway there to her apartment above a boutique.

“I missed you, Rosey. So much.”

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine…

“Where did you go?”

Smoke took a moment to respond.

“…My brother had business in Texas. Then we picked up some jobs throughout the south. Made enough money to last us a lifetime…Made some bad choices, but I’m richer. Stronger. Ready to sweep you off yo’ feet. I want you to travel the world and sing to audiences bigger than that hole in the wall. Serious, gal.”

Rosetta blinked away tears.

“Don’t do none of that, baby. No crying…”

“I’m just glad ya ain’t dead somewhere in a ditch!”

Rosetta accepted a clean handkerchief from Smoke. She dabbed her eyes to avoid messing up her makeup.

“I made a promise to get back to you and I meant that.”

Rosetta exhales, “I know, daddy…I just…I’ve been so touch starved. I would’ve given Phonzo all of me if you hadn’t shown up…”

Smoke’s nostrils flared and he looked at her with those dark eyes that made her clench her thighs.

“Phonzo don’t know what to do wit’ all that. And you belong to me. All of you. You make that pussy cum while Daddy was away?”

“Yes…but it wasn’t enough. I miss the fuckin’ we used to do…”

Smoke’s Cadillac slowed to a stop in front of the boutique Rosetta’s mother owned. She worked there for extra money, but now that Smoke was back, she didn’t have to work. Smoke opened her door and helped her out. Shutting it, they walked towards the shop and Rosetta opened the door with a single gold key. Smoke observed his surroundings with a sharp eye before following her inside. It was dark, but the moonlight ignited a path for them leading towards a narrow staircase leading up to Rosetta’s apartment that she shared with her mother.

She had some privacy for now since her mother went away to visit family in Baton Rouge for a week. The boutique was closed until she returned. Rosetta opened the door and flicked on a light. It was exactly how Smoke had remembered it. Small and cozy and blessed by a woman that practiced root work. Rosetta walked into their small kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a pitcher of water. She poured a glass for Smoke and herself.

“You can stay for a few days until momma comes back. It don’t matter how grown I am, she don’t like men over…”

“I get it. I’ll have a place to stay. Then you can leave here and be wit’ me.”

“Smoke…”

Smoke finished his glass, sat it on the counter, and pulled Rosetta close. His hands caressed her back and dragged down to cuff her cheeks. Eyes locked on her face, he brought his plump lips to her own, pecking them with soft kisses. Rosetta whimpered and shifted, slightly raising one foot. Smoke hooked his strong arm around her trim waistline. His other hand squeezed the flesh of her plump ass.

“You always know just how to push my buttons, don’t you, Rose? Couldn’t wait for daddy to come back?”Smoke asked with his lips barely touching hers, “That’s alright, though…Im gon’ remind you just who you belong to...”

Suddenly, Smoke delivered a series of sharp smacks to her behind without warning. Rosetta gasped as she felt the sting of each slap.

“Smoke, I’m sorry…I didn’t fuck him…I swear.” Rose pleaded.

“But you gave ‘em hope. If I hadn’t shown up…”

His wide hand lifted her silk dress over her ass and he went to town whacking each cheek—left, right, left—the pain increasing. Rosetta buried her face into his chest, her lipstick staining his shirt. Smoke palmed her cheeks hard, savoring the heft of that juicy flesh in his rough hands.

“Damn,” Smoke stared over her shoulder and down at her rump, “this big ass…mmm…mmm…mmm…I wanna look at that pussy, baby…I still have that picture of your pussy in my wallet…”

Rosetta set up a camera and took photos of herself nude before sending them off to whatever address Smoke told her to send it to. He’d beat his fat dick every night to all her photos. He stole a pair of her panties as a reminder of her scent. Anything to keep his sanity.

“You do?” Rosetta stared up at Smoke.

“Yeah,” Smoke retrieved his wallet from his pocket. He presented the photo to Rosetta. It had cracks in it from being folded, but her hairy mound, phat clit, and glistening folds stood out against the black and white, “She still nice and bushy?”

Smoke had a thing for hair. He hated whenever Rosetta would do a clean shave. Since he’d been gone, she’d started shaving again. Luckily, there was enough hair there to satisfy his desires.

“Not too much, daddy…”

“Mm,” Smoke flicked his tongue against her lips.

“I want you to do it to me, daddy…”

“Do it all night long, baby?”

“Do it to me, papa…”

Smoke’s dick jumped and stretched to proportions he couldn’t handle.

“I wanna suck on that pussy first…”

Rosetta’s clit twitched at the thought of Smoke slurping on her pussy cat until she was wrung dry. She had a lot for him to drank up. When she first laid eyes on him tonight, the wetness soaked through and created a slippery, sticky mess. Those big lips and that thick dick…

“Let me smell it,” Smoke picked Rosetta up and sat her down on the cramped counter space, “Spread your fuckin’ legs you sexy, bitch…”

Rosetta made quick work of her thighs spreading wide and limber. Smoke could see a big wet spot in the crotch of her cotton panties. He didn’t waste time stroking the outlines of her fat lips that strained against the fabric. Smoke chuckled before slipping her panties to the side. His fingertips graced coarse hair covered in slick and heat. Beyond that was a clit made to be suckled.

“Shit, she still get nice and wet for me,” Smoke admired the shine on his thick fingers before bringing it to his nose to take a whiff, “fuccck,” He pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked them clean, “Fresh pussy…taste so good…”

He was down on his knees with his fingers tangled in her panties to keep them out of his way. Rosetta brought one leg up and it opened her lips more for him to eat. The humidity of that kitchen had their brown skin glistening beneath the dim, yellow, lamp lights. Smoke spread her lips and stared into her pussy. Rosetta stroked his slick-back, begging him to put his face in it.

Smoke buried his nose in it first. He rubbed her clit with the tip of his nose before using his lips to encase her clit and suck. He sucked nice and slow to warm her up, but then he created a vortex so tight with his lips Rosetta almost fell from the counter. The sucking came at a rapid pace—precise and intense.

“Uhnnn,” Rosetta gasped and moaned, “Daddy!”

Rosetta stroked her pussy many times to one of her favorite raunchy tunes. Jump Steady Daddy by Lucille Bogan stayed on repeat whenever she rubbed on her clit to the thought of her Smoke Daddy. She missed when he would come to her late at night, sneak in her bed and eat her pussy. She loved it when he would be on his knees, holding her weight up and fucking into her.

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

And if you love me like I did

You'll be that jump steady man of mine…

“Yes, ooh, daddy, papa,” Rosetta’s thighs shook out of her control, “Ima cum…Ima cum…”

The thin straps of her silk slip dangled from her shoulders and perspiration trickled down her spine. She didn’t have time to prepare before she was creaming down Smoke’s chin. All he did was suck her clit. He came up for air, lips dripping wet and face glistening with cum.

Her nipples poked out through her slip, teasing Smoke’s eyes. He was as hard as stone, unable to bear the feeling anymore. Smoke stood and picked Rosetta up from the counter, carrying her towards her room. The door was ajar, so all he needed to do was nudge it and he was walking inside. He didn’t bother closing the door. Smoke placed Rosetta on her back, climbing on top of her and sticking his tongue in her mouth.

Rosetta smoothed his button down shirt over his shoulders and Smoke pulled his arms through. He had on a white beater that clung to his muscles like plaster. Smoke broke his lips away and trailed kisses down her neck until he was at the tops of her breasts. Rosetta arched up into his chest, soft moans music to his ears.

Smoke used his teeth to yank the rest of her slip down, revealing 34 C breasts with large nipples that reminded him of chocolate-covered gum drops. Rosetta dragged her nails through his hair, messing up the smoothness of it, revealing waves. Her updo had come undone, finger-waved hair falling into her eyes. The salty, sweet taste of her skin caused him to growl.

“Daddy…I wanna taste that dick…”

With a deep exhale, Smoke stood up. Rosetta sat up on her knees with her dress around her waist and went to work undoing his slacks. She pushed down his boxers and his pants in one motion, his dick bobbing out like a pendulum and hitting her on the chin. Rosetta admired how girthy and veiny her daddy’s dick is. She licked up the precum before it was wasted and with her eyes on him, she wrapped her lips around him and sucked.

“Ahhhh…There you go, baby…that’s how you welcome me home…suck this big boy…gobble it up…”

Her soft hair in his grasp, Smoke’s toned hips pumped her throat. He curled his top lip, revealing golds, grunting at the feel of her tight throat.

“Ugh, fuck, baby…the best dick suckin’ bird in N’awlins…”

Rosetta giggled in response. She prided herself in her skills. Sucking dick and riding dick was her specialty. Smoke licked his lips, eyes barely open as he watched her. He tilted his head and started drilling her mouth. Loud gagging noise started, Rosetta’s once pristine makeup now running down her face.

“You’re so beautiful wit’ my dick in your throat, baby…make daddy cum…so I can fuck that pussy…”

His girth increased, Rosetta’s jaws tightening. She grabbed hold of his balls and worked her neck like no other. Smoke chewed on his bottom lip and threw his head back.

“Hmmm….mmmmmm….”

His hips spasmed out of control. Rosetta almost choked on his thick cum. She had to spit his dick out just to swallow what she could. The rest painted her chest.

“Turn that ass over,” Smoke stepped out of his pants and with one hand on his long dick, he pumped it, “On your knees, gal.”

Rosetta brought that ass in the air and arched her back deep. Smoke stood behind her with a big dick swinging. Rosetta hadn’t felt it in two years. She was afraid. Shaking with fear. He had to open her up again.

“Use them big girl words and tell me what you want,” Smoke slapped her cheeks around, “Where you want this dick?”

“Daddy, fuck me!” Rosetta begged.

His dick aligned with her ass and with his big hands he tucked it higher. Smoke grunted and slapped her bouncy cheeks.

“Ouch! Papa…” Rosetta cried, more from surprise.

It hurt so good. With hands as large as his, he managed to cover a wide area of her ass, leaving behind a burning sting that only made her wiggle her ass against him. Smoke rubbed her down before digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading her wide, and thrusting into her.

“Oh, my! Smoke!”

Rosetta’s ass recoiled and bounced off of Smoke’s sturdy hips. He had her by the hair, keeping her back arched. That man was fucking her like he was fresh out of jail. His thick shaft gave her stretch and his length made her feel it in her stomach. The sound of her wet pussy matched the skin-slapping.

“Big dick on you! Fuck!”

Smoke let go of her hair and grabbed her hips. Rosetta looked back at him with her mouth agape and brows knitted together in disbelief. His hair had puffed up and some strands fell over his forehead. He looked wild and sexy. Muscles flexing, golds flashing, eyes unblinking.

“Keep fuckin’ me, papa! Fuck this wet pussy, daddy! Oh my goddddd—”

Rosetta fell forward and buried her face in the sheets.

“Uh-uh,” Smoke brought one leg up, leaned over her, and wrapped a hand around her throat, “You can take this dick. Get that shit you want so bad,” Smoke said.

Every cry or whimper that came out of her mouth, he responded with an evil chuckle or a groan of his own in her ear.

“Grip me up like that…good girl…that’s it baby…”

Rosetta felt hot liquid trickling down her thighs. Tears brimmed her eyes and her body seized up with her release. Smoke withdrew his hips and got down behind her to lick her up. He licked her thighs, then trailed his spit to her folds. He rolled her onto her back and scooted her towards the edge of the bed. Ass hanging off, legs thrown over his shoulders, Smoke put that dick in her pussy and pounded up into her with sharp thrusts that had her toes curling.

“Oh, shit!” Rosetta and her swinging titties couldn’t handle it, “Damnit, Smoke! I’m cumin’ !!!!!”

Scooting her onto the bed, he pile-drived her into the creaky mattress. Folded in half was an understatement. She stared down the valley of his impressive body at his dick.

“Big Daddy!” Rosetta pressed her feet into his chest, “Fuck me good! Take this pussy!”

“This my fuckin’ pussy…”

Smoke slammed into her before dropping down to kiss her soft lips again. His thrusts turned into modulated pumps that caused her to gasp. Each time his dick would enter her, she would gasp with surprise. Smoke nibbled on her pouty bottom lip and stared into her eyes longingly.

You know I love you

I love you

I love you anyhow

And I don't care

If you don't want me

I'm yours right now…

“Cum for me Smoke Daddy…”

His forehead furrowed and with one more sharp thrust, he erupted deep in her womb.

———————-

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17unfinishedprojects · 2 months ago

Text

Vintage Knitting/Crochet Patterns Masterlist

Recently, I’ve been getting really into more older styles of knit and crochet, and in my search for vintage patterns I’ve come across a ton of sites and articles that have been incredibly helpful to me, so I thought I’d share them all with you. The majority of these are free, and this post is still being updated as I find more. Hope you enjoy!

(p.s. most of the places you can get crochet patterns are in the ‘Misc.’ section bc most sites have both knit and crochet patterns)

Knitting:

vintageknittingpatternarchive.com

An archive featuring a variety of patterns from the 1920s-1980s

Pros:

Completely free

You can search by bust size, colorwork, yarn weight, decade, and clothing article

Also features some crochet patterns

Cons:

The site can be hard to navigate

vam.ac.uk

An article featuring a 15 clothing patterns from the 1940s

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Only has instructions for one size

sunnystitcher.gumroad.com

A collection of vintage knit clothing patterns from the 1930s-1970s

Pros:

A “name your own price” site, you can choose to pay $0 if you choose

Cons:

Not a lot of patterns

aranpatternarchive.com

A collection of vintage aran knitting patterns

Pros:

Completely free

Has a wide variety of patterns

Crochet:

antiquecrochetpatterns.com

An archive featuring a variety of vintage crochet patterns

Pros:

Completely free

A lot of home décor patterns

Cons:

Most of the clothing patterns are for babies and children

A lot of the patterns are currently unavailable due to the site being updated

Misc:

thevintagepatternfiles.blogspot.com

Pros:

Completely free

Has patterns in different languages, including Dutch, Finnish, French, German, Icelandic, and Russian

Has patterns dating back to the 1800s

You can search by size, clothing article, and decade

Cons:

The site can be a hard to navigate.

marymaxim.com

A collection of vintage knit/crochet patterns

Pros:

You can filter by pattern type and yarn weight

The patterns are relatively cheap, ranging from $0.99-$4.99

Cons:

No free patterns

You can’t filter by size

trove.nla.gov.au

A blog post featuring 2 vintage knit patterns and 1 vintage crochet pattern

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Patterns may be hard to read because they appear as old newspaper/magazine excerpts

antiquepatternlibrary.org

An archive featuring a variety of vintage knitting, crochet, embroidery, sewing, quilting, macrame, weaving, tapestry, and many more pattens.

Pros:

Completely free

Wide variety of patterns across many crafts

Cons:

Website has an older layout and can be hard to navigate

(p.p.s I didn’t put cons on a few of them bc I honestly didn’t find any. If you encounter any problems with any of these sites let me know and I will add that to the con list.)

(p.p.p.s. if you have any other websites you use for vintage patterns please share them I’m always in need of more)

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factorytapestry · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

Flower Wall Hanging Tapestry Video | Floral Tapestries | Tapestry Wall Hanging | Factorytapestry.com

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anjelicawrites · 5 months ago

Note

Can I please request a Aemond x reader x Aegon fic, where after the brothel scene in ep3, reader (who is Aegon’s wife) tries to repair the brother’s relationship with her pussy. Reader starts off the dominant one as she forces them to make up and gradually it switches and she becomes the one being dominated by them as they start to work together. Include whatever kinks or anything else you want, the main thing is that the brothers are as into each other as they are into reader. Thank you! 🧡

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this my way! I'm not sure if I managed to fulfill it perfectly but the muse grabbed my hand and took me down this road, I hope you'll enjoy this!

Warnings: angst, B&C has happened, loss of a child, reference of B&C threatening reader with rape, incest, a quick reference to Lucerys's death, a quick reference to the brothel scene, a quick reference to Jahaera's trauma after B&C, brothers fighting, guilt, mourning, reference to Aegon being unfaithful, Aegon's drunkenness, fear of death on the birthing bed, kissing, oral (f receiving), titty sucking, mommy kink, breastfeeding kink, p in v sex, anal sex, threesome, a bit of manipulation. A/N: reader is AFAB, when needed they/them pronouns used. Reader is referred to as "Wife".

You know it's late, the whole Red Keep asleep around you, yet you can't. You toss and turn in your bed, tired and wired up, your body begging for slumber, yet your brain still running, incapable of setting down.

A loud bang makes you jump with a scream locked behind your teeth. Your first instinct would be to hide under the covers like you used to do when you were a wee child, but that stopped being an option and everyone knows why.

You grab the heavier candlestick you can find and, with a beating heart, you pad to the day room that connects your chambers to the ones of your King husband; the source of the loud noises is there, barely muffled by the thick walls and the tapestries.

You can't hear anything over the mad beating of your heart and the whoosh of blood in your ears. There should be more security after the accident, you're safe, no harm shall befall you, nor your remaining children, then why is your hand shaking when you grab the knob?

With a mad scream you open the heavy door, ready to smash the head of whomever is here to attack you family again, and barely miss Aegon's head.

You can't stop the momentum and topple forward, Aemond's hands grabbing you the only reason you don't fall on the floor. Hastily you shrug his hold off your body and try to stand to regain your dignity, the candlestick held firmly against your heaving chest.

You're not sure of the expression you're wearing, but the smile on Aegon's face dies as soon as he meets your hardened stare.

He can barely stand, his hair an unkempt mop now, when they were nicely styled earlier in the night and Aemond, even though he looks prim and proper, has a strange light in his lonely eye, which doesn't meet yours as soon as you look at him.

"Why are you still awake, Wife?"

You can hear how hard Aegon tries not to slur his words, and that drives you even madder.

"I could ask you the same question, Lord Husband, but I already know the answer."

You advance towards the brothers and see Aegon trying to square his shoulders.

"The whole court knows where you've taken your Kingsguard to sully their sacred oath. You smell of alcohol, Lord Husband. I suppose a brothel is the best place where you can mourn, isn't it?"

Any remaining drunkenness leaves his body at your words, before he can answer, you turn towards your brother in law.

"The same goes for you Aemond, you reek of cheap perfume. At least you're sober, not that it changes anything." You spat, noticing how his whole composure hardens at your accusation.

"You should mind your words, Wife. You're talking to your king."

Your hands tighten around the candlestick at his words, the rage and the unspeakable pain simmering in your belly ever since that night seem to grow into a wildfire: all you've kept locked pushing to explode and destroy everything in its wake.

"My king? My king? Where was my king when those men came to my children's bedroom? My king was playing pretend on the throne with his imbecile friends, that's where he was, my king! Where was he when they cut his head off and threatened me with rape? Where was he when I mourned my child?"

You feel tears and bile well up, but you're not done, you rage is not satisfied, yet.

"I tell you where he was. Whoring around with his friends, promoting them to Kingsguards, destroying his father's scale model! That's where he was!"

You see the color drain from Aegon's face, he looks green as he takes a step behind, grabbing a chair to keep himself on his feet.

"And what about you, Aemond? Where was the man who swore to protect me and my children with his life? The good brother, the one I could trust when my husband failed me? In a brothel. You should have been here, keeping us safe!"

Aemond is different than Aegon, he doesn't show how he feels, yet you know you've hurt him, you can see in the way he stiffens up, his whole body turning into stone, and that's not enough, he's not suffering enough for his slights.

"My boy is dead, my Jahaerys is dead!" You shout. "Jahaera will only feel the coldness of his grave, not the gentle hold of his hand. Do you know, dear king, that she keeps saying that she's cold all the time? That she begs me to bundle her up more? You'd know if you had visited her at least once. And Maelor, my poor Maelor, now he has a target on his back, and no one to protect him."

You can feel wetness flow down your cheeks, on the inside you're hollow now, a void thing that can barely breath, strangled by pain, blinded by tears. Strength leaves your hand, forcing you to let go of the candlestick, the dull thud of it on the carpeted floor evades your ears, all you can hear is the mad sound of your temples beating a mad tattoo.

You don't care about the consequences of your words, what Aegon, what the king would do to you, you just want to be left alone to cry all the tears you haven't already wept.

Blindly you turn and head for your chambers, your hand slips on the doorknob and you don't even notice: you just want to lay on your bed, alone, and mourn.

"Wife..."

Aegon's hold is light on your upper arm, gently he turns you to look at him, all he receives are your fist banging on his chest, and your screams of pain.

"I wish I have never married you! I wished your whole family had perished with Old Valyria! I hate you so much Aegon! It should have been you! It should have been Aemond, not Jahaerys!"

You don't see his pained expression, he keeps you tight against his chest, letting you cry and scratch at his skin.

He knows he's been a lousy husband and a barely decent father. He's the mockery of a king and no good at taking care of the ones he loves; he can't give you Jahaerys back, if he could he would take his place immediately. To bore all your pain and anger is the meager offering he can give you.

"I wished that had happened. It would have saved you all this grief."

Aemond's words cut through your desperate crying. You were so focused on yourself you didn't notice he has followed you and Aegon in your bedchambers.

With light feet he approaches you, impossibly tall and does the unimaginable: he falls on his knees in front of you, head bent, like a penitent at the Sept's altar.

"I have deserted my post, forgotten my promise..."

He can't finish his sentence, Aegon's voice cutting through.

"All to suck on a whore's breasts."

You push Aegon's body away, only to take a few step backwards to distance yourself from both brothers.

You adjust the shawl you're wearing over your nightgown and assess the two of them with an hardened stare.

"Can't you see, Aegon? Even now you can't help but drive a hedge between you and Aemond, a hedge in our side! We need to be more united than ever, least Rhaenyra comes to kill us all, the way she did Jahaerys. Don't you understand that?"

"I didn't go for myself!" Your husband tries to justify his actions. "The young squire needed to know the ways of life before battle."

At that Aemond scoffs and stands up to his full height.

"What are you moaning about? You had your fun back in the day!"

"You didn't even ask if I had any!"

You look at the brothers fighting, again and again. There's a looming threat at Dragonstone, a very real one, that's already damaged the family once, and they're still at each other's throat.

"You might as well save Rhaenyra's time and open the city to her. That would save us the war and, maybe, she'll kill us all swiftly."

Your words cut through their fight, both brothers staring at you, confused.

"The more you work against one another, the easier it will be for her and the Rogue Prince to come and wipe us like an overused candle. You two need to work together, for our sake, for our children's sake!"

"We know how to work together!" Aegon answers, subconsciously looking around for a cup of wine

"Right now you two wouldn't know how to draw a circle using a glass, let alone conduct an army."

"We will never put our differences in the way of winning this war"

You stare at Aemond, trying to assess his words, the weight of trust you can put in them.

"Will you? Show me, then, how you two can work together."

Again the brothers look at you funnily.

"Come on, show me how you can be a team. I don't think you two are capable."

"I... I don't see how."

If the situation weren't this loaded you'd laugh at the dumbfounded expression on your husband's face: he's truly at loss here, and even his smart brother is grasping at straws.

Later, you'll tell yourself grief clouded your judgement. Praying at the Sept with the Queen Dowager you'd repeat that over and over again, right now you perfectly know what you're doing as you throw your shawl on the floor, closely followed by your nightgown.

In the pale candlelight you're naked, soft curves born out of two pregnancies in full display, your heart is hammering in your chest: Aegon hadn't seen you like this even since you two conceived Maelor, and he's always been your one and only, no other man had witnessed your body fully.

You're not willowy as you used to be, you're still breastfeeding therefore your breasts are larger, heavier. Having carried twins has left you with stretch marks on your thighs and bosom, you husband deserting your bed has put a huge dent in the way you look at yourself in the mirror. Yet you carry on, with a voice that desperately hides your anxiety: you have made your move, now it's up to them, and you can't go back.

"Seduce me. The bed is a good battlefield as any other."

You're not sure of their reaction. Aegon has preferred whores ever since Maelor was in utero, and you don't know if you have ever catch Aemond's interest. This can, potentially, go wrong in so many ways, but you're desperate, and desperate people make desperate decisions.

You can see the way both swallow, the pink raising on Aemond's cheeks, how Aegon's hand shakes as he takes yours: you know he desperately needs to drink, how scared he is. For all his boosting, you husband is still a young man, insecure even after whoring himself around Flea Bottom.

Aemond's lips are soft on the meat of your shoulder, he barely kisses you, as if afraid the Gods might strike him for his indiscretion; Aegon's eyes land on your breasts, his hands cup them with a sigh, and you wonder why he hasn't called for you, if he looks like he's missed their familiar weight.

You want to let yourself go in their warmth, feel their touch, so different, on your skin, yet they keep bickering. In between kisses and caresses, they never stop: they're with you in body, in spirit, they're still fighting at the brothel.

"This isn't working." You say, defeated, after they stopped kissing your skin to argue about what to do. "Nothing can truly help you work together."

Head bent you evade their dual embrace and try to locate your nightgown.

"Please close the door on your way out."

You don't see the glance they share, you can't know how the challenge you now pose tickles the blood of the dragon flowing in their veins.

Aegon's hands curl around your upper arms, his hold is firm but gentle: he doesn't want to hurt you, but now he wants to show you what he's capable of doing.

"Not yet, sweet Wife, not yet."

"Let go of me, Aegon."

Swift and silent, Aemond is kneeling at your feet again, this time not like a penitent, but like a crouched animal, ready to pounce.

"You don't challenge a dragon and then decide when to stop, sweet Wife."

"I'm not joking Aegon."

"Nor are we." Aemond's voice is soft, and final. "Say the word and this stops, but you wanted to see us work towards a shared goal. Let us show you we can."

You let yourself be lost in Aemond's lonely gaze. The purple hue of his eye is shifting in the candlelight, their shadows doing nothing to hide his hunger: you'd never imagined he'd look at you this way.

You let out a small gasp when Aegon rests his chin on your shoulder, pouting, like a child.

"Let us, sweet Wife."

You know you aren't capable of deny them when his large palms cup your breasts again. Gently he massages them, moaning at the weight and warmth, his nimble fingers pinch your nipples, so sensitive ever since your pregnancy, forcing a long whine out of your lips.

You grab Aemond's head one handed, the other clenches on Aegon's side as your hips cant faster and faster, following your husband's pinching of your nipples: you're so needy you might come like this, untouched and pressed between their bodies.

"What do we have here?"

Your husband's voice is huskier now that milk has stained his fingers. Ashamed you try to hide your face, but he doesn't let you; with a dark smile he smears the milk on both your lips and your pearl. In the distance you hear Aemond groan with want.

"I'm sorry." You try to say. "There's always so much."

"Don't be. I always wondered what it tastes like."

It's like a dam has broken, when his lips land on yours, hungry and possessive, your mouth is already slack to welcome his tongue with a snuffed moan of want, that morphs into a whine when Aemond's hands grab your hips to smother his face in your center, his long tongue seeking the sweet taste of milk in your cunt.

They both kiss you like they own you. Aegon's tongue playful against yours, Aemond's is sloppy against your pearl, where he writes his love poem to you; his hands don't block your movements, he helps you ride his face, moaning at your taste, foreign and sweet, the vibration traveling your body like lightning, your high so close, so close, the pleasure of Aegon's fingers on your breasts spurring you on. There! There! You're almost there!

You whine, pathetically when Aemond removes his face, wet with spit and your essence, he angles it to look at Aegon, who squeezes your breasts again, until more milk spills and he can drench his hands with it, to use it to paint your cunt, mixing it with your honey, until you're on edge again, ready to explode, only then Aemond attacks you again, sloppy and fast he licks you, seeking that taste as Aegon kisses you with his hands still on your breasts, he massages the soft globes rhythmically, following his brother's hungry pace, driving your body into a frenzy.

Your hips move desperately following Aemond's tongue on your pearl, puffy and pulsating with every stroke, your knees wobble with pleasure, Aegon's mouth swallows all your screams, as pleasure grows and grows yet again in your belly, until it explodes behind your closed eyes.

You're woozy, you're legs are trembling and it's the brother's dual hold that keeps you up on your feet: it has been so long since you felt such undiluted pleasure that your body feels drunk with it.

"Undress, now!"

You try to bark your order but you hear how slurred your voice is.

"You're in no position to give orders."

Aegon's voice is playful, which makes your blood boil again. On trembling feet you turn around and grab the lapels of his half opened jerkin.

"Take your clothes off one another, Husband, now!"

You feel Aemond's hands on your hips, his lips on the base of your spine leave a soft kiss.

"Hae ao jaelagon. As you wish." He murmurs.

On trembling legs you walk to your bed and lie there, with your head on the fluffy pillows.

The brothers stand at the end of the massive frame, they look unsure and excited at the same time; to spur them on your spread your legs, offering the sight of your drenched cunt to them.

"I always have to do the work myself."

You wish your voice was stronger, not needy and broken as it comes out, that doesn't stop you from letting your fingers wander down your body until they reach your wet center. You moan when your pads find your pearl, swollen and drenched, and start massaging it slowly.

"I'm so close already." You whimper. "You two better hurry up, if I reach my end before you're done, you will not be allowed in my bed, aah!"

You try to keep your eyes open to observe the men, who look at you, pleasuring yourself, transfixed.

There's always been this undercurrent between them, energy that even them couldn't truly decipher, you want to see if you were right, if there's something there that goes beyond their brotherly bond.

Aemond is the first to act. With his good eye on you he hastily removes his brother's jerkin and attacks the knots keeping his shirt closed. Aegon seems to awake from his reverie when he feels his clothes being roughly removed from his body, his own hands are fast and hungry as he disrobes his younger brother, his lower lip bitten raw the more he discovers Aemond's alabaster skin; he moans when he sees his erection spring free from the confinement of his leather breeches, his mind imagining how it would feel to submit to the intrusion, to let his brother own his body in such a way.

For a second you don't exist, the room, King's Landing, the budding war, all forgotten when the brothers are naked in front of one another. Aemond's eye softens as it observes Aegon's pink skin, his pebbled nipples and cock, thick and ready: he hasn't been alone in his forbidden needs, it seems, not when Aegon takes a step towards him, only to go to his tip toes to brush his reddened lips on Aemond's.

The dam breaks, Aemond's control and inhibitions annihilated by his brother's taste; hungry he grabs Aegon's face to push it backwards, open his mouth and conquer it with his tongue, following the phantom taste of your sweet milk and Aegon's own, mingled.

Aemond doesn't realize he's pushed his brother's body against one of the columnar foot post of the canopied frame, he whines when Aegon's hand finds their weeping erections to jerk them fast, hungry, their lips disconnecting, only for Aegon to bite Aemond's sweaty shoulder, until the latter whines in pleasure.

"Like what... oh Gods! You see, Wife?"

Aegon is so close, not even in his wildest dreams this could have ever happen: Aemond's cock warm and hard like steel against his, his hips kicking against the wet hold, your sobs of pleasure and your eyes, full of lust and approval for the sight they are offering you.

"Yes! Yes!" You're delirious in your own need, another orgasm so close your cunt hurts with the need to be filled to the brim. "Come for me! Now!"

You try to time your pleasure with theirs, needing to come with them, but your body has a different plan, the knot in your belly breaks and you come, arching your back, screaming and they follow you, Aegon with a shout, Aemond with a long moan, pained when Aegon's hold doesn't release his softening cock. He has to push his brother away, loathing how cold he feels now, his trembling legs abandoning him to fall on the plush mattress, beckoned to you by your wet fingers.

He groans when your taste hits his tongue again, ravenous he licks your finger and moans when you push them inside his hungry mouth as far as they can go.

"Not fair. I wanted a taste!"

Your husband whines; rolling your eyes you spread your legs for him again.

"Come and lick me clean then."

The bed bounces under Aegon's weight, he enthusiastically dives in your center, tongue and mouth so ravenous he has to push your hips to the bed, or you'll break his nose.

You moan, torso arching again, you're so sensitive now, after two orgasms, and your husband knows how to devour you, all the little tricks he needs to drive you high again, ready to explode for him.

Aemond's head finds refuge on your shoulder, hungry he looks at his brother pleasuring you and fleetingly wonders why he seeks whores when he has you, warm and enticing, ready to pleasure him. He doesn't even realize his hand has traveled on one of your breasts, his palm is squeezing the soft globe gently, unsure of how hard he can go, until droplets of milk adorn your nipple, and need takes control again.

"Drink from me, Aemond, come."

Your voice is soft and laced with desire, yet he looks at your face to see if he truly can, and all he can see his your open smile.

"Kirimvose. Thank you." He murmurs, before latching on your breast, hungry like he's never been before.

Despite Aegon's ravenous desire, the orgasm crests slowly, following Aemond's soft suckling and his moans at the taste. Blindly you grab both their heads, drunk on the pleasure they're giving you, deaf but to the sound of your own whines of pleasure, until you come again on Aegon's tongue, who moans against your center, the vibrations pure torture against your pearl.

You lay boneless on the bed, staring at the brothers who, now, look at one another, still hungry for your taste and for each other.

Aegon initiates the kiss this time, one hand in Aemond's long hair he smashed their lips together, seeking the sweet taste of your milk, moaning when Aemond's tongue licks his mouth, only to try to subjugate his.

"He likes to have his hole played with." You say, with a smug smile.

Aemond abandons his conquest to let his brother ravage his neck and shoulder again, a dark glint in his eye.

"Iksos bona sīr. Is that so."

His fingers find the squelching mess that's your center to wet them, only to start playing with Aegon's puckered hole, who whines in response, hips kicking against Aemond's; your word, your order and he'll let his younger brother take him for your viewing pleasure, mind turned to shreds by the need to be buried inside of you, and to let Aemond play with his body.

"Not yet, Aemond." He manages to groan. "I need to come in them."

The brothers stare at one another, a silent dialogue pass as you feel the energy in the room shift while you look at their bodies entwined and tiredness seeps in your bones.

Aegon stares at you, hungry and more in control now that Aemond's fingers have stopped playing with his hole. His cock is so hard again, leaking and almost straining for your cunt; he moans when Aemond hugs him from behind, big hands on his chest, head on his shoulder.

"You have neglected the other breast. Go and do your duty." Aegon orders.

Aemond smirks but Aegon can see how feeble his control is; whatever this night has unlocked, it changes everything between you three, something that was needed.

Aegon lays on you, the cradle of your hips home as he slips inside your warmth; he whines when he bottoms out, so hot and perfect you are, the only true scabbard for his sword, no other cunt has ever felt like yours.

"I missed this." He moans as he slowly pushes in and out of you, unsure that you're listening now that your face is the picture of sexual pleasure. "Why didn't..." You arch and curl under and around him, your words lost for a second. "... call for me? Oh Gods!"

Aegon can feel control slip through his fingers as your cunt strangles his cock after a harsh suck on your nipple, he can feel the tendrils of pleasure spreading through his body with every thrust, flashes of white exploding behind his closed eyes.

"Can't risk... can't risk to lose you." He groans and stills when you curl your legs around his hips. "On... Gods! The birthing bed. I can't!"

Tears fall from his eyes when your caress his back and let him hide his face in the curve of your shoulder: you'd never imagine the ghost of the late queen would haunt him this way, he's never said a word about it, you didn't know if he even knew about her destiny.

"I will not die there, I promise you. Look at me, Aegon." Unwilling he faces you again, his eyes are red rimmed and desperate. "I will never leave your side, I swear on our children, Aegon!"

The mention of your remaining heirs has him cry harder and grab his brother's head to push their forehead together; over you Aemond seems taken aback, he tries to dislodge himself and Aegon grabs his hair with a tighter grip.

"I didn't want to make fun of you, I wanted to hurt you, punch you, make you feel a ounce of what I do even since Jahaerys."

Something had happened in the brothel, something you aren't privy of, something that seems to shake Aemond to his very core; for a second the younger man seems to turn into stone, no expression on his handsome face, before an array of emotions play there. You've never seen him this animated, not even when you saw him after Jahaerys's death.

"I do. Every waking moment." Aemond answers with a strangled voice. "I would have killed them, I would have..."

Aemond chokes on his words and hide his face against your shoulder. You can't see the tears but can feel his bigger body quake with them, over you Aegon seems equally distressed, it comes natural to you to whisper to him to find refuge against you.

You're not sure for how long the brothers cry silently in your arms, you're weeping as well, for the pain past and for the grief ahead of you all.

"I make you cry, always." Aegon says against your skin. "It's good tears, my love. Needed."

Both brothers dry your cheeks, their dual touch gentle and soft. You do the same, paying extra attention to the scar on Aemond's face, unsure of how much pain he feels: he might have kick started the war, but a part of your heart, cold and black, can't seem to pity him for Lucerys early end.

Aemond lets you remove his eye patch, he even smiles when he hears your murmuring how beautiful the sapphire is; he has to fight tears again when you kiss the length of his scar, butterfly kisses his numb skin can barely feel. Against his face you beg Aegon to move, to start taking you again; Aemond seals your lips with a deep kiss when his brother's hips start canting, slowly, reaching deeply inside of you, owning your body after deserting it for many, too many moons.

You're delirious with pleasure, you burn with it, your whole body sings with it as your feel your orgasm crest and crest, until you crash, followed by Aegon, who slumps in your arms as his flaccid cock slips out of your hole. You delude yourself with thinking you can feel his seed seep out of your cunt, warm and sticky; brokenly you beg the brothers to use your body as the shrine where they swear loyalty to one another, until Aegon rolls off you to make space for Aemond.

Your brother in law hovers over your body, his weight carried by one arm, the other in Aegon's hair as he starts suckling on your breast with soft moans of pleasure. You can barely make out Aemond's lovely face through your own tears, yet you can see the insecurity there.

"Have me, Aemond. I'm yours to take."

He murmurs something in High Valyrian, before sliding his erection against your overused cunt to wet it with both your honey and Aegon's seed. He groans when he breaches you, your cunt is so warm and perfect, drenched with your need and it sucks him in when he tries to go slow, mindful of how sore you must feel, the pleasure you're giving him drives him mad with the need to stay rooted inside of you for the rest of his days, your muscles massage him, your lovely voice spurs him on to own you, to spill his seed inside of you. He moans when you lock your legs around his hips, stopping him from pulling away and coming on your soft tummy: he's not going to taint you with a bastard, he'll never do such a terrible thing to you.

"It's too early to take, Aemond. Come inside of me." You plea after his cock head finds that spongy part that has your toes curl in pleasure. "Aemond I'm begging you!"

He can't deny you anything, he'll spend his life making up to you in any way possible; his thoughts frazzle and die the closer you're tethering him to his end, the longer your cunt strangles his cock and he knows you're close, because he's right behind you. With a shout you come, your cunt a painful vise around his cock and he follows you, his seed sucked greedily by your hungry hole.

You order them not to clean you, you want to feel their spent on your skin as you drift into slumber.

Aegon is the first to succumb to sleep, he hugs you from behind with his hands cupping your breasts; you're close as well and make a displeased sound when Aemond tries to leave the bed.

"Your handmaidens will discover us." He tells you. "They know they have to knock before entering." You answer, kissing his wrist. "And if you close the canopy they will see nothing. Lay with me, with us, where you belong."

In the dying light of the fire you see that violent array of emotions on his face again, and wonder if he's ever had the warmth of a lover lull him into sleep.

Fast he closes the thick drapes around the bed and lays on the mattress, facing you. He looks so young, younger than his ears with his air down and his cheeks pink. Behind you Aegon snores and you have to choke on a giggle.

"This is the reason why we sleep in separate beds. He's very loud even when asleep." You smile.

Aemond doesn't speak for an heartbeat, then he has to muster all his courage to ask, almost shy

"Were you serious, before."

You take his hand in yours, letting your fingers entwine with his, so long and strong against your dainty ones.

"I am, Aemond. We can't let this family tear itself apart even more than it already did. I need you and Aegon to work together to keep us all safe. Look what the divide did to us." "If I knew, if I had an inkling..." "I know you would have made good to your promise. And you still can. We have so much to lose."

You know you're being manipulative, then again that part of yourself who died with your poor Jahaerys, that part that's so cold and dark, takes control, and you can't find in your heart to feel bad for what you're doing.

"I have a plan. Cole and I have one, no one knows about it." Aemond tells you after a spell of silence. "It's about Rook's Rest. It's a good plan, solid, it will help us on the long run." "Then talk to him about it before the next Council meeting. He will follow you if you give him the chance. He wants to do what is good by all of us, and he can't if he's left alone on the Throne. You two together can win this war and bring the Realm back to its glory! Not the Dowager Queen, nor your grandsire can do that, but you two, the true heirs of the Dragon."

Aemond stares at you, weighting your words against his torn heart, against all the pain Aegon has put him through: none of it matters if you are all dead and Rhaenyra sits on a throne that doesn't belong to her, warming it for her bastards who will lead the Realm into ruins.

"As you wish." He tells you, the hurt child in himself beaming at your smile. "Come now, you need to sleep."

You wake up in their arms, their erections poking at your holes, and it's only natural that Aegon slips inside of you, and begs Aemond to take him as he slowly fucks you again, long strokes against your battered walls. Aegon wails as Aemond pours oil on his hole and fucks him with his long fingers until the King his reduced into a babbling mess, only capable to grunt and keen when Aemond's bulbous cock head breaches his tight hole: it has been so long since he's let you fuck him, but that doesn't matter, not when he's pressed between you two, fucking and being fucked. Tears spill from his eyes when Aemond orders him to spear himself on his cock, he wails as the dual sensation of being sucked in and being open ravage his mind; he ruts like an animal inside of you, who lay there, canting your hips to take all of him, as he tries to bottom out on his brother's cock. He's a rag doll when Aemond takes control again, grabbing his hips to piston inside of him, and you, harsh and hungry. He bites Aegon's shoulder savagely and the latter drools in pain, and need, passing out when pleasure blanks his mind; Aemond doesn't stop fucking him, using his limp body as a proxy to take you, until you come for him, and he follows, slumping on the bed when it hurts to keep going.

By the end of the war, your husband and your brother in law wear the scars from their battles and you kiss them all. You hug Aemond tight when Vhagar seems unable to survive her clash against Daemon and Caraxes, you have a custom walking stick made for Aegon, whose left leg never healed properly after having slain Rhaenyra; most of all, you make sure your bedchamber is the actual Council, where your lovers can discuss the matters of the realm and find a united front against the Court. It's in your chambers that you three discuss the destiny of Aegon III and Viserys II and how those children can be used to unite the factions still reeling after the victory of the Green. Your lovers are not happy with your proposal, you three need to discuss for days before they can accept that those children can't be slain. They are not bastards, their deaths can be used by Rhaenyra's faction to start the war again, but if Aegon III and your beloved Jahaera will marry, it will bring unity to the realm and, if the child in your belly is a girl, her marriage to Viserys II will only straighten the family. You wish there was another way, but there isn't: those children will be raised at court, where they can learn the truth about the Dance, and how to love the family they have left. By the time they'll grow into men, they will be so entwined with you all, that they will not raise a hand against their wives, and the rest of you. With Maelor, they will lead the Realm into prosperity, along with the dragons, who will raise into numbers again, to make sure no one tries to attack you all. And, if the mad prophecy Viserys entrusted Rhaenyra with, babbled by her bastard son on his deathbed proves to be real, you all will need all the strength the Dragons can provide. And that's all it matters.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

#aegon ii targeryen x reader x aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x y/n x aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #amond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

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themotherofhorses · 1 year ago

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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?”

warnings: explicit language. angst. much angst. nothing but angst. i cannot stress it enough.

notes: well this is rather unfortunate.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

The raven arrives at nightfall, at an hour so late that only Aemond is awake to accept it. The princeling could not find sleep that night, instead rolling off the bed and crossing the chambers to his windows, before pulling back the heavy tapestries and throwing them open one by one.

The cool air is a welcoming feeling to his feverish skin, hot to the touch from hours of lovemaking under the sheets.

He stands facing the darkness, naked and at utter peace, in pure happiness. His precious girl sleeps soundly behind him, with the thick furs pulled up to her chin, hiding the most of her beneath the blankets. She is so utterly beautiful in the moonlight. It’s been three long months since his sons were born, and Aemond was beginning to hope his seed would again take. His loins ache at the thought, and he fights the sudden urge to slip in between her thighs. Perhaps she’d give him a daughter this time.

In his dreams, she wears her mother’s face, in a gown of Targaryen colors with a dragon hatchling sitting on her shoulder. She pokes him awake in the morning, and pleads for a quick ride atop Vhagar before grandmother arrives to begin her history lessons.

His daughter has his love’s eyes and smile, he thinks again, and her nose scrunches up in the same way hers does.

I want it.

He shakes his head.

Let her rest, you fool.

When the black raven arrives at his windowpane, he is a bit confused. He waves the bird away before it could make another squawk, and stares down at the scroll taken from it, eying the blood-red ribbon tied into a pretty, tight knot around. In his head, he weighs the choices in taking it as his own. Should he…? Or should he not? His curiosity clashes with his righteousness.

Aemond decides to, in the end.

He takes the scroll to his desk, quietly lighting a small candle before taking a seat and unrolling it out to read. The writing is in pretty cursive yet smells of cheap ink, with a slight smudge staining the edge of the paper. It is addressed to his handmaid, he realizes, starting with her name that leads to a sweet congratulations on her newfound motherhood. Twins, your uncle had said. How marvelous to hear. I hope to meet them soon, my dear.

With all the love in this lifetime—your mother, Alys Rivers.

“With all the love in this lifetime,” he repeats aloud, shaking his head, refusing to believe. His fingers tighten around the letter, the tips turning a jarring white. “Your mother, Alys Rivers.”

Aemond then glares up at the woman lying in his bed, a bitter twist on his mouth. She shifts a little bit beneath his gaze, but remains relaxed and asleep and blissfully ignorant of the rising anger sparking deep inside him.

Who is she? For the first time since he met her, he asks himself that.

He should’ve suspected this.

“A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow.”

Aemond turns away from her, back to the darkness outside.

Her mother is a bastard rivers woman, it seems. At least that is how it reads. Alys Rivers. She carries no man’s last name in her letter. What is her daughter, if not the same as her? He picks at his mind, trying to remember if she ever mentioned her father. Aemond returns to staring up at the moon and the white stars blinking high above in the midnight sky.

He suddenly feels no desire to return to bed with her tonight.

But she is the mother of your children, his mind argues, and it leaves him irritated.

She’s given him two heirs, his first-born children, beautiful twin boys that are mirrors to their own father, himself. And the daughter he’s dreamt of…But…they’re bastards too, he then reminds himself. You love them the same way you love her, do not lie to yourself. It was not enough to ease his thoughts, and reason with him, and stop the ugly bitterness from rising in his throat.

Damn her.

Aemond stuffs the letter inside one of the desk drawers, not wishing to lay eyes on it again. Maybe he’ll burn it later in the day. He then shrugs on his robe, tying it around his waist, before leaving the room. She’ll wake up in the morning, and search for his hand buried within the sheets. When she realizes she is alone in the bed, he knows she will pout before readying to tend to her babies, like the mother he’s made her into.

Damn her.

Then she will move on to her responsibilities, like the silly, dumb handmaid she is.

Damn her.

That is all she should’ve remained, Aemond thinks, curiously calm as he strides down the hallway. He doesn’t know where he is going, but he knows he will not return this night. Bastards never amount to anything else.

Aemond hasn’t spoken to her in three days, dismissing his handmaid from his bedchamber before he retires for the evening. She no longer fetches his hot baths or crawls beneath the blankets with him. He hasn’t allowed it. He avoids the nursey too, where he knows his twin sons sleep in their cots, too young to notice their father’s absence. Aemond walks the halls of the Red Keep, as he has walked a thousand times before, but disregards all the rooms where he knows her presence painfully lingers.

She does not fight nor question him. He knows she won’t.

“Aemond.”

He hears her voice in his slumber, always- sometimes in a breathless whisper, and most times in a scream, or a whimper, or an anguished howl. She always manages to find him, following him into his dreams and nightmares and antagonizing him into insanity. Her shadow stands over his bed. And around her neck dangles the sapphire necklace, while her pretty eyes weep both tears and blood.

“Aemond, please!” she cries, bawling up the sides of her dress in her fist. The plain cloth is stained in dried blood, splashed across her belly and thighs. “Aemond, please, I need you, husband!”

“AEMOND.”

This time tonight, it causes Aemond Targaryen to jerk upright, pulled from a horrible nightmare that still clouds his thoughts. The sheets are tangled between his fingers, and his heart is heaving heavily within his breast. He hears her voice echoing, begging for her husband. “Aemond.” His attention quickly darts to the door, where his mother stands, tall and regal and noticeably pissed. She calls his name again loudly. Although still groggy, he stumbles his way towards her.

His mother does not greet him. Instead, her brown eyes remain on his empty bed, skimming across the sheets and the way the heavy fur blanket nearly hangs off the foot of his bed. He must’ve kicked it off him during his sleep.

She frowns at the sight, before looking back at him.

“So it is true, then.”

Aemond rubs at his eye, tilting his head in confusion. “What is true, mother?”

“That she hasn’t been seen in your room for the past three days; instead, she’s returned to her old room across the castle, where the other maids sleep. Three days, and three nights.” His mother spoke in anger, yet her face remained a mask that betrayed nothing. It is one thing he greatly admired about her, in the same way it terrified him the most. “And you haven’t visited your sons as well, I’m told.”

He flushes. “I’ve been busy,” he grumbles, shifting on his bare feet. “I’ll see them tomorrow, in the morning after we break fast together.”

“Tomorrow? You’ll see them tomorrow? AEMOND!” she shouts, incredulous. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she pushes a thick strand behind her right ear. “You wanted these babies so badly, and yet you are beginning to neglect them before their second nameday. Have you lost all fucking sense?!”

Aemond bites his tongue in an attempt to keep his own temper from flaring up in response to her yelling. He says nothing in return, which he knows only upsets his mother further.

“What has happened, Aemond?” she asks. “This is unlike you. You love those boys, and that girl too.”

“Nothing,” he says, a bit too quickly. “Nothing has happened. I’ve simply been too busy to play anymore games with her.”

“Games? Games?! That is all shit,” his mother blazes. “Utter shit. Do not begin to take me as a fucking fool, Aemond. I am not your father, and I am not your brother, and eldest sister either. Now you tell me, boy, what has happened.”

Aemond sighs. “She’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?” He meets her eyes and feels his poor heart sinking at the silent shock that instantly falls across her features and the way she makes no move to deny it. “A bastard.” Saying it aloud, it makes him wish to return to his bed, and curl up in his sheets, completely hidden from this cruel world that damned him to fall in love with a stupid bastard girl. “A damn, no good, bastard girl from Harrehnal—”

But he is then cut off by a sharp backhand blow to the side of his face that quickly sends him stumbling two steps back, almost falling hard against the wall. Aemond holds his cheek, breath hitching as he brushes a tender finger against the already reddening skin that he knows will surely show a dark bruise on the morrow. It feels hot, and it stings. He looks up at his mother, who has never hit him before.

“How dare you speak of her in such a way,” she spits, purpled with rage. Her hand twitches at her side, as if she itches to slap him again. He deserves it, he thinks. “HOW DARE YOU. She is the mother of your children, and you dare behold her with such loathing venom?”

“AND YOU DID NOT THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?” he shouts back, half hurt from the realization that she watched him fall smitten with the bastard, and never thought to tell him the truth. “She is the cousin of those bastards that took my eye, their own blood!”

“And? It is the truth, yes, that she is a riverlands bastard, born to a woman at Harrenhal. Lord Larys is her true uncle, who brought her to us at my request. But damn you, Aemond, that girl is so fucking in love with you.”

All his words fall stuck in his throat, and he fails to push them out.

“Have you nothing more to say?”

His queen mother sniffs when he says nothing, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. Perhaps it is best she drinks the moon tea, lest she gives you another child that you won’t love nor appreciate because of its mother’s unfortunate bastardy.” Aemond remains silent, and her mouth drops into another scowl. “You lied to me when you promised that you would never be your father or Aegon.”

I am not, he wants to scream out. His knees buckle in weakness at her cruel words, and the sheer disappointment laced within them. It hurts worse than her slap.

I love her so much, I swear, and my boys too. I love anything she gives me, and I promise…I promise…I promise…

“You, Aemond, carry their eyes and hair and nose, everyone can see. But I know the truth now—you carry their pig attitude as well,” she remarks, pushing herself toward him. “I’ll send her back to her mother, I promise, and find another handmaid for you, one that is to your liking.”

She says not another word, instead turning to the houseguard that had accompanied her to his hall. “I’m tired. Please help me back to my bedchamber,” she asks, pressing her fingertips against his temple. “I would appreciate such, my good knight.”

His mother leaves him silent and still, sad and scared and helpless and heartbroken, staring down at his toes as they grow damp from his tears.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67 @iiamthehybrid @bellstwd @katzarantos @crazymusicgirl104

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #handmaid!reader #his handmaid’s tales #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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physalian · 10 months ago

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Writing Exposition (Or Turning a Textbook into a Story)

Exposition concerns every facet of your work from character descriptions, backstories, and relationships, to world history, geography, religions/faiths/superstitions, politics, and current events. Whenever the author takes an aside to say “Joe, Bob’s second cousin, said ‘hello’,” the exposition is establishing that Joe is Bob’s cousin.

So shaming a story for its poor handling of exposition is like shaming a movie for bad visual effects. Yes, some of it is probably bad, but I guarantee that you did not notice every single VFX shot in the movie, and you weren’t supposed to.

Most examples of bad exposition occur when the following happens:

Informed Character A exposits to Informed Character B and tacks on “as you know” with full sincerity

Random Important Detail gets dropped in conversation that does not fit the tone or direction of conversation

Character suddenly monologues about The Thing unprompted

Convenient Breaking News Alerts

Character, out-of-character, begins monologuing about The Thing even when prompted

The pacing screeches to a halt so the Exposition Train can thunder past

Exposition exists to give information, and in order for a reader to understand a story, not all of it can or should be agonized over making perfect. Settings have to be established. Character names and relationships have to be understood. “Telling” over “showing” is, in my opinion, perfectly fine when the “showing” would take more lines, effort, and priority over a single inconsequential sentence. Heck, sometimes the “telling” is better than the “showing”. The trick to understanding when, how, and to what degree to give exposition is making it motivated.

What is motivated exposition?

See this post about character descriptions and the plight of the cliche “mirror” trope for unmotivated exposition.

Motivating your exposition means giving it a reason to exist where it does, prompted by the story you’re telling. Citing the “mirror” trope: I can have my character wake up and describe themselves to you, but in doing so, that rarely tells the audience anything more than just what to picture as they read. Or, I can have my character description spread out as those details become relevant. They’re describing their hair color and texture as it begins to irritate or distract them, telling us both what it looks like, and what our character thinks of it, and a little bit about their personality in how they treat it.

I can open the first chapter with a long-winded editorial about the long lost king destined to unite the shattered kingdoms, or I can wait until the tale becomes important to my characters to tell.

I can spin tapestries about politics before you’ve even met your hero, or I can wait until those politics begin to cause the hero problems and then invite the hero to talk about why those politics cause problems.

See this post about pacing and ensuring your scenes always do at least two things at once. Motivated exposition takes bland information’s singular purpose (to inform) and gives it flavor in coloring the personalities of the characters who give and receive it.

When to give exposition

Caveat: Not all front-loaded exposition is poorly-handled. Everyone loves the Star Wars title crawls because they’re a part of the episodic movie experience. Whether it’s a cheap way to deliver information is irrelevant.

Most prologues exist to front-load exposition and, because I love using Lord of the Rings as my shining example in every post, the trilogy opens with a lengthy speedrun of the main villain, some of the important pieces on the chessboard, the importance of the ring, the smeared reputation Aragorn must live up to and repair, and an idea of the stakes should the heroes lose. Not only is it a prologue, it’s a narrated prologue. There’s an impressive amount of information given in not a lot of time.

Last Airbender begins every single episode with a reminder about the 100 year war and the aggression of the Fire Nation and the purpose of the avatar.

With that said, prologues and title crawls are their own tangle of weeds.

As I said above, exposition should be given when the story gives it reason to exist. Don’t talk about the politics until you have a scene where discussing politics is relevant.

If you need to establish your cool, unique magic system, wait until you have a character using that magic and give it in little chewable bites. That character likely isn’t using every trick in the book right then and there. If they wrote Last Airbender as a novel and started explaining the other three bending styles the second Katara levitated some water, it would read sloppy and slog.

Or, leave the exposition as a mystery to be told later. Make your audience crave the hero’s backstory, piecing together little hints throughout the narrative until just the right moment comes along where your hero would realistically start spilling the beans about themselves. Have other characters frustrated at the lack of information. Have other characters missassume and be wrong about the information they think they know.

Have your characters crave knowledge about their world as much as your audience does.

How to give exposition

Exposition can be given three ways: Via the narrator, via dialogue, or via images or texts observed by the narrator (think news broadcasts or the front page of the paper, books, letters, videos, diary pages).

No matter which avenue you give exposition through, the less random it is, the less “hand of the author” the audience sees. Characters given a lucky break by a convenient breaking news alert is a mini deus ex machina —- the heroes do not earn their victory, it’s just given to them. They are not active in the plot making decisions, they are being railroaded by information as it falls into place before them.

Narrated exposition

The narrator’s internal monologue will interrupt the story to explain whatever needs explaining in that moment. The difference between it reading like a textbook and reading like a story is whether or not this information is important to the narrator.

Meaning, what does my hero feel about this new information? Katniss Everdeen in Hunger Games exposits the entire book because she’s alone for a fair chunk of it with no one to talk to, and she’s no stranger to the politics and history of her world. And yet, she has such strong feelings about everything she says that it doesn’t feel like she’s just giving information for the sake of informing. Everything she says and how she says it reflects on her personality and how she views her world.

Dialogue exposition

When Katniss is clueless about the tribute parade process and all the nuances of Capital life, how she asks about this information and how Effie, Cinna, and Haymich tell her also speaks to their personalities and biases about what they’re saying. In essence: Their exposition is in-character, and, thus, services their characters.

This is the complete opposite of when two informed characters exposit to each other information both already know for the sake of the audience because the author has no other way to give said information. A prime example is the hero happening to overhear two minions discussing The Plan dropping lines like “as you know” (which makes it worse every time).

The only time “as you know” works is when it’s in character. As in, the villain expositing to their minion they think is stupid and the minion reacting to that assumption appropriately. Or, the heroes are gathered to discuss The Plan and the leader of the meeting goes “as you know” because that happens in the real world. Bonus points if some characters are irritated by the redundant recap.

Exposition via dialogue also opens the door for lies, half-truths, and characters simply being wrong or blinded by their biases. Or, characters simply being ignorant of the world they live in. In Lord of the Rings, Gandalf is like 3,000 years old and has been all over Middle Earth. It doesn’t break the plot to have Gandalf exposit because he would realistically have witnessed or have deep knowledge about historical events and politics. Aragorn, too, is 87, and has ranged all over the place. He’s the future king and thus had better know his history and politics. Aragorn expositing makes sense.

Say what you will about Last Jedi but it has a prime example of nuanced exposition: Kylo Ren and Luke Skywalker have incredibly different perspectives on if/how Luke attempted murder on his nephew. There’s 3 sides to every story and the audience is never shown the truth. Had this been given in the title crawl, it would have lost much of its potency.

Dialogue also nurtures the relationships between the characters talking. Telling stories brings people together. If a character is sharing their backstory, why are they telling the narrator, and what does this mean to them as they tell it? If a soldier is sharing his grizzled leader’s backstory around a campfire, how does his relationship with his leader impact how he tells that story, what language he uses, how he sounds, the expressions on his face?

Third party exposition

Information given from an object can be incredibly hit or miss, depending on how hard the heroes worked to obtain it, and whether or not the object in question is meaningful to the heroes.

In the Assassin's Creed games, you abandon the gameplay in whatever historical era you're playing in to watch cutscene after cutscene of exposition (specifically referencing the Ezio Trilogy) by characters no one cares about, giving information that no one cares about, when we'd all rather just keep playing the game.

You can literally have a character read from a textbook, logbook, or daily minutes. What matters is how that info reads, and how the character responds to it. Is the information prejudiced or saturated with bigoted language? Is the mere existence of it where it is horrifying?

In the Mines of Moria (Lord of the Rings) Gimli learns that all his kin have been murdered by goblins once he sees their corpses all impaled with goblin arrows. Later, he finds his dead cousin’s crypt containing a dead dwarf cradling a book that tells of the downfall of Moria. The log entry isn’t finished, and the penmanship rapidly degrades as the dwarf writing it likely dies from his wounds, ending with the ominous, “We cannot get out, we cannot get out, they are coming.”

Had Gandalf warned Gimli ahead of time that all the dwarves were dead, or had they never found the crypt or figured out the owners of the arrows and simply were told “oh yeah we’re about to be attacked by goblins, I suspect they’re the reason Moria is a ghost town” that would have lost all emotional impact, and character development for Gimli.

This doesn’t have to be just objects, get creative! Have the hero watch a parody retelling of the Big Event. Have someone tell it like a ghost story around a campfire. Have it be a crazed rant all across live TV that no one takes seriously. Have six different characters remember it differently and all argue over who’s right. Have someone tell it poorly, thinking it “just a stupid rumor”.

When to withhold exposition

Satisfaction is the death of desire and sometimes uncovering the details of an enticing tidbit of information ruins whatever the audience had imagined to fill in the blanks. In terms of “showing” vs “telling” concerning worldbuilding, deciding whether to have a character speak about the information, or actually writing the scene they’re referring to, is entirely dependant on the story you’re telling.

If you are going to write a flashback, or describe a video of the event, that flashback and video has to be *packed* with as much information as you can cram in there as artfully as you can. Flashbacks and dream sequences take up space and entire scenes and settings need establishing so the audience isn’t floating in the ether trying to follow along. Which tends to mean that the meat of the flashback is barely half of the words you’re now forced to read.

Decide how important it is that the audience sees the incident as it happened, versus told in the aftermath through the biases and flawed memory of another character.

Sometimes the fewest amount of words pack the biggest punch. You can have a shattered soldier describe the battle of which they’re the last survivor in gory detail, or you can have them simply say “it was hell” and let the oomph hit in their expression, how their voice cracks, how vacant their eyes look. The injuries they sustained, the traumas visible in how they hold themselves. At that point, the audience can imagine whatever hell they want. At that point, what you are "showing" (the emotional and physical toll taken on the speaker) is likely way more important than the battle itself.

Concerning pacing — no matter how hard you worked on designing your politics and royal lineages and fantasy geography, odds are if that information isn’t important to your characters, it isn’t important to your readers. It’s not motivated.

I love trivia and fantasy maps as much as everyone else, but I like them on the wikis and next to the table of contents, not interrupting an engaging story.

And, give your audience credit where credit is due. How many fan theories stand on the basis of a few scant lines of narration or zoomed-in snippets of background characters (R+L=J anyone?) and pieces of costume? The mystery is what makes it fun, and I just watched the criminally disappointing second adaptation of the Lightning Thief completely robbed of that mystery every chance they had.

—

In short, the amount of exposition isn’t what makes it well or poorly handled, it’s how and when it’s delivered. Inception is my favorite sci-fi movie and the entire script is exposition, but the way it’s given is entertaining. Motivating your details to exist for a reason, to be given exactly when the time is right and not a moment before, is the spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down.

Make it timely

Make it relevant

Make it important to the cast

Make it earned by the cast

Make it entertaining

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #exposition #writing

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blueparadis · 1 year ago

Text

╰┈➤ MASTERMIND ✦ NANAMI KENTO.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ Nanami decides to pay you a visit on such an auspicious day to congratulate you but fate had other plans for him.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ fem!reader x (morally grey but ultra-soft)!nanami kento, canon+ fix it au, manga spoilers, mention of clan head!gojo, secret relationship b/w reader and nanami, mutual pinning, angst, scar worship, friends with benefits dynamic, s&d dynamic, mention of orgasm denial, orgasm control, love-hate séx (make-up séx ig) + unprotected, baby trapping. 2,6 k word count. half-based on this thought ( + I've a lot of hcs about gojo clan; one of them being that satoru had a half-sister whom he found accidentally while on a mission, so i used that here. ) | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

Nanami walks through the porch of the Gojo estate while taking a call. It has been half a month since the grim reaper graced him with a peck on his cheek showing him a glimpse of the afterlife. He has been facing trouble adjusting back to his old life again despite healing himself through the reverse cursed technique. He has left behind the life of being a jujutsu socerer but partly. Besides, he now works as an advisor for all jujutsu socerers who are gradually making their way to earn their ranks yet deep down, a part of him wants to tell how bold farced lie is all this is.

But something is still holding him back, and deep down he is vividly aware that he wants to grow his roots rather than uproot them. He is just unwilling to admit it out loud. Nanami is still unable to untie his attachment towards a certain girl who is also best suited to be the head of the gojo clan, as per the strongest’s opinion, y/n gojo. He still remembers the night he spent in that cheap motel with you, talking and drinking, drinking and touching, touching and kissing; making promises to you while being inside you. He does not regret it per se, he is afraid for those wishes to come true. There is too much at stake.

When he got the invitation to the ceremonial celebration for you being bestowed with the title and authority to act as a clan head by Satoru’s side he did not know why he could not refuse or not bother to turn up. Maybe he needed an excuse to apologize at length for not being in touch with you. Maybe you would not be so angry if you knew death was knocking at his door but he had to come back, he had to make it through the tunnel to see you, to embrace, to kiss you, for one last night time.

With such thoughts clouding his mind, the sound of sliding a door almost did not reach his ears yet strangely, he turns back only to find none other than you. Standing five feet away from you, in his Yukata he looks more handsome than before, especially with those scars on his face. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll call you back.” With each fall of his words, his eyes move from head to toe. You are still not ready for the ceremony yet. Wearing a plain hakama, hair braided, a few loose strands kissing your jawline, and a mole near the corner of your lip that just unlocked the memories of that night.

“Nanami-san. . .” you murmur and bite your trembling lips. Tears threaten to flood your cheeks as you take a few steps towards him. He immediately backs away averting his gaze. But you can see him, his guilt, his silent sea of sadness. Nanami Kento is now nothing but a tapestry of quiet despair. A tug on one loose end of a thread and it will all come crashing down.

“Hey...” he states as soon as he realizes the gravity of his action but it is too late now. You have already turned around, started to stroll inside the room, and prepared to slide the door. Clicking his tongue he follows you but does not enter just stands on the other side of the wooden bar separating your room and the porch. His shadow is covering your whole body. He can only see your back, so he does not look up, just stills his eyes on the ground. “Congratulations on your succession —” His voice trails off as your haori drops on the floor.

“What’re you doing?” He raises his voice perking his eyes up at you. You turn your head slightly in his way and he notices bruises around your neck. Suddenly he can feel every bead of perspiration running down his spine. Have you been fucking other men while he was away? He has been wrecking his mind day and night thinking about how to let you down lightly, how to end this relationship without hurting you, what to say, and what not to say so that you can just move on with your life but meanwhile, but you have been seeing other men. How vile! How insulting!

“Why are you still here, Nanami-san?” You turn around without averting your eyes from him.

Nanami enters the room without a second thought closing it behind. “Is it what I think it is ?” He enquires curtly.

“I don't know. You tell me,” You murmur pulling up the sleeves of your nagagi, “what you are thinking. . .” There are certain wounds all the way up your neck in a particular pattern as if someone carved them on you. He does not budge. His brain cells do not finish the path of such thoughts.

Watching his contorted face you let out a disappointed sigh,“Yes. The answer is yes. I went through the ritual.” Nanami swallows, his eyes unable to avert from your body. He wants to see those marks, see each scar, and kiss them. That would be very unethical, wouldn’t it? “If tooru-ni would have been here he wouldn’t have let me go through it.” You walk away towards the window finishing that line of thought, “But I can’t always rely on him. Can I now?”

Okay, that’s good. You have made half of his confusion clear. What about the bruise on your neck? With long strides, he closes the gap between you two. His strong muscular toned arms curled around your waist before his lips aligned with yours. “have you been seeing other men?” He rasps against your mouth. Your hand rests on his firm chest. It is possible actually, since you are going to be appointed as a supportive clan head, marriage proposals are going to lurk like wild animals amongst the shadows of celebration, especially Zenin Clan. They do not let any cursed energy bearer getaway.

“Why? Would that make you jealous?”

“Yes. definitely.” You can not help but ket out a short-lived simper that not only makes Nanami’s throat dry but also fills his bones with your pesky ignorant attitude. It makes him wanna loathe you. He lifts you a little yanking you by the window side, caging you between the wall and him. He has not let go of his hand from your waist and his other hand rests on the concrete. You look at him with eyes full of longing and lust. You know this is wrong, this whole thing of meeting him here, seeing him before the ceremony. It is wrong in so many ways. Your fisted hands unfurl. You could feel his heart rate being faster now.

“Can’t we just run away?” you murmur so low and so meek that Nanami thinks he might just hear it wrong. Suppose he did run away with you. What then? People from the Gojo clan is going to hunt him until the end of time. He always has to run away and hide, like a coward.

“That wouldn’t be appropriate,”

Another chuckle. “Yeah? Then, what’s appropriate? Are you telling me this isn’t inappropriate? you and me, locked in a room, so close to each other. anyone might think we are—

“Then, let’s make their suspicion into something real,” He breathes against your mouth. There is just a thread of gap between his lip and yours before he opens his mouth with a ‘pop’ and you feel his warm, wet tongue along the column of your throat that makes you shut your eyes instantly, tears rolling down along your cheeks for holding back for so long, for waiting for him so long. Your arms slide along his shoulders slowly as he explores your neck and chest with his mouth making you almost melt in his arms.

“No. No. No. No. we can’t be doing this again,” He moves away from you shaking his head so much, his breathing labored and irregular. There is that look in your eyes, that sad look of having to fight all alone with no one by your side, that look that has so much sincerity and loyalty underneath.

“But Nanami-san, I’m not seeing anyone.” You mutter inhaling deeply feeling dizzy. Oh dear! Aren’t you a little too naive to be a clan head? Maybe there is no way out, day in and day out he thought about it but he could not find any. “what happened when you said you would take me to Malaysia?”

"You know we can't do that, baby." He shifts his gaze at you, rasping, "And, you know we were both just drunk and talking about what ifs...does that count? should it count?" You bite your lips looking at the robes scattered on the floor, him and yours, lifeless and entangled with each other. Nanami feels his heart constrict in his ribcage, as if someone had tied his heart with ropes and now both the free ends are being pulled like in a tug of war.

“Ahhh,” he groans. “Fuck it,” with that he holds your face in between his big soft palms kissing your lips as long as he can. Your fingers clamp around his wrists as you feel his tongue go inside your mouth before he sucks your lips, one by one, fervently, as if you are the source of his oxygen, not the air surrounding you two. He guides your limbs around his nape breaking the kiss to breathe in before kissing down the column of your throat.

“Take it off,” His husky whisper hot against your chest as he waits.

“But—” you try to protest making him more impatient. It is not like he does not get your point. You will have to go soon otherwise people might come searching for you. These fucking clan rules. Without any delay you let the upper wrapper cloth of your yukata fall down revealing your breasts.

“You know, you shouldn’t be roaming around like this,” He tartly says before licking up from the base of your chest to the middle of your collarbone.

“Oh Yeah? was waiting… for you,” Nanami’s hand finds your mounds, firm and large hands massaging both of them simultaneously as he presses his hard-on against your waist. His hands now rest on your hips pulling you into his body, while his mouth peppers kisses all over your bosom. Your nipples are so taut, skin awake with goosebumps. His hands travel around your back pulling you into his embrace. Your breath hitches as his grips grow stronger while his mouth latches onto your boobs, sucking your tits and biting them making you moan shamelessly.

Your constant tugging and fidgeting with the sash of his hakama has now paid off. It hits the grown revealing him in boxers. You take his cock out pumping, sliding the foreskin, and exposing the slick crown of his cock. Nanami grunts, taking his cock and pumping it by himself. “Look at me, look at me, baby”, he murmured while rubbing his nose against your neck, your skin glistening with sweat. He clusters your hakama around your waist and your hands hold them in place, around your stomach. He smiles at that gesture. He is impressed.

Lifting you up by clasping around your inner things, he holds your back against the wall ready to push his cock inside you. You guide his cock at your slick entrance. As soon as the cock-head is inside he quickly scans your features. You are panting, sweating, mouth open, and eager to take him. He pushes his cock inside you with a deep strong thrust hitting your spot. His grip on your thighs becomes stronger as he starts to glide his torso, to and fro. Eyes flying back ripping off your sanity as he pushes his cock inside you as if he was not hitting the spot making you squirm underneath him.

The bridge of his nose grazes your pulse point as he groans right into your ears asking, "You good?". You stare at him through the corner of your eyes, mouth open ajar, panting rashly too sucked into delirium to form words, but you nod. Kento knows your melting point yet seeing you taking him so well, being so obedient, being so responsive his lips curve in delight. He hums weighing his thoughts about whether it is okay to pull out another orgasm from your heated overstimulated body or not since he has been fucking you nice and slow for what seems like hours. Every time you are close he diverts your attention by pausing and then putting his mouth to work, either on your lips or on your nipples.

His warm cackle reaches your ears as he jerks up towering over your body, fingers clamping underneath your inner thighs. "Oh Gawd!", you whimper earning a smirk from him. "Don't worry angel! I'm not gonna stop until you ask me to!", he declares as he thrusts his cock with a single broad stroke earning a gasp from you. Those chocolate brown eyes gleam in an insatiable hunger as he starts to move in and out, slowly, watching your cream leaking around his cock from previously denied orgasms.

"You're still clenching me so hard baby!", he utters with a chuckle slamming his cock inside you with brute force followed by a long pause and making you arch your body like a bow against the wall. It is euphoric. It is aching. It is maddening.

"So good! such sweet pussy.", he groans as he starts to thrust harder, faster folding your legs over his broad shoulders. You grab your boobs, squeezing, biting your lower lip, filling the room with trails of whimpering moans blessing his ears. With his throbbing cock still inside you he yanks you into his lap, lips never disconnecting from yours he takes you to the futon laying you down. The hakama is clustered around your waist covering your pussy but it is better this way. At least, you are not so coy-like that night.

Kento quivers, balancing himself on his arms against the futon and letting you relax your legs. "Fuck wanna cum in you already", he coos immediately crashing his lips onto yours not giving you a chance to register his momentary lapse, a desire to see you carrying his babies. Moreover, he loves the taste of your salt while sucking your puffy lips inside you. Curling your hands around his nape, fingers skimming through his hair you moan into his mouth breaking the kiss.

His eyes blink as he feels your hands over his arms. While he is still feasting his eyes over your ravishing sex glow, you roll him along the futon without pulling out. Eyes soaked in surprise Kento is still taken aback by your strength as he gawks at your naked beauty with lust-blown eyes. “Your wish's my command, Sir”, you amend. As the words fall from your lips you start to glide, slow but steady strokes. He holds you by your waist, his lower lip being exploited in between his teeth as you bounce on his cock.

Seeing you bob like an animal, boobs bouncing at a steady rhythm he was in nowhere to decline you; after all, he wanted this too, to fill your womb with babies and those breasts with milk.“Oh yeah! Yea-ash baby!”, he mumbles as you keep jerking. He is close, you can sense it. He flinches feeling his cock twitch in pain but could not care less about it. All he wants is to fill you up to the brim. He sits up adjusting you in his lap.

“Say you hate me.” he huskily mutters.

“What?” you do not pause, just slow down.

“Say you hate me” he quips holding your waist and making you pause your movements. “Or I won’t let you cum,” When you do not believe him he quips with a smirk, “You know, I can do that, don’t you baby?” and strangely you remember how he felt you alone in the room when you made a move on him. You do not want that to happen now, absolutely not, especially with his dick inside you.

He starts to make you bob again, at this point so close to your orgasm that you do not even put up a fight. “Yes. yes. I hate you. I hate you nanami kento I hate you,” you whimper out those words as he thrusts you on his cock. Good, good, that is good; he can not have you admit those feelings out loud, just like him. Your legs quiver feeling the euphoric high approaching, marking his back with crescent indecent as he shoots his cum inside you. Warm, thick, and seeping along your thighs, soaking the sheets. He pulls out with a pop; a prideful glint smothers his face watching his marks all over your chest that run up to your pulse point on the neck. Kento shoots a look at you, your face. He maintains eye contact, puts his mouth around your nipple, and continues to suck until he feels your gummy walls clenching his cock again. “Ahhh—aH!”, you scream hands resting on his shoulders nails digging into his skin. He hates you, he hates you so very much.

Nanami hunches down a little more, kissing your temples, and before sitting upright again he whispers, “Yeah, let’s go to Malaysia. Let’s just run away, honey.”

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